The city gave way to quieter streets, the glow of neon replaced by softer pools of lamplight. The hum of traffic faded, replaced by the occasional whisper of tires on wet pavement.
Olivia sat in the warm cocoon of the car, her overnight bag at her feet. She told herself to relax, to breathe, to at least pretend this was no different than calling a rideshare to a friend's house.
But it wasn't.
With every passing street, she had the strange, undeniable sense that she was being pulled further from the world she knew—closer to his.
The car finally slowed, turning through tall, wrought-iron gates that swung inward without a sound. She caught the gleam of cameras tucked into the stone pillars.
Her pulse stuttered.
They followed a long driveway, lined with trimmed hedges and old oak trees whose branches reached toward the sky like dark, silent guardians. At the end of the drive, an imposing house rose from the shadows—three stories of stone and glass, with light spilling from tall windows. The building looked less like a home and more like something from an architectural magazine.
The car stopped. The driver, silent until now, stepped out to open her door. Cool night air brushed her skin, carrying a faint scent of rain and cedar mulch.
Raymond came around the other side, his hand brushing the small of her back as he guided her forward. The touch was brief, almost casual, but it sent an electric ripple through her.
"You live here?" she asked quietly, her voice sounding small against the vastness of the place.
"For now," he replied, as though the mansion was a temporary inconvenience. "Come."
The front door opened before they even reached it, revealing a man in a perfectly tailored suit who looked like he'd stepped out of an old spy film. He inclined his head in greeting but said nothing.
Inside, the air was warm, scented faintly of polished wood and something more elusive—an expensive cologne that matched Raymond's. The foyer stretched upward, the ceiling disappearing into shadow, a crystal chandelier casting fractured light across the marble floor.
Her boots clicked softly as they crossed the space. Every step felt loud. Every movement felt like it was being noticed, recorded, filed away.
"Hungry?" Raymond's voice broke through her thoughts.
"No, I—"
"You haven't eaten," he interrupted, without looking back. "We'll fix that."
It wasn't a suggestion.
He led her into a room that wasn't quite a dining room and wasn't quite a kitchen—an open space with sleek counters, dark cabinetry, and a long table set for two. A tray of food already waited, steam curling from it as though it had been timed to their arrival.
She sat, not entirely sure if she'd been invited to.
Raymond took the seat opposite her, his movements measured, unhurried. He poured her water, the crystal glass catching the chandelier's light.
"How many people work here?" she asked, partly to fill the silence.
"Enough," he said, his gaze steady on hers. "They don't concern you."
Her fork paused midair. "And if I'm curious?"
The corner of his mouth curved, not in amusement but in warning. "Curiosity can be dangerous, Raymond. In my world, more so than in most."
She set the fork down, heat creeping up her neck. "And yet you brought me here."
G
"Exactly," he said quietly.
Something in the way he spoke—like the words themselves carried an unspoken promise—made her throat tighten.
Dinner passed in a strange, charged silence, broken only by the quiet clink of silverware. When she was done, Raymond stood.
"Come," he said again, leading her up a staircase that seemed to spiral forever. The second floor opened into a wide hallway, lined with doors she instinctively knew she wasn't meant to open.
At the far end, he pushed open a door to a room softly lit by lamplight. It was beautiful—warm colors, a balcony overlooking the trees, a bed that looked impossibly comfortable.
"This is your room," he said. "You'll stay here tonight."
She stepped inside, the carpet thick beneath her feet. "And where will you be?"
"Close enough."
Her pulse quickened at the ambiguity in his answer.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if making sure she was inside safely—or perhaps making sure she understood she was now inside.
"Rest, Olivia" he said at last. "You're safe here."
And then he was gone, the soft click of the door sounding far louder in the quiet room.
She stood there, surrounded by luxury, but unable to shake the feeling that she'd just stepped into something she couldn't step out of.