Chapter 7
Joanna's POV
I jolted awake from another nightmare, that little girl's smile from the yellowed photograph still haunting me.
I forced myself to stop overthinking, washed up, and left my room.
Breakfast was waiting in the dining room—crystal glasses and silver cutlery catching the morning sun. Sebastian sat at the head of the table in a dark shirt.
"Sit." His voice was still cold and hard, but lacking its usual sharp edge. "Don't look so pathetic."
I sat down with my head lowered, fingers unconsciously gripping the hem of my clothes. All this quiet felt wrong somehow. In my memories, mornings were always filled with my mother's coughing and Tommy's hurried footsteps getting ready for school.
He slid a bowl of oatmeal and some sliced fruit across the table toward me.
Warmth spread through my chest as I whispered, "Thank you..."
He didn't respond, just continued drinking his black coffee. But I noticed his gaze sweeping over me from time to time, as if observing something. His stare made my pulse quicken. I kept my eyes on my plate, trying to pretend I couldn't feel the tension crackling between us."
Near the end of breakfast, Sebastian suddenly pulled a black credit card from his suit pocket and pushed it toward me.
"Take it. Buy whatever you need." His tone was cold and commanding, brooking no refusal. "Stop dressing like a beggar and embarrassing me."
I froze, staring at the card, my emotions a tangled mess.
What did this mean? Charity? Another form of control? I thought of those TV dramas where wealthy men kept women—it always started with accepting a credit card.
"I... I don't need it." I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice steady.
His expression darkened, voice dropping to something dangerous, "Don't argue. Take it. That's an order."
"I really don't need—"
Before I could finish, he shot to his feet and leaned over me. One hand braced against the table, the other gripping my wrist with enough force that I couldn't break free. His breath was so close I didn't dare move.
"Joanna Bennett." His voice was low as a beast's growl. "I don't like repeating myself."
His fingers forcibly pried open my palm, shoving the card into my hand.
"I'm not asking for your opinion." His gaze was sharp as a blade. "You're my personal assistant now. Your image represents my reputation. Understand?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. Shame and helplessness twisted together in my chest. I wanted to resist, to throw the card back at him, but he'd helped solve my mother's medical bills and Tommy's tuition. I finally lowered my head, my fingers trembling slightly as I gripped the card.
He released my hand and straightened up, his eyes sweeping over my face with a complex expression before he turned and left the dining room.
I told myself this was just his way of controlling me, but I couldn't deny the flicker of gratitude in my heart—after all, reality's crushing weight left me with few choices.
At noon, I stood at the mansion's entrance, hesitating for a long time. The driver was already waiting, but my feet felt heavy as lead.
In the mall, I clutched the card, my palms sweaty. The price tags made me dizzy. This card probably had more credit than I'd see in a year. When the sales associates saw the black card in my hand, their eyes instantly turned enthusiastic as they began recommending various luxury items.
I shook my head, wandering aimlessly through the mall.
Finally, I stopped at an electronics store. The shelves displayed various massage devices, and my gaze fell on an eye massager. Not because it was cheap, but because I remembered the exhaustion in his eyes last night.
Maybe this was the only thing I could do for him.
I bought the massager and picked up two simple professional outfits from a nearby clothing store. By the time I returned to the mansion, it was already dark. Peter told me Sebastian was still in meetings at the company and might be very late.
I sat on the living room sofa, clutching the gift box containing the massager, my mind filled with his coldness and last night's protection.
That contradiction confused me—what kind of person was he really?
Time ticked by, the clock hands pointing past ten, and my eyelids grew heavier. I leaned against the sofa and dozed off without realizing it.
In my dream, I saw that little girl again, standing by a lake, turning to smile at me.
I don't know how much time passed before I slowly opened my eyes. My consciousness wasn't fully clear yet, but I found Sebastian crouched in front of me, close enough that I could almost feel his breath.
His suit jacket was casually draped over the sofa back, his shirt collar slightly open, revealing an elegant collarbone. He was studying me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"When... when did you get back?" I sat up abruptly, my cheeks instantly burning as I stammered.
He didn't answer, just slowly straightened up, the corner of his mouth curving into an enigmatic smile.
"Sleeping like a child." His voice was low, carrying a tenderness I'd never heard before.
My heart hammered, not daring to meet his eyes. To ease this suffocating ambiguity, I quickly grabbed the gift box beside me and handed it to him.
"This... is for you." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Thank you for helping me last night."
He raised an eyebrow, accepting the box, his long fingers tearing open the packaging. When he saw the eye massager inside, surprise flashed in his eyes before returning to coldness.
"I don't need this kind of thing." He snorted coldly, but didn't throw it away.
"You work so hard, this might help..." I gathered courage to say. "I've already set it up. Try it."
I picked up the massager and stood to approach him. He didn't refuse, just watched me quietly, that deep gaze making me nervous. My hands trembled slightly as I carefully helped him put on the device.
While adjusting the position, my fingers accidentally brushed his cheek. His skin was unexpectedly smooth, carrying a faint warmth. In that instant, I felt like I'd been electrocuted, my heart beating so fast it might burst from my chest.
I tried to step back, but his hand suddenly supported my waist, the touch gentle yet making it impossible to move.
"Don't move." His voice was low as a murmur, carrying an intoxicating magnetism.
We were close enough that I could count his eyelashes. I could smell his faint cologne mixed with a hint of masculine scent after exhaustion.
I looked up and met his eyes directly. In that moment, the whole world seemed to quiet, leaving only the two of us.
"Joanna..." His voice was low as a whisper, carrying a tenderness I'd never heard before.
His other hand slowly rose, fingers gently caressing the swelling on my cheek. The touch was light as a feather, yet made my heart nearly stop beating.
Just then, the sharp sound of high heels striking the floor suddenly rang out, piercing like a knife scraping glass.
"What a touching scene."
A cold voice cut through the moment like a blade.
