Elena was already seated across from Lisa, a napkin spread beside her plate. She picked up a croissant, tore off a piece, and forced herself to chew. The flaky pastry turned to paste in her mouth.
“—and I swear, the way he looked at the menu, you’d think it was written in ancient Greek.” Lisa laughed, gesturing with a jam-smeared knife. “Like, bro, it’s eggs. Read the words.”
Elena nodded and took another bite, barely registering the taste as she chewed and swallowed.
“You’re not hearing a word I’m saying.”
The knife clicked against the plate as Lisa set it down. Elena looked up, caught. Lisa’s eyes narrowed, not angry, just peeling away the act.
“Sorry,” Elena said. “I’m listening now.”
“Was it that bad? Asking him for another day?” Lisa leaned forward, her voice lower now, private. “If he said no, just tell me. I can grab the train.”
Elena shook her head. “I haven’t asked him yet.” She set the torn croissant down. “I couldn’t find him. He was somewhere in the house.” The image of him guiding the crying maid through the corridor flashed through her mind, and she pushed it away. “I’ll find him after breakfast. Don’t worry. I’ll ask.”
Lisa studied her for a long moment, then gave a small shrug. “All right. But you’re a terrible liar, Rossi. You know that, right?”
Elena ignored the comment and reached for another piece of croissant. Lisa let the subject drop, and for a while they ate in relative silence. Lisa gradually returned to lighter conversation, talking about a project she was working on and complaining about a client who kept changing his mind. Elena listened, answering when she needed to, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the corridor and the crying maid.
By the time they finished breakfast, Elena had made up her mind. She pushed her plate aside and rose from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
The hallway was empty when she stepped out. The manor was settling into its usual rhythm around her—creaking wood, distant footsteps, and the low hum of activity somewhere below. She turned toward the main wing and nearly collided with Presley, who appeared from a side corridor as if summoned.
“Miss Rossi.” He inclined his head. “Mr. Thorn is in the library, if you’re looking for him.”
Elena blinked. “How did you—”
Presley’s expression didn’t change. “I just saw him enter a few minutes ago.”
“Thank you.” She turned toward the stairs and headed up, her heels soft against the runner. A few minutes later, she reached the library and found the door ajar, a sliver of warm light cutting across the dark wood floor. She pushed it open.
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Liam sat in the deep leather armchair by the fireplace, a ledger open across his lap. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, the bandage on his chest a pale square visible through the open collar. He looked up when she entered, and the ledger closed with a soft thump. He set it aside, his attention settling on her like a weight.
Elena stopped a few feet from him. “I need to ask you something.”
Liam waited.
“Lisa. Can she stay another night? Just tonight. She’ll leave in the morning.”
His gaze held hers for a moment before he simply nodded. “Yes.”
Elena blinked. She had expected a condition, a negotiation—something she would have to give in return. Instead, he had agreed without hesitation.
“After what happened last night, I want to make sure you’re both all right,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual. “You were drugged under my care, and that is unforgivable. She should stay. I want to know that she’s recovered before she leaves.”
Elena stared at him, caught off guard by the answer. Something inside her loosened, a small sense of security taking the place of the tension she'd been carrying since the night before.
“Thank you, sir,” she said softly.
“Elena.”
She stopped.
His voice was low and unhurried. “I command. Come here.” He pointed to the floor directly in front of him. “And kneel.”
Elena’s breath caught, and irritation followed almost immediately. Of course there would be a command. She should have expected it. This was the arrangement she had agreed to, and she had already learned that Liam rarely asked for anything without a purpose behind it. Still, some part of her had hoped that this time might be different.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the spot he had indicated. Her first instinct was to resist, but she knew that was pointless. She had agreed to his commands, and she had come here prepared to follow them. The realization left her unsettled, especially because her body seemed ready to obey before she had fully made the decision herself.
“Yes, Sir.”
She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the rug in front of him, settling onto her knees. She kept her hands folded in her lap and looked up at him, waiting for the next command, already bracing herself for whatever he had planned.
She watched as Liam studied her for a moment, his blue eyes moving over her face. Then, instead of giving another command, he reached down and gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from her temple. The touch was slow and deliberate, warm against her skin, and Elena felt some of the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.
She hadn't expected that.
His hand settled against the side of her face, his thumb resting lightly along her cheekbone as he held her there. Nothing was demanding in the touch. No pressure. No expectation. Just a quiet patience that caught her completely off guard.
Elena remained still, unsure what to do with the tenderness. She had been prepared to obey him, prepared for whatever he wanted from her. She hadn't been prepared for him to simply take care of her.
His hand moved into her hair, his fingers passing slowly through the thick waves before settling against the back of her head. He began to rub gently, his fingertips working in slow circles near her temples. The rhythm was steady and almost hypnotic, and before she realized it, her eyes had closed.
A long, shaky breath left her.
The nightmare still clung to her. The screams. The helplessness. The image of herself lost with Lisa between her legs. She had spent the entire morning holding herself together so tightly that she hadn't realized how exhausted she was. Under his hand, some of that tension finally began to give way.
Her shoulders dropped. The rigid line of her spine softened, and she found herself leaning slightly into his touch. His hand was warm and heavy against her head, his movements unhurried and careful. Something was grounding about it, something she hadn't known she needed.
He didn't speak. He simply stayed there, letting her breathe while his hand continued its slow movement through her hair.
For several minutes, neither of them moved. Elena could feel the last remnants of panic gradually fading, replaced by a strange sense of safety she didn't know how to reconcile with the man sitting before her.
Eventually, Liam's hand stilled. His fingers remained against her hair for another moment before he lowered them. Then he gently tipped her chin upward, waiting until she opened her eyes and met his gaze.
His expression was difficult to read, but his attention was entirely on her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.
She stared at him. That wasn't the question she'd expected. Not after the command. Not after the silence. Not after the scrutiny in his eyes.
She'd expected an instruction. A correction or another demand.
Only then did the memory of the maid come back to her. The red eyes, the tears, the way she'd kept her head down as Liam led her away. And with it came the memory of the night before, flooding back all the stress she'd been trying so hard to hold together.
Elena's breathing tightened. Her chest felt heavy again, the calm she'd found beneath his hand slipping away.
Was she okay? No. She wasn't. How could she be?
“I’m okay.” She lied, looking for any escape. Who was this man before her, so kind and gentle, yet so fearsome and demanding?
“Enjoy your day. Please take it easy.” He said, his voice lower than usual. “You’re both free to use the grounds and wander the property. Just don’t leave the premises.”
Elena pushed herself up from the rug. Her knees ached from the rough weave, but she ignored it. She murmured a quiet thank-you and walked toward the door, forcing herself not to run. Her hand found the handle, and she pulled the door closed behind her, the quiet click seeming unnaturally loud in the silent hall.
She turned the corner toward her room, keeping her pace steady even as her chest tightened. She reached her door, opened it, and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.
The moment the door clicked shut, the mask cracked. Her back hit the wood paneling, and she slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. A thin, ragged sound escaped her before she could stop it.
She made it to the bed before the first sob tore through her. The sheets smelled of lavender and clean linen, but there was none of that awful sweetness she'd noticed before. She pressed her face into the pillow and let go. The tears came hot and fast, soaking the cotton, her shoulders shaking. Everything she'd held at bay since the scream, since the cold water, since the sight of Liam leading that girl away—it all poured out of her in ugly, gasping heaves.
Lisa. The maid. The night before. And herself, kneeling before Liam and obeying before she'd even had time to think about it. The shame and fear tangled together until she couldn't separate one from the other. She didn't hear the knock at first. It came again, louder this time, and only then did she lift her head, eyes swollen and cheeks wet, trying to catch her breath.
She wiped her face with the heel of her palm, working quickly to clear away the tears. “One moment.” Her voice was still rough from crying as she crossed to the door and opened it a crack.
Presley stood in the hallway, a tray balanced carefully in his gloved hands. A teapot and cup sat beside a small plate, the steam from the tea barely visible in the cooler air. “Miss Rossi. Forgive the intrusion. I thought some chamomile tea might help settle your nerves.”
He waited until she stepped back before entering. He carried the tray to the small table beside the bed and set it down with quiet precision. “Is there… any way I might be of further assistance?” The question was perfectly formal, but his slate-colored eyes remained on her.
Elena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The salt of her tears was still on her skin. She looked at him, this man of polished restraint. “How does he treat them?” she asked, her voice hollow. “The people who work here.”
Presley’s expression remained composed. “The master is a man of exacting standards. He is strict, but he has always been fair. The household operates according to very clear expectations.”
“The maid,” Elena said. The words felt heavy in her throat. “The one crying this morning. The one he was walking back to the servants’ wing. What happened to her?”
For the first time, Presley hesitated.
It was brief, barely more than a pause, but Elena noticed it. His gaze shifted toward the door before returning to her.
“There are matters concerning the household that are not mine to discuss,” he said carefully. Then he seemed to reconsider. “However, given what you witnessed, I believe you should know why she was taken aside.”
He stepped into the room and lowered his voice.
“She was responsible for preparing and changing the bedding in your room. This morning, empty vials of Eros were discovered in her possession during the staff search.”
Elena stared at him.
Presley continued, his tone measured. “She has been questioned regarding how they came into her possession. Mr. Thorn was handling the matter personally.”
Elena’s stomach tightened. “So you think she drugged us?”
“I think,” Presley said, “that the evidence warranted his attention.”
He paused, then added quietly, “And I thought it better that you hear that from me than draw your own conclusions from what you saw this morning.”
A cold wave washed through Elena’s stomach. She saw the girl’s shaking shoulders, the raw, wet sobs. “Are you sure she did it?”
“She swore she did not know how the vials came to be hidden in her quarters. She was… distraught.” Presley paused, his expression remaining carefully composed. “The matter was handled personally by the master. He is not easily deceived, and the circumstances were… concerning.”
“What did he do to her?” Elena’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Administrative discipline is standard in the household,” Presley said evenly. “It is used when necessary to maintain order and prevent recurrence. The specifics are handled internally.”
Elena swallowed. “So he punished her?”
Presley’s expression remained composed. “The master is not a man of idle cruelty, Miss Rossi. His actions are always purposeful.”
Elena’s knees felt weak. She braced a hand on the desk. The image of Thorn’s impassive face watching the girl cry now had a frame, a reason. Purposeful. The dread in her gut solidified into a hard, cold mass. This was the clarity of his house. This was the price of defiance, or even of being in the wrong place.
“Thank you, Presley,” she managed.
He gave a shallow bow. “Of course.” He turned to leave, his hand on the door handle. He paused, his back to her. “Take care, Miss Rossi.” Then he was gone, the door sighing shut behind him, leaving her alone with the tea.
Twenty minutes passed. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the teacup Presley had left beside her, the chamomile gone cold. She hadn't touched it. Her thoughts kept circling back to the maid, the vials, and the way Liam had looked at her in the library—almost gentle, at least until the command.
The door swung open, and Lisa swept in, her blue-and-pink hair bouncing around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with color, and she looked so alive that Elena couldn't help but feel a little warmer at the sight of her.
"Okay, so, I just got to talk with Marta." Lisa dropped onto the armchair by the window, pulling her legs up under her. "And I have to say—she is an absolute treasure. Do you know she made the croissants from scratch? From scratch, Elena. I watched her roll the dough. It was like watching a sculptor work. She let me taste the raspberry jam straight from the pot."
Elena managed a small smile. "She's amazing."
"Amazing? Again: She's a national treasure. I told her she should open a bakery, and she just laughed and said she's happy here." Lisa tilted her head, studying Elena. Her grin faded. "Okay. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Elena's hand went to her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. "I'm fine. Just tired."
“Bullshit,” Lisa said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “You've got that look. The one you get when you're overthinking something you can't fix.”
Elena opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Lisa knew her too well.
"I'm not gonna push," Lisa said, her voice softer now. "But I'm also not gonna let you sit in here and spiral. The storm cleared up. Sun's out. We're getting some fresh air."
Elena blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Up. Grab your swimsuit." Lisa was already on her feet, crossing to her bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a bright green bikini, holding it up with a grin. "I came prepared."
Elena stared at her. "Lisa, I don't think—"
“No thinking. That's your problem. You're thinking too damn much. You need some sun, some water, and maybe a few laughs. Come on.”
Something in Lisa's tone—the easy warmth, the refusal to let Elena drown—cracked through the fog. Elena even found herself letting out a little giggle. "Fine. Okay."
She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. Her fingers passed over the work clothes, the formal dresses, until they found the swimsuit. The Molton Crimson two-piece. She remembered the boutique, remembered how incredible it made her look, and how exposed the swimsuit had made her feel. The fabric was rich, deep red, flowing across with a black pattern to make it look like lava.
She pulled it out and grabbed it with a sundress.
"I'm going to use the bathroom," she said, not meeting Lisa's eyes.
"Go ahead. I'm going to get changed."
Elena stepped through the archway into the bathroom and closed the door. The room was white marble, cool and quiet. She set the swimsuit on the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, her hair a mess. She looked like she'd been through a war.
She turned away from her reflection, used the toilet quickly, then stripped off her clothes. The swimsuit slid on like a second skin. The top cupped her C-cups perfectly, the understrap wrapping tightly underneath, the straps crossing over her shoulder blade. The bottoms sat high on her hips, the cut elongating her legs. She adjusted the fabric, smoothed it over, and couldn’t help but realize how perfectly it fit. It fit like it had been made for her.
She pulled on the sundress, a simple maroon cotton dress with thin straps and a hem just above her knees. The fabric slipped easily over her swimsuit. She ran her fingers through her hair, tried to tame it, then gave up and stepped back into the bedroom.
Lisa was just straightening her own swimsuit. She looked up as Elena entered, and her eyes went wide.
"Whoa."
Elena froze. "What?"
"What do you mean, what? What do you have hiding under that sundress?" Lisa crossed the room in three quick strides, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Let me see."
"Lisa, no—"
But Lisa's hand was already there, grabbing the hem of the sundress and lifting it, exposing the crimson swimsuit beneath. Elena yelped, batting at Lisa's hand, but Lisa just laughed, holding the dress up for a full three seconds before letting it fall.
"Okay, okay—" Elena stepped back, her cheeks burning. "Are you done?"
"Not even close." Lisa's grin was wolfish. "Where did you get that? That's not—Elena, that's not a swimsuit you pick up at Target. That's like, designer. Like, red-carpet-at-a-beach-club designer. That thing probably costs more than my rent."
Elena looked away, her hand going to the strap of her sundress. "It's nothing."
"It's nothing. It's—" Lisa paused. Her eyes narrowed. "Liam."
Elena didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"Of course it's Liam." Lisa laughed, shaking her head. "Of course. He's got you in designer lingerie, designer dresses, and now designer swimwear. The man has taste, I'll give him that." She reached out and tugged the strap of Elena's sundress, peeking at the crimson fabric again. "Can I just—"
"Lisa."
“I'm just looking. It's art. The way it fits you—” Lisa circled her, appraising. “The cut is insane. And the color. It's perfect for your skin tone.” She stopped in front of Elena, hands on her hips. “Okay, I'm officially jealous.”
Elena shifted, starting to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Can we go now?"
"Yeah, yeah." Lisa gave her a small, affectionate shove. "But we're talking about this later. You're keeping secrets, Rossi. I can feel it."
Elena didn't answer. She just led the way out of the room.
The hallway was quiet. They passed the library door—closed now—and took the main staircase down to the ground floor. The manor felt different in the afternoon light. Warmer. The dust motes that had hung in the morning air were gone, replaced by shafts of golden sun that fell across the old wood floors.
“So,” Lisa said, her voice brightening. “Let’s go to the water. I’m dying to get wet.”
Elena laughed softly. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Lisa grinned and both headed for the door.
They passed through the dining hall, the long table empty, the chandelier dark. Presley was there, arranging silverware, and he straightened as they entered.
"Miss Rossi. Miss Chen. Are you heading to the lake?"
"Yes," Elena said. "Is that—"
"Of course. Towels are in a cabinet down on the lakeside, near the loungers. If you need anything, please use the phone down there. It connects to our staff phone here."
Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Easy communication. Nice."
Presley's expression didn't flicker. "We aim to accommodate, Miss Chen."
Elena pushed open the back door, and the afternoon air hit her—clean, warm, carrying the smell of wet earth and pine. The storm had washed everything clean. The sky was a deep blue, with a few white clouds in the sky, and the sun peeking between them. A large wooden patio lined the edge of the small cliff. The lake stretched out below.
Lisa stopped at the edge of the patio. “Holy shit.”
Elena stepped up beside her, following her gaze. Below the patio, the ground sloped gently toward a small private cove—a strip of pale sand edged with flat stones, with a pair of wooden loungers angled toward the water. A neat storage cabinet had been built into the cliff face, nearly hidden beneath the overhang. Beyond the sand, a narrow wooden dock stretched into the bay, and something white was moored at the far end.
“That is a really nice boat,” Lisa said, squinting toward the dock. She turned to Elena, eyebrows raised. “He keeps a sailboat out here. Does he even sail?”
Elena shrugged. “I don't know. I've never been down here before.” The words came out quieter than she intended. She hadn't even realized how much of the property she hadn't seen yet. In the few days she'd been here, she'd barely gone beyond the rooms she used regularly, never having a reason to wander far enough to find places like this.
Lisa started down the path, and Elena followed, her sandals slapping softly against the warm wood. The air shifted as they descended, growing cooler and damper, carrying the mineral scent of the bay. With each step, more of the boat came into view until the entire vessel rose above the dock.
The hull was long and white, its clean lines sweeping back toward the stern, with dark wood accents along the deck and a single tall mast rising above it. Nothing about it was flashy. There were no unnecessary details, no attempt to make it look larger or more impressive than it was. It was simply elegant, built with the kind of quiet precision that made every part of it seem deliberate. Even sitting motionless against the dock, it looked ready to move.
Elena slowed as they reached the sand, her attention lingering on the boat. She couldn't quite explain why she found herself staring. There was something familiar in the way it carried itself—controlled, restrained, seemingly indifferent to whether anyone noticed it. The comparison came before she could stop it.
It made her think of Liam.
She pushed the thought aside and looked toward the stern instead. The boat's name was painted there in simple lettering: Briar Rose. The name was softer than the vessel itself, almost delicate against the clean white hull, but somehow it suited it. There was something understated about it, as though the name had been chosen for a reason that wasn't meant to be obvious.
Elena let her gaze linger on the words for another moment before looking away. The bay stretched beyond the cove, afternoon light breaking across the water, and the Briar Rose rocked gently against its moorings.
She walked to the nearest lounger, dropped her towel, and pulled the sundress over her head. The air kissed her bare skin as she sat down, her feet settling into the warm sand. Lisa joined her a moment later, having shed her sweater and shorts to reveal her green swimwear. She dropped onto the lounger beside Elena, leaned back on her elbows, and let out a long, contented sigh.
"Okay," Lisa said, her eyes closed, face turned to the sun. "This is better. This is so much better than sitting in that room."
Elena nodded. She lay back on the lounger, the cushion soft beneath her, and let the sun warm her face. The tension in her shoulders didn't disappear, but it loosened. Just a little.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The water lapped against the pool's edge. A bird called somewhere in the trees.
Elena's throat tightened as she looked away toward the water, then back at Lisa. “I'm really glad you're here. I think I needed this more than I realized.”
Lisa's expression softened, and she gave her a small, genuine smile. “Yeah?” When Elena nodded, Lisa reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Then I'm glad I came.”
Elena smiled, feeling some of the weight she'd been carrying ease just a little. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed someone familiar beside her until Lisa had walked through the door.
Lisa's smile turned mischievous. “All right. That's enough heartfelt sharing for one afternoon.”
Elena laughed. “What?”
“You heard me.” Lisa pushed herself to her feet. “Now I'm dragging you into that lake.”
“Lisa—”
But Lisa was already on her feet, reaching for Elena’s wrist and pulling her up. Elena stumbled after her, laughing despite herself as Lisa hurried toward the edge of the dock. She dug her heels in, trying to slow her down, but Lisa was already laughing.
“You're insane,” Elena protested.
“Probably.”
Elena barely had time to brace herself before Lisa let go, leaving her to go over the edge alone, hitting the water with a splash that swallowed the world.
The cold hit her like a shock, clean and sharp and real. She surfaced gasping, hair plastered across her face, and found Lisa already splashing into the water, laughing.
“You—” Elena splashed her. “You pushed me.”
“No, I pulled you,” Lisa said, ducking the next splash. “That's different.”
Elena wiped the water from her face. “You dragged me to the edge and let go.”
“Exactly. I didn't push you.”
“That is the dumbest technicality I've ever heard.”
Lisa laughed and swam a little closer. “Are you feeling better?”
Elena floated onto her back, letting the water hold her as the sun warmed her face. The world was quiet except for the gentle movement of the water and Lisa's laughter beside her. The heaviness in her chest hadn't disappeared, but it had loosened. Just a little.
“Yeah,” she said, a small smile finding its way onto her face. “Actually, I do.”