Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Sunday arrived, and with it, a new kind of terror. The house was already spotless from my scrubbing yesterday, but I started all over again. I ran a dust rag over every surface, polished the silver, and made sure every dish was perfectly aligned in its cabinet. Vincent had already given me a long list of instructions for the dinner.

He had been so excited last night, pacing the kitchen and talking about the CEO as if he were a god. This morning, he left for the grocery store with his meticulous list, a list that included specific brands, certain cuts of meat, and a very expensive bottle of wine.

He was gone for hours, and the house felt eerily quiet. It was the calm before the storm. I moved from room to room, my hands busy but my mind in a panic. The bruise on my cheek was a dull ache, a constant reminder of what was at stake. I couldn't mess this up. There was no room for error.

By four o'clock, he was back. He unloaded the groceries, his eyes a little too bright, his movements a little too fast. "Everything has to be perfect, Kira," he said, his voice a low hiss. "Go wear the new dress and put some fucking makeup on. Don't disappoint me, Kira."

He retreated to the living room to review his notes for the night, leaving me alone in the kitchen with a mountain of ingredients. I was a whirlwind of motion, my hands chopping, stirring, and seasoning. Every action was precise, every dish a testament to my fear.

I made the roasted chicken exactly to the recipe, the vegetables were chopped into perfect, symmetrical cubes, and the bread was baked to a perfect golden brown. I tasted nothing. All I could feel was the weight of his threat, the chilling promise that I wouldn't be able to walk if things went wrong.

As seven o'clock approached, the house felt like a ticking time bomb. The food was ready, the table was set, and everything was perfectly in its place. I stood in the kitchen, my hands shaking as I stared out the window.

Vincent had come to check me over. He had bought a dress two years ago for me to wear when we were having company over, more for when he had company over—people he wanted to impress. I could hear Vincent humming to himself in the living room, a sound that made my skin crawl. He was confident. He was ready to show off his perfect home, his perfect wife, and his perfect life.

I heard the sound of a car outside, a low, powerful purr that was completely out of place in Emberhallow. The sound was so familiar from the road yesterday that I froze. It was him. The CEO. A lump formed in my throat, a cold stone of dread. The car door opened, and then the doorbell rang.

"Kira, get the door," Vincent's voice was sharp. My heart started pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest. I couldn't move.

"Kira!" he barked from the hallway, but I couldn’t move.

I heard his footsteps, and then the sound of the front door opening. I peeked through the crack in the kitchen doorway, my eyes wide with a fear I couldn't contain. I could see the edge of a black suit and a flash of an expensive shoe.

"Mr. Steele," Vincent's voice was a practiced sound of respect. "Welcome to my home. It's a pleasure to have you here."

"The pleasure is all mine, Vincent," a smooth, low voice replied. It was him. The voice from the road. I took a shaky breath and pressed myself against the wall, my hand over my mouth. The man who had tried to ask me for directions was now in my home. And I had no idea what to do.

I had to move. The fear was a solid weight in my stomach, but I had to go to them. I grabbed the tray with the drinks and forced my hands to stop shaking. The ice in the glasses clinked a nervous rhythm as I carried the tray down the hallway and into the sitting room. I kept my eyes on my feet, on the polished wood floor, a path I had walked a thousand times but which now felt like a tightrope over a chasm.

The room was filled with a tension so thick it was hard to breathe. Vincent was talking, his voice a little too loud, a little too proud, a sound he reserved for people he wanted to impress. But my eyes were on the other man. The CEO. He was standing by the fireplace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive, tailored suit. He hadn’t sat down. He was a force of nature, too restless to be contained by a simple chair.

My eyes finally lifted, a slow, terrified crawl from his shoes to his face. He was even more imposing up close. His hair was dark, almost jet black, swept back from a forehead that was a perfect sculpture. But it was his eyes that held me. They were a startling, icy blue, and they didn't just look at things—they saw them.

They were scanning the room, taking everything in, every detail, every flaw. They landed on me, and for the first time in my life, I felt completely exposed.

He wasn't like Vincent. Vincent’s power was loud and demanding. It was a bully. This man’s power was quiet, a low hum that filled the room without him even having to speak. He didn't command attention; he just had it. He was a predator, a different kind than Vincent, but a predator nonetheless.

I walked to the coffee table, my movements precise, my breathing shallow. I set the tray down and carefully placed the glasses, one for Vincent and one for him. Vincent's voice was a frantic babble in the background. "This is my wife, Kira. She runs the house for me." He didn’t say "she is a maid" or "a wife." He said, "She runs the house for me," as if I were a possession to be managed.

His eyes followed my every move, watching me with an unnerving intensity. He didn't say anything, but his gaze felt like a touch. It was a curious touch, a discerning one that was just as terrifying. He made me feel seen, not in a good way, but in a way that made me feel like he was cataloging every detail of my fear, every one of my movements.

I finished my task, and I started to retreat. But as I turned to leave, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Thank you," he said. The word was simple and polite, but it felt like a gunshot in the oppressive silence of the room. It was the first time I had ever been thanked by a guest in my own home. I was too shocked to answer. I just looked at him, my eyes wide with terror, and then I scurried out of the room, leaving them alone.