I take in his mansion, or should I say compound. There are three different houses with huge gates, some made of iron and some of concrete. Some people like their privacy; I cannot fault him for that. The landscaping is lush and full of vibrant, colored flowers, and the lawn looks well-kept. I try to commit my surroundings to memory and see if anything looks familiar. For all I know, we could be in an entirely different country.
Moving through paved pathways, dimly lit by motion-sensor lights, we walk beside one another to the mid-sized home.
We pass through another antique-looking iron door, and it opens into a beautiful courtyard, where the front door to the home awaits.
Martin opens it with a wave of his hand. It must be a smart home that is chip-activated. I look up, and there are cameras scattered all over the place. I am not entirely surprised.
Walking into the home, it is a very cozy Victorian feel. There is exposed brick on one of the walls in the front room, featuring large leather cigar sofas and a thick burgundy wool rug in the center, alongside an old-looking fireplace.
Suddenly, I stop walking. Martin notices and looks at me as he says, “The kitchen is right through here. Do you like chocolate or strawberry?”
Suspiciously, I answer the opposite of what I would normally say, “Strawberry.”
He smirks and heads through the double oval archway. Cautiously, I follow him through and gasp in awe at the beautiful kitchen.
I take in the green cabinets, marble countertops, and the two islands in the middle, each with a beautiful butcher block atop it. This place looks like a home you would see in Architectural Digest.
He opens the fridge door and pulls out what looks like a strawberry cheesecake, freshly made on a serving dish, and places it on the island nearest to him.
He slides open a drawer and reveals two spoons, waving them in my direction, then points with them to a barstool in front of him. “Sit.”
Without hesitating, I move to sit down, and he glides a spoon in my direction.
“This was freshly made today by my private chef; it is one of my favorites,” he informs me, casually leaning his hip into the island, already poking the spoon at the cake.
Copying his movements, I bring a spoonful to my mouth and close my eyes, savoring the delicious taste as the sweet strawberry flavor bursts on my tongue.
“Oh my god,” unexpectedly falls out of my mouth, and I quickly move my spoon back toward the cake for another bite.
Martin chuckles. “Tell me your name.”
Apprehensively, I take him in for a moment and say, “They already told you my name.”
“But I want to hear it from you,” he replies softly.
“Cassidy, but my friends call me Cass.” I have no idea why I shared that personal information with him.
“Hmm, well, Cassidy, tell me what you were studying in school.”
“Statistics,” I tell him promptly, perking up as my passion spills over as if this is all normal.
“So, I take it you must really love numbers?” He raises his eyebrow at me.
“You could say that.”
“Do you want something to drink? I always like milk with my cake.”
“Milk is fine.”
Martin sets off to a different side of the kitchen, and I watch as he opens a cabinet door with glass paneling. I can see that this is where the crystal is on display. He plucks two beautiful glasses and fills them both with milk precisely at the same level, taking his time.
Holding the cold fancy glass in my hand, I down the milk straight away, not letting up for air as I gulp it down.
Placing the glass down in front of me, I notice Martin sipping on his.
“Do you want a tour of this place?” He grins in a friendly manner.
“Sure,” I respond indifferently, still feeling really unsteady about this entire situation, but at a loss for what my new life will hold.
