Chapter 4

Joanna's POV

I practiced in front of the mirror for the tenth time. "Mr. King, I want to resign."

My voice was still trembling.

I looked at myself in the reflection—dark circles under my eyes, pale complexion, and red, swollen eyes from last night's tears.

Monday morning, King Tower loomed through the gray smog, as gloomy as I felt.

I clutched my resignation letter, the paper's edges already damp with sweat. The elevator mirror reflected my pale face as I took a deep breath, telling myself I had to get out of this nightmare, no matter what.

Sebastian's office air conditioning was set low, but my palms were slick with sweat. Employees peered through the glass walls, watching like spectators waiting for a show to begin.

He didn't even look up, just signed documents, the scratch of his pen unnaturally loud in the silent office.

"Speak." His voice was cold as a blade, still not lifting his head to look at me.

My lips moved several times before any sound came out. "I want... I want to resign."

His pen stopped. The air seemed to freeze.

I gathered my courage and placed the resignation letter on his desk, my voice shaking. "Mr. King, I'm not suited for this job."

He slowly raised his head, those deep eyes seeming to see through my soul.

When he tore up my resignation, I saw his fingers tremble slightly. For that instant, something flashed in his eyes—anger? Pain? Or something else?

Paper pieces fell like snowflakes, each one mocking my naivety.

"You think you can just leave?" His voice was soft, but every word seemed to bleed. "Just like she did?"

She? That mysterious "she" again.

He suddenly stood and walked to the window, his back to me.

The senior staff outside were still watching, some whispering and snickering. My cheeks burned as humiliation washed over me like a tide.

"I just... don't want to be humiliated anymore." My voice was nearly choking.

He turned around, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "Humiliated? This is just the beginning."

Sebastian returned to his desk. He sat down, fingers interlaced, his gaze becoming dangerous and precise.

"I know about your mother's condition," his voice was terrifyingly calm. "her medical expenses are overwhelming. And your brother, at that run-down school in the Bronx—three months behind on tuition."

My heart lurched, blood turning to ice. "How do you know..."

"I also know about your alcoholic, gambling stepfather," he continued, his gaze devoid of warmth. "How much does he owe? A hundred thousand? Or a hundred fifty?"

My legs went weak, barely able to stand. Had he investigated my family?

"I can give your family a good life," he continued, his voice becoming gentle but more dangerous. "Or I can make their lives hell. The choice is yours."

This wasn't a threat—it was fact. I knew he had the ability, the power.

"I can pay all your mother's medical bills, get her into the best private hospital in New York," he stood up, slowly walking toward me. "Even send your brother to the finest private school for the best education."

My breathing became rapid.

"But the condition is," he stopped in front of me, looking down, "you must obey me. Starting today, you move into my house, available whenever I need you, until I'm satisfied."

I looked up sharply, too shocked to speak. Live in his house? That would mean completely losing my freedom.

"No... I can't..." I said trembling.

"You have no choice." He cut me off, his voice cruel as hell itself. "Refuse, and I guarantee your mother's medication stops tomorrow, your brother gets expelled. And your stepfather's creditors would be very interested to know where he lives."

Pain shot through my chest, tears burning my eyes.

Mom's coughing, Tommy's innocent smile, Daniel's exhausted face... they all needed me.

Finally, I lowered my head, my voice hoarse. "Okay... I agree."

His lips curved slightly upward, but his expression was so complex I couldn't read it.

---

After work, Sebastian's driver took me directly to his private mansion instead of letting me go home to pack.

"Your things have already been moved. Don't waste time." He said coldly.

A chill ran through me. He'd arranged even this? When had he started monitoring me?

I stepped into the cold mansion, my footsteps echoing off marble floors. It was beautiful, but it felt like a cage.

The butler, Peter Henderson, was a man in his fifties wearing an impeccable uniform, his expression serious as a statue.

"Mr. King has instructed that your room is next to his, so you can be called at any time." He said coldly. "Mr. King has many rules. You'd better learn them quickly."

I froze. Next door? That meant constant surveillance.

He led me upstairs through a long corridor. Expensive oil paintings hung on the walls, each worth a fortune, but offering no warmth.

The room was large and luxuriously decorated, but cold as an icehouse.

One vase in here could feed our family for a year, but I'd trade it all for our cramped apartment where there was actually love.

That evening, Sebastian came home. I heard his car and my heart inexplicably raced. I stood in the living room waiting to report, just as Peter had taught me.

He entered, removing his coat and handing it to Peter, then walked straight to me.

"Don't think about escaping," his gaze swept over my face as he said quietly, "I don't like disobedient people."

Looking down, I felt my chest quiver beyond my control.

Just then, I accidentally caught the carpet's edge and stumbled forward, about to fall.

Time seemed to freeze.

He suddenly reached out and caught me, his arm circling my waist with such force I could barely breathe. I could feel his heartbeat, fast as if about to explode. Our faces were so close I could see every emotion in his eyes.

"Elodie..." he whispered in my ear, his voice broken as if about to cry.

I went rigid. Elodie—that name again.

He seemed to realize what he'd said, his expression instantly becoming horrified, then angry. He pushed me away as if I'd burned him.

"Don't let me see you be so clumsy again." His voice was cold as ice, but I saw his hands trembling.

He turned and left, leaving me alone in the living room, my heart in chaos.

Back in my room, I slid down against the door. The warmth from his touch still lingered on my waist, my mind in turmoil. Humiliation, fear, and desperation intertwined—I felt like a slave who'd been sold, and this mansion wasn't freedom but a prettier prison.

But I had no choice.

His gaze, his touch, his murmuring... it all unsettled me.

Why was his attitude so contradictory whenever he got close to me? Who was this Elodie?

I gripped my phone, wanting to call Daniel to pour out my troubles, but afraid of worrying him. He'd been unwell lately and his job was unstable—I couldn't burden him further.

As I hesitated, I suddenly heard fierce arguing from downstairs.

"Let me in! I know that bitch is in there!"

My blood turned to ice. That voice... it was Frank.

How had he found this place? What did he want?