I spentthe day exploring parts of the estate I hadn't yet seen, testing the limits of my new freedom. The guards were still present but less obvious, maintaining a respectful distance as I wandered through gardens, examined art in long galleries, and discovered a small but well-equipped gym in the east wing.
No one stopped me. No one questioned me. It was as if overnight I'd transformed from prisoner to guest—or something else entirely.
By late afternoon, I found myself back in my room, contemplating Rafe's instruction to dress formally for dinner. It was a small thing, a trivial request. Complying would cost me nothing.
Which was precisely why part of me wanted to refuse.
I showered and stood before the closet, examining the array of evening wear provided for me. Dresses in every color and style, all in my size, all exquisite. The attention to detail was both impressive and unsettling—further evidence of how thoroughly Rafe had studied me before taking me.
My fingers lingered on a deep blue gown with a plunging back, the kind of dress I would have chosen for myself in another life. It would be so easy to put it on, to play along, to be the obedient captive he wanted.
Too easy.
Instead, I selected a simple black sweater and jeans, casual but elegant enough that he couldn't accuse me of being deliberately slovenly. A compromise, of sorts—neither full compliance nor outright defiance.
At precisely seven, a knock came at my door. I opened it to find not Rafe but Marco, his expression carefully neutral as he took in my attire.
"Mr. Conti is waiting in the dining room," he said, giving no indication whether he approved or disapproved of my choice.
I followed him downstairs, through the grand foyer, and into a formal dining room I hadn't yet seen—a cavernous space with a table that could seat twenty, crystal chandeliers overhead, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the now-darkened gardens.
Rafe stood at the head of the table, his back to me as he examined a painting on the far wall. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair combed back, the picture of elegant authority.
"Ms. O'Sullivan," Marco announced, then withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Rafe turned, his eyes taking in my casual attire with a single sweep. His expression didn't change, but something in the airshifted—a tension, a charge, like the moment before lightning strikes.
"I see you've made a choice," he said, his voice deceptively mild.
I lifted my chin slightly. "I have."
"An interesting one." He moved toward me, his steps measured, unhurried. "Not quite defiance, not quite compliance. Testing the boundaries already, Grace?"
"Interpreting the rules," I corrected. "You said formal. This is formal by some standards."
He stopped before me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Not by mine."
"You should have been more specific, then."
A smile curved his lips, not quite reaching his eyes. "Perhaps I should have. A lesson for next time."
He gestured to the table, where two place settings had been arranged at one end—intimate despite the grandeur of the room. "Shall we?"
I took the seat he indicated, noting the crystal, the silver, the fine china—all the trappings of wealth and privilege that seemed to follow Rafe like a shadow. He sat at the head of the table, to my right, close enough that our elbows nearly touched.
Dinner was served by staff I barely noticed, course after course of exquisite food that I ate without tasting. The tension between us built with each passing moment, each sip of wine, each glance exchanged across the small distance.
"You're quiet tonight," Rafe observed as dessert was served—some elaborate confection of chocolate and berries that looked too beautiful to eat.
"I'm thinking," I replied, taking a small bite of the dessert. It was delicious, of course. Everything in Rafe's world was perfect on the surface.
"About?"
I met his eyes directly. "About the nature of obedience. About why it matters so much to you."
Something flickered in his gaze—surprise, perhaps, that I'd cut so quickly to the heart of the matter. "Does it require explanation? I would think the advantages of having those around you follow instructions would be self-evident."
"It's more than that," I pressed. "This isn't just about practicality. This is personal for you. Important."
