-Treasure.
The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint trickle of coffee into the pot. I leaned against the counter, flipping through the work phone they'd given me, scrolling past the usual alerts and schedules, until something caught my eye. A photograph of Devon, not one we'd taken, but from some stranger's feed. The caption read: let's not look away from this new bodyguard of Bryce's, certainly an upgrade, about to start my own fandom just for him.
Curiosity pulled me deeper. I tapped the comments section, and there they were—a flood of girls practically spilling themselves across the screen in text form, gushing about his hands, his shoulders, his stance. Someone mentioned the veins on his forearms as though they were a rare work of art. A few were begging for more photos, and, as if on cue, others had delivered—different angles, different moments, Devon caught in candid focus, unaware he was being immortalized by lenses he didn't invite. The thread unraveled into questions—what was his name, did he have an account anywhere, why couldn't they find him? Then came the certainty that he'd appear again at the next concerts.
I kept scrolling, half-expecting it to fade out into harmless admiration, until one girl asked, don't you guys think he and Bryce look dashing together? Another jumped in to agree, and more followed, feeding the thought like it had been waiting to happen. My thumb paused mid-scroll. The weight of it sat strangely in my chest, a mix of heat and something colder.
I locked the screen and slid the phone into my pocket.
Michael, across the island, glanced up from the mug he was rinsing. "What's wrong? You look visibly upset."
I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that might pass for a tired smile. "Oh, nothing. Just need some sleep."
He smirked like he didn't buy it. "What, Elias has been way too demanding?"
Before I could answer, the phone in my pocket vibrated once. I didn't have to check the screen to know who it was. "Speak of the devil," I murmured, straightening.
I left the kitchen and made my way to his in-mansion office, the corridors stretching longer than they needed to, each step soft against the thick carpet. Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly of leather and something sharper—probably whatever cologne Elias favored today. I closed the door behind me.
He was seated at his desk, the morning light cutting in through the tall window, catching the edges of his glasses. He looked up as if I'd just stepped into his favorite part of the day, sliding the frames off with a deliberate slowness. A small smile curved at his mouth.
"Good morning," he said, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Are you ready for today?"
I gave him a polite nod, letting my own smile show in muted form. "Yeah. Very ready."
He studied me for a moment, as if my answer was a card he intended to read twice. "What's wrong? You look tired. Was it too much for you yesterday?" The way he said it dripped with that private implication, the shadow of last night's memory hovering between us without needing to be named.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep it casual. "No. Not at all. Just… still haven't fully woken up yet."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers resting against his chin, and for a moment, the silence between us felt almost tangible, as though the room itself was waiting to see which direction the morning would tilt.
He didn't look away. His thumb pressed lightly against the edge of his lower lip, eyes locked on me as though he could strip the morning open and study whatever he found inside.
"Come here," he said finally, his tone carrying that quiet certainty of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
I stepped forward, the carpet soft enough to mute my approach. The light from the window shifted over his desk, catching the fine grain of the wood, the faint dust motes drifting lazily in the air. I stopped at the side, close enough to catch the faint, warm trace of his cologne.
Elias tilted his head, his gaze sliding over my face with a precision that felt deliberate. "You really don't know how tired you look, do you?" he murmured.
I tried to keep my expression level. "Guess I didn't check the mirror this morning."
"You didn't," he replied, still studying me, "and if you had, you might've realized how unguarded you seem right now."
My pulse nudged up, not in panic but in awareness. He had a way of noticing the smallest cracks.
"You should learn to guard your face," he continued. "It's the first thing people read, the first invitation or warning. Sometimes it tells more than the words that come out of your mouth." His voice was calm, almost instructive, but I could feel the weight of the lesson was meant to press deeper than just appearance.
I stayed quiet, my gaze shifting briefly toward the papers scattered across his desk—neat, but not untouched. The pen beside them lay slightly angled, as though he had set it down mid-thought when I entered.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing back a strand of my hair. It was light, almost testing, but I felt it like a ripple under my skin. He didn't speak right away, just let his eyes linger there, as if mapping me in silence.
"You're not an easy read," he said at last, his thumb grazing the side of my temple before he let his hand fall. "But when you're tired, it's different. There's no mask, no careful answer. Just you."
Something in the way he said it felt too close, as if he'd stepped into a room I hadn't invited him into. I shifted my weight, unsure whether to stand still or move back.
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We have a long day ahead. Stay with me after the morning meeting. I'd like to walk the grounds before the guests arrive, and I think you'll find the view worth your time."
I nodded, though my mind was still caught on the subtle curl of his words, the way his attention had held me in place like a fixed point on a map.
His pen found his fingers again, rolling idly between them. "Go eat something before you come back. I don't want you running on an empty stomach. It makes you quieter, and I'm used to you talking."
It almost sounded like a compliment, though I couldn't tell if he meant it that way. I gave a small, careful smile, stepping back toward the door. The air in the office seemed heavier than when I'd entered, as though the conversation had pressed its own weight into the room.
I stepped out into the hallway, the muffled quiet of the mansion wrapping around me, and began making my way toward the kitchen, the taste of his cologne still faint at the back of my throat.
I went back to the kitchen, the scent of butter and something faintly sweet still clinging to the air. My plate was waiting for me, eggs cooling on one side, bread on the other, steam already fading into the stillness. I sat down, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table, and just stared at it. My stomach felt empty but not in the way that made you want to eat. The hunger wasn't for food, and it had no interest in being sated with anything on that plate.
What I saw on the phone kept pressing at the edges of my thoughts, the pictures of Devon frozen in other people's admiration. Strangers cataloguing him in little bursts of infatuation, lingering on the shape of his hands, the strength in his arms, the cut of his jaw. They wrote as if they knew him, like they could claim a piece of him simply because they had managed to capture him in a frame. And it shouldn't have mattered. It was harmless chatter. Harmless.
Still, that one comment—about him and Bryce looking good together—wouldn't let go of me. It looped, soft at first, then louder, as if repetition could carve it into something sharp enough to irritate. Devon would never cross that line with a client. This wasn't who he was. It had never been…
I stopped mid-thought, the truth sliding in like a knife slipped under fabric. I was the one doing it. I was the one in a client's bed. The weight of that irony pressed down until it felt heavier than the chair beneath me.
My mind strayed to last night, to the way Elias had moved with me. There had been a roughness, a kind of deliberate force that didn't shock me, not really—most of the time, with Devon, it had been rough too—but this was different. With Devon, there had always been something underneath it, something that made it safe, almost familiar, like the difference between a storm you've watched roll in for hours and one that bursts overhead without warning. With Elias, it had carried a shadow of something else, something closer to fear, though I didn't hate it. I just knew, in that deep, quiet part of myself, that I didn't want this to be the pace we settled into.
And then there was his hand in my hair. Always in my hair. I could feel the memory of it even now, the slow drag of his fingers, the pressure that felt too personal, too intrusive. I've always hated that, and it's not a dislike that grows out of nowhere—it's older than I can trace. The feeling has weight, shape, and edges I can't fully remember, like a door in my mind that stays locked no matter how I press against it. Only once had it ever been different—when Devon cut my hair as a kid, clumsy but careful, his hands steady enough that the tension didn't rise in my chest. Anyone else, and my scalp burned with the urge to move away.
I pushed my plate slightly forward, the scrape of ceramic on wood cutting through the quiet. The thought of eating felt further away than it had when I sat down. My head was full, the noise of it crowding out everything else, and yet I stayed there, motionless, as if waiting for something to shift. The smell of coffee in the corner, the faint tick of the kitchen clock, the hum of the fridge—everything steady, ordinary, while inside, my mind was pulling threads I wasn't ready to follow all the way to where they led.
The meeting had been held in a boardroom that seemed made for spectacle—walls of glass framing the sweep of the mountains beyond, snow brushed against their peaks like paint against canvas. Even now, after it was over, the view kept stealing my attention. The air in the open space of the company's top floor felt lighter, touched with the faint chill from the high-altitude breeze seeping in through the half-open terrace doors. The space was alive with a hum of voices, the soft clink of glasses, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with freshly poured champagne. Trays passed between the crowd, each offering neat rows of canapés and glossy miniature desserts, the kind you almost felt guilty biting into.
From the bits I caught while people were congratulating each other, the company had just released its first stocks into the market, and the celebration was more than just social—it was a victory lap. Elias, of course, wasn't just a guest. From the way his name was spoken, almost reverently, I understood he held a large share here.
I stayed a step behind him, letting my eyes roam across the room, until they caught on the woman standing with him. She was mid-thirties, maybe, medium height, ash-blond hair that looked like it had cost as much to maintain as most people's monthly rent, every strand in place, catching the light like polished silk. Her figure was the kind that pulled the eye without asking—every curve and dip balanced, precise, like it had been drawn with deliberate strokes. Her name was Bethany.
They were finishing some private joke when her tone shifted. "Aside from the jokes," she said, her voice warm but edged with something else, "do you still lend your findings?"
Elias tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity on his face. "What do you mean?"
Bethany's smile lingered, but her words pressed closer. "You know, I heard about Mrs. Lawson… about when you let one of your men accompany her to her car."
"Oh," Elias said, the syllable slow and knowing. "That. Well, your wish is my command. You pick and I shall deliver, Beth."
It was then her eyes found mine. She held the look without flinching, a long, measuring glance that felt more like an assessment than a greeting. I returned it, still trying to untangle what it was she wanted.
Elias' voice cut in, smooth but firm. "I'm sorry. Can't do."
Bethany's mouth pulled into a mock pout. "But why?"
"Well," he said, a corner of his mouth lifting, "not all my findings can be lent."
It clicked then. The meaning settled slowly, like a drop of ink spreading in water, and I still didn't understand why it would matter if I simply escorted her to her car.
Bethany's shrug was small, practiced. "Okay, fine. But can you at least make a recommendation? I'm staying over tonight at the Savinski Hotel, and I wouldn't like spending the night alone. Want someone on the DL."
Elias' smile thinned, not quite losing its charm but close. "You know Dr. Kramer would love to join. He's been drooling over you for the past, what, two months?"
Bethany's eyes narrowed slightly, though her lips kept their glossed curve. "I like them well-built, body carved. Dr. Kramer is double my age, Elias, don't get me started."
Elias laughed then, a deep, open sound that drew the attention of those nearby. "You'll always be my favorite, Beth."
Her reply came without hesitation. "You too. Kind of wish we were each other's types."
The words slipped into me with a strange chill, one that seemed to crawl along my spine and settle at the base of my neck. I understood, finally, what they'd been circling around all along. And I didn't like the taste it left in my mouth.
I excused myself under the pretense of needing the bathroom, though what I really needed was a pause. The low thrum of conversation and the laughter in that open space felt like it had begun to close in, every syllable about shares and profits turning heavy in my head.
Inside, the bathroom was all polished marble and soft lighting, the air scented faintly with citrus and something sharper. I turned the tap, letting cold water run over my hands before cupping them and bringing it to my face. The chill struck my skin in quick bursts, making my eyes sting for a second. I stayed like that, palms pressed against my cheeks, drops sliding down to the curve of my jaw. It wasn't about freshening up. It was about trying to push myself out of whatever corner my thoughts had been backing me into since that exchange between Elias and Beth.
I looked up at the mirror. The man looking back at me had the same faint shadows under his eyes I'd seen this morning, the same slight tension at the mouth. I straightened my posture, ran a hand back through my hair out of habit, then regretted it instantly, as if even my own touch had started to feel too intrusive there.
When I stepped out, she was waiting.
Beth stood just outside the door, leaning her shoulder lightly against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. The hallway lighting seemed to catch her in deliberate strokes, glossing over her hair, the slow curve of her mouth, the faint shimmer of her perfume reaching me before her voice did.
"You took your time," she said, as if she had been counting the seconds.
I slowed, stopping just far enough to keep space between us. "Were you waiting for me?"
Her smile deepened, not in answer but in acknowledgment. "I was. Thought we didn't really get a chance to talk in there."
The tone was smooth, coaxing, but her eyes were locked on me in a way that felt like she'd already decided the shape of this conversation before I'd even stepped into it. I could still hear the echo of her earlier words with Elias, the way she'd appraised me without needing to say much at all.
I leaned a hand against the frame of the door behind me, letting my gaze flick over her once before meeting hers again. "You could've spoken to me in the open space."
Beth tilted her head just slightly. "I prefer privacy when I want someone's attention."
Her perfume was stronger now, a blend of something floral wrapped around a darker, spiced note, settling into the air between us. She was deliberate with the way she stood—close enough to draw me in if I let her, distant enough to pretend it was just coincidence.
"What is it you think I can give you?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
Her smile softened, though there was nothing soft about the way her eyes held mine. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I like to find out for myself."
I could feel the weight of her intention pressing into the moment, waiting to see if I would step toward it or walk away.
Beth's gaze didn't move, not even for a flicker, as if she were content to hold me there until I filled the silence with something she could use. I stayed still, reading the slight arch of her brow, the measured lift at one corner of her mouth.
"You know," she said at last, her voice lower now, softer but edged, "when Elias said he couldn't lend you out, I couldn't tell if it was because you were too valuable… or because you were already spoken for."
The words slid under my skin before I could stop them. My jaw tightened, not in anger, more in that slow, defensive awareness that comes when someone steps too close to a truth you'd rather they didn't see.
"And which is it?" I asked, steady, letting the question hang without giving her anything else.
Beth's smile widened just slightly, the kind that was meant to signal she'd found what she was looking for. "If I had to guess… both."
Her perfume lingered heavier now, like it had settled on the walls as much as on her skin. She shifted her weight, uncrossing her ankles, and for a moment it felt like she was going to step closer.
Footsteps cut through the hallway, slow but decisive. Elias appeared at the far end, his suit jacket open, glass in hand, eyes already on us. He didn't hurry, didn't even seem to register surprise at finding us like this.
"Beth," he said as he reached us, his tone warm enough to pass for friendly but threaded with something proprietary. "I thought you were mingling."
"I was," she replied, unbothered, turning her head just enough to glance at him, "but I'm a good multitasker."
Elias looked at me for half a beat before returning his attention to her. "Then you'll understand if I steal him back. He's on the clock, after all."
Beth's mouth curved again, but she didn't argue. "Of course. Wouldn't dream of keeping your… findings from you." The pause before that last word was deliberate, aimed at him, but her eyes came back to me when she said it.
She stepped away with a grace that looked rehearsed, disappearing down the hall toward the open space.
Elias watched her go, then turned to me, his expression unreadable. "You've made an impression."
I didn't answer, only let my gaze drift toward where Beth had vanished, still feeling the weight of her words in the space she'd left behind.
Elias turned his glass in his hand, the ice inside shifting with a muted clink, his gaze fixed ahead as if the view down the hall was more interesting than the woman who'd just been standing there with me.
"Beth has a way of… seeking out what catches her eye," he said, almost as if to himself, though I knew it was for me. "She's direct, charming when she wants to be. But you already noticed that, didn't you?"
We started walking back toward the open space, his stride unhurried, every step matching mine without the need to look.
"She likes the chase," he continued, tone even, conversational. "But I think you might have given her too much to work with." His eyes cut toward me for a moment, brief but sharp, like the edge of a blade passing just close enough to feel its air.
"I didn't give her anything," I said.
"Didn't you?" He let the question hang, almost as if he enjoyed the sound of it more than any answer I could give. "You stood there with her in a hallway, door at your back, her leaning on the wall like it was built for her. Do you know what that looks like?"
I didn't answer, and his mouth curved faintly, not quite into a smile. "It looks like an invitation. Whether you meant it or not, that's what she'll tell herself. And what other people might tell themselves too."
The hum of the crowd reached us again, laughter spilling into the hall. He lifted his glass, took a slow sip, and spoke without looking at me. "You're here because I asked you to be here. I don't particularly enjoy sharing the things I keep close."
The words were quiet, steady, but they carried the kind of weight that told me he wasn't just making conversation.
We stepped back into the open space, the mountain view spilling in through the glass, champagne bubbling in flutes on silver trays. Elias' attention was already shifting outward, to the next handshake, the next smiling exchange, but the jabs he'd left behind in the hallway stayed right where they'd landed.
The noise of the room washed over me the moment we stepped inside—voices blending with the faint chime of glasses, the soft undercurrent of music no one was really listening to. Elias was already slipping into another conversation with a pair of men near the terrace doors, his manner as polished as ever, the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth hiding whatever he didn't want shown.
I stayed a step back, scanning the crowd like it was part of my job, though my mind was fixed on the words he'd just left me with. There was a hollowness in my chest that didn't come from guilt, because I hadn't done anything wrong. Beth had been waiting for me, not the other way around. I hadn't given her an opening—no invitation in my words, no subtle lean forward, no soft edge in my tone to encourage her. And yet, the way Elias spoke, you'd think I'd been the one who had gone looking for her.
It wasn't just the comment about not liking to share, either. There was something under it, a promise that this wouldn't be the end of the conversation. He'd thrown it out like a seed, and I could feel it already beginning to take root, certain it would grow into something else later. Elias wasn't fussy about nothing—he didn't waste that kind of energy. If he was this sharp about a hallway exchange, it meant he'd already decided it was worth filing away.
I told myself it didn't matter, that whatever he thought he saw didn't change the truth. But the truth didn't seem to matter much in rooms like this, where perception walked ahead of reality, shaking hands and smiling while it introduced itself.
I kept my eyes moving, the mountains beyond the glass a stillness I couldn't reach, and let the hum of the room fill the space where an answer should have been. Whatever Elias thought now, I knew there was more waiting beyond tonight, and I didn't like the shape of it forming in the distance.
The mansion felt different when we came back that night, as if the air had thickened and slowed in the hallways. Elias walked ahead without looking back, heading straight to his room, his pace steady but full of a certain purpose. I didn't have to guess what it was.
A couple of minutes later, Cassandra appeared in the corridor, her heels tapping against the polished floor like a metronome. She didn't bother with a greeting, just stopped in front of me, her voice clipped. "Elias is waiting for you."
It was all she needed to say.
I braced myself as I made my way toward his room. Every step on the staircase felt heavier than the one before, the air around me carrying that static weight you could almost hear if you listened close enough. It was the kind of turbulence you didn't see but felt, the warning hum before a storm broke.
When I reached the door, I knocked once, knuckles sharp against the wood, and waited.
"Enter," came his voice from inside.
I drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly. My hand turned the handle with care, and I stepped in, already bracing for impact.
The room was dim, lit by the pale wash of moonlight spilling through the tall windows. Elias stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, looking out at the gardens below. His posture was deliberate, controlled, a man who already knew how this conversation would go.
I shut the door softly behind me and cleared my throat. "You asked for me."
He turned then, moving with measured slowness, his hands still locked at the small of his back. "Yeah, I asked for you. Treasure, I have a question. Allow me to ask questions… I mean, you've been asking me questions basically every time you see my face."
I nodded once, slow, unsure how far he was about to take this.
"So," he said, tilting his head just slightly, "what exactly do you think you're doing here?"
"I'm your personal security guard."
"Good. Good," he said, his voice soft but coiling. "My personal security guard, right?"
"Yes, sir."
He narrowed his eyes faintly. "We're in private. Don't call me sir. Call me Elias."
"Yes, Elias. Sorry."
"Now," he said, stepping forward just enough to close the space between us slightly, "did you get to reflect on what happened earlier this evening?"
I kept my gaze steady. "I don't quite understand what I did wrong that I should reflect on. I do understand that this woman wanted something. I swear, I didn't know at first what she meant, because she said escort to the car. So I thought she meant just that—escort her to her car. But of course, I wouldn't have done it without your order. I didn't know what she wanted, and I didn't understand what you two were talking about at the time."
He shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth but never reaching his eyes. "I can't sometimes believe you can be this naive, Treasure. You've been around me long enough to know how things go. I'm a businessman. I invent things. I code magnificently. I'm all brains and looks. The whole package. You know that, right?"
I said nothing, just watched him, waiting.
"But there's another side to this," he went on, his voice carrying that silk-wrapped steel. "When you're around the elite—of business, of society—you bend to fit. And I don't like bending alone. I like people around me to be flexible too. So I can't believe you haven't picked up on what's going on by now. At this point, that would be borderline ridiculous."
I let his words hang there for a moment before answering, my voice lower. "You said you're a businessman, an inventor, and good looking… but you didn't say anything about running a service for the elites."
That was the match.
In an instant, he was on me, closing the space with a speed that barely gave me time to react. His hand fisted in the collar of my shirt, yanking me forward until I could see the wild glint in his eyes.
"What do you mean by running a service, Treasure?" His voice was low, dangerous, carrying a heat that felt like it could burn through the air between us.
I met his stare without flinching. "You know what I mean. And if I have to understand what you do behind the curtains, I'm pretty sure you can understand what I'm saying right now."
His grip tightened. "You've kind of forgotten your place. You forgot your place." His eyes were wide now, the sheen in them unsettling, almost fevered.
"You don't register that you're employed by me. I'm the employer. I'm the one who pays you, you sick shit. And I'm the one who decides what you do and what you don't. You don't get to talk to me like that. There are boundaries you don't cross, and you're crossing them. And that's not because I invited you into my bed, made you a bath, talked to you, read to you. No matter what happens, that doesn't mean you get to step over those lines."
His hand was still tight in my shirt, the fabric biting into the skin at my collarbone, his breath close enough to feel against my face. The room felt smaller with every second, as if the walls were leaning in, and I could hear my own pulse in my ears, steady but loud. I didn't move. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a step back.
The shove came so fast there was no space to catch myself. My back hit the door hard enough for the wood to shudder, the handle jamming into me just under the ribs. A flash of pain tore through my side, sharp and concentrated, like a hot wire pressed to bone. I didn't make a sound. My jaw locked, my teeth grinding together, my eyes shutting against the sudden brightness behind them. The air in my lungs felt trapped, heavy, as if moving it would make the pain worse.
Elias' voice reached me through the pulse in my ears, steady, almost conversational, but weighted with ownership. "Let's circle back. You're mine, Treasure. Okay? You're my personal security guard, and you're basically mine to do whatever I want. I don't want you wandering off. No woman, no man, gets to be near you. You're not like the rest. I've already made you special. I hope that much is clear."
The words skimmed over me like water on stone. I wasn't hearing them the way he wanted me to. My focus had narrowed to the point of pain, the throbbing deep in my side keeping time with my heartbeat. My palm pressed into my thigh, trying to ground myself in something other than the ache radiating from where the metal had struck.
"Am I clear, Treasure?"
I opened my eyes slowly, just enough to meet his shape in the dim light. "I… I need to go right now," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "I don't feel like this is okay."
His head tipped slightly, sharpness in his tone. "What do you mean this is not okay?"
My hand moved behind me, finding the exact spot where the door handle had driven in. Even the lightest touch made the muscles seize under my fingers. "I'm… I… " The words broke apart for a moment, my breath hitching with the sting. "I just can't. I need to go to my room. You made your point. I'm… I'm going now."
"I'm not finished," he said, stepping forward.
"I'm in pain," I told him, the words coming quicker now, like I needed to get them out before he stopped me again. "I just need to relax for a bit, and then we can continue this conversation."
Something shifted in his face then, subtle but quick. His stance eased, the edge in his voice dropping away entirely. "You're in pain?" There was a thread of concern there, real enough to catch me off guard. "Why are you in pain?"
The change made my mind stumble. My body was still knotted from what had just happened, but now he was looking at me as if none of it had been meant to hurt in the first place. It left me unsettled, caught between the echo of the impact and this sudden, almost gentle tone. My hand stayed pressed to my side, the warmth building under my palm, while I tried to make sense of the way the ground seemed to have shifted without moving at all.