Chapter 4 Chapter 4

I straightened my tie, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Mr. Steele," I stammered, my voice a pathetic croak. "I wasn't expecting you."

He didn't answer. He just walked over to the window, his gaze sweeping over the factory floor. "The factory is in terrible condition," he said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "It's a disgrace. The equipment is old, the workers are exhausted, and your numbers are bloated. You're lying to me, Vincent."

My mind raced. How could he know? I had been so careful. "L-lying?" I stammered. "No, sir. My reports are accurate. My numbers are right."

He turned to face me, and a shiver ran down my spine. "Don't play games with me, Vincent," he said, his eyes like ice. "I have people who work for me whose job it is to know everything. For example, I know you're sleeping with your assistant. You spend more time with her than you do on the factory floor, which explains the poor conditions."

My mind went blank. How did he know? My world, my power, and my perfect life were crumbling around me. I had thought I was so clever, so cunning. But I was just a small-town man playing a game I had no idea how to win. My facade, my entire world, was coming apart at the seams.

He stared at me, his face impassive. I knew I had to act quickly to save everything I had. My job, my status, my control over the town—it was all on the line. I had to show him I was a respectable man, a family man, a leader. I had to show him my greatest asset. Kira. I’ve used her to saw men like him.

"Mr. Steele," I said, my voice shaking just a little. "I... I can explain everything. But... but what if we continued this discussion over dinner? At my home. My wife, Kira, is an excellent cook. I'd love for you to join us; we can discuss this and come to some sort of agreement."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something, maybe curiosity, maybe something else, crossing his face. "Dinner," he said, the word a question.

"Yes! My wife and I would be honored to have you as our guest," I said, my confidence returning. "Sunday night. It would be my honor." I knew I had found a way out. He wanted to see if I was a reliable man, and I would show him.

I would show him my beautiful wife and my beautiful life, and he would see that I was a perfect manager. I had him. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "Very well, Vincent. Sunday night. I look forward to it."

He turned and walked out of the office, and I felt a wave of relief washing over me. I did it. My world was back in my control. I smiled, my eyes fixed on the door he had just walked through. He was wrong about me. I wasn't just a manager; I was a master of my own universe. And now, I would use my perfect wife to prove it.

Kira’s POV

The orphanage was a bubble of peace in the middle of a world that had gone completely sideways. The smell of fresh-baked cookies filled the air, and I was laughing with the kids, helping them put together a puzzle. For a few hours, I could forget about the silence, the rules, and the bruises. I was just Kira.

A sudden hush fell over the room. The children stopped playing, their little heads turning toward the door. I looked up, and my heart dropped to my stomach. Standing in the doorway was Vincent, his face a perfect mask of polite charm.

He looked like he was the picture of a caring, benevolent man, coming to check on his wife’s charity work. The director of the orphanage, a kind old woman, walked over to him, her face full of a welcoming smile.

"Mr. Brooks," she said, her voice filled with respect. "We weren't expecting you."

"I know," Vincent said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "I just wanted to surprise my wonderful wife. But we have to go. We have a very important dinner to prepare for tomorrow night."

He walked over to me, and my body tensed. He put a hand on my back, a seemingly affectionate gesture, but I could feel the coldness of his touch through my shirt. "Say goodbye, Kira," he said, his voice a low command.

I said a quick goodbye to the children, my throat tight. They waved, and I tried to smile. I was out of my safe space, and the walls of my cage were closing in.

The car ride back to Emberhallow was a terrifying blur. I sat in silence, my hands in my lap, as he drove. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The silence was a language I knew all too well. It was a language of threats and unspoken rules.

When we got home, the house felt even colder and more oppressive than usual. He led me into the kitchen, his hand still on my back, a constant reminder of his presence.

"You're going to clean this house from top to bottom," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Every surface, every corner, every speck of dust. The CEO is a very important man, and he’ll be looking at everything."

He let his eyes drift over my face, and I knew what he was looking for—the faint bruise on my cheek. He smirked. "And Kira," he continued, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. "If this dinner doesn't go right, if he finds one thing wrong, you won't be able to walk. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my eyes wide with terror. There was no need to ask questions. I knew what he meant. I knew his threats were not empty words.

He left me in the kitchen, and I started to clean. The house, once my gilded cage, now felt like a tomb. I grabbed a rag and a bottle of cleaner and started scrubbing the countertops. My heart was pounding, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

My hands were shaking, but I couldn't stop. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, my mind a whirlwind of fear and desperation. I had to make it perfect. I had to make it spotless. My life, my physical safety, depended on it.