She hesitated, her eyes taking in my rumpled appearance. "Would you like me to draw you a bath? Or help you select something to wear?"
The offer was perfectly polite, perfectly normal for a household of this caliber. Yet it felt strange—this veneer of normality over the reality of my situation. As if I were a guest rather than a prisoner. As if last night had transformed me from captive to... what? Mistress? Companion? Something else entirely?
"No, thank you," I said finally. "I can manage."
She nodded and withdrew, closing the door softly behind her.
I opened the envelope with fingers that weren't quite steady. Inside was a note written in a strong, angular hand:
Grace,
Join me for breakfast. We have matters to discuss.
- R
No mention of last night. No endearments. No pressure. Just a request—or perhaps a command—delivered with the same cool authority he'd shown from the beginning.
I showered quickly, washing away the physical evidence of our encounter if not the memory. The bruise on my collarbone remained, a purple-blue mark that my fingers lingered over before I covered it with a high-necked blouse. I paired it with tailored pants and low heels, armor of a sort against whatever awaited me on the terrace.
The estate was quiet as I made my way downstairs, the morning sun casting long shadows across marble floors and antique rugs. I'd learned the layout well enough by now to find the terrace without assistance—a wide stone expanse overlooking the gardens, furnished with elegant outdoor furniture that probably cost more than a year's tuition at Harvard.
Rafe was already there, seated at a table laden with food, reading something on a tablet. He looked up as I approached, his dark eyes unreadable as they took in my appearance.
"Good morning," he said, setting the tablet aside and standing. Always the gentleman, even after everything.
"Morning," I replied, taking the seat across from him rather than the one he'd pulled out beside his own. A small act of defiance, a reminder that last night hadn't changed everything.
If he was offended, he didn't show it. He simply returned to his own chair, watching as I poured myself coffee from a silver pot.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, the banality of the question almost comical given the circumstances.
I met his eyes over the rim of my cup. "Not particularly."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Neither did I."
Silence fell between us, heavy with unspoken words and memories of skin against skin. I busied myself with selecting food from the array before us—fresh fruit, pastries, eggs prepared three different ways. Everything perfect, everything exquisite, everything a gilded cage.
"You wanted to discuss something," I said finally, unable to bear the tension any longer.
Rafe nodded, setting down his coffee cup with deliberate precision. "Your situation here has... evolved. I think it's time we established some new parameters."
"Parameters," I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "For my captivity?"
"For your residence," he corrected smoothly. "You're no longer confined to your room. You have access to most of the estate. That's not captivity in any meaningful sense of the word."
"Except for the part where I can't leave."
"Yes," he acknowledged, unfazed by my sarcasm. "Except for that."
I set down my fork, appetite gone. "What parameters did you have in mind?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with that intense focus that always made me feel like I was being dissected. "Freedom in exchange for obedience."
"Obedience," I echoed, the word sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "To what, exactly?"
"Simple rules. Don't attempt to leave the grounds. Don't enter restricted areas. Don't interfere with estate business." He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. "And when I give you a direct instruction, follow it without question."
I laughed, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "You want me to be your what—your pet? Your servant? Your obedient little prisoner grateful for the scraps of freedom you throw her way?"
