Along with memorizing the location of his bedroom and office, as well as familiarizing herself with the layout of the entire mansion, Naomi spent the next few days wandering freely.
To the maids and bodyguards who silently observed her from a distance, she was exactly what she appeared to be: the new, bored wife, drifting aimlessly through the halls to pass time. They saw her pause to admire a painting, or trace the pattern on a vase with a vacant expression, a beautiful, listless ghost in their master's cage.
But for Naomi, every step was a mission. Every glance was a calculated act of reconnaissance. She was mapping the guards' patrol routes, noting the blind spots in the hallway cameras, and testing the various doors.
Mostly, she drifted past the two doors that mattered most. She would find excuses to be on the second floor in the late morning, "getting lost" near the west wing, hoping to catch a glimpse of his office. She would linger on the third floor in the afternoon, fake interest in a sculpture placed strategically between her room and his.
During this time, she learned an important piece of intelligence. Only one maid had access to both rooms. It wasn't a title she wore, but a pattern Naomi observed with a hunter's focus. The other maids would clean, dust, and polish everywhere else.
But this one maid, a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes was different. Naomi saw her approach the office door one morning. The maid didn't use a key. She pressed the buttons, her fingers flying over a keypad, entering a sequence too quickly for Naomi to see from her position down the hall. The door clicked open, and the maid disappeared inside for a few minutes before emerging, the door sealing shut behind her with a soft, final thud.
Later that day, Naomi saw the same maid on the third floor. This time, she wasn't using a keypad. From her viewing point hidden behind a corner, Naomi watched as the woman produced a small, silver key from her pocket, unlocked the door to Xavier's bedroom, and slipped inside.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with chilling clarity. One maid. Two forms of security. A biometric scan and a keypad for the office, and a traditional key for the bedroom. The maid was the gatekeeper to his entire world. All she needed now was to figure out the combination. And the maid was the only key.
That evening, the silence in the dining room was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Naomi ate silently beside Xavier, pushing a piece of grilled fish around her plate with her fork, her appetite non-existent. The routine had become a part of her, a nightly performance of survival.
Once he finished eating, placing his cutlery together with a sharp, final click, he spoke up. His voice cut through the silence, laced with a cold annoyance.
"I've been informed you haven't been eating lunch." He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the glass in his hand. "It's been almost three weeks since you've become my wife, and you're already acting like a child." He paused, letting the insult hang in the air before turning his cold, grey eyes on her. "Are you not hungry, or are you just fucking incompetent?"
Naomi responded in silence, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on her plate. The words were like stones, but she knew better than to react. To react was to give him what he wanted.
"Lunch is at 1:30 pm," he said, his voice harsh, a command that was not to be questioned. "Be there if you know what's good for you." With that, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor.
He took slow, deliberate steps towards her, and Naomi rose on autopilot, her body moving through the motions it had been brutally taught. She knew what was to come. His goodnight kiss.
He stopped in front of her, and just like every night, he crashed his lips against hers. There was no tenderness, only a brutal, punishing pressure. The kiss was demanding and dominating, a violent claim of ownership that left no room for breath or thought.
It was bruising, a painful reminder of his power. Naomi knew the kiss was coming; she experienced it every single night, a nightmare on repeat. But that didn't make it any less painful. Each time, it was a fresh violation.
Afterwards, he pulled back, a smirk twisting his lips as he looked down at her. Naomi was gasping for air, her lips swollen and throbbing, a familiar, humiliating ache.
He savoured the sight of her distress for a moment before turning and walking towards his bedroom, leaving her there, trembling and broken in the echoing silence of the dining room.
For a few more days, the silent dance continued. Naomi would find a reason to be on the second floor around mid-morning, faking interest in a vase or a window's view, while she waited. Her patience was a thin, rope, but she held on, knowing this was her only chance.
Then, it happened.
The maid arrived, her movements as precise as always. She approached the office door, and Naomi's heart leaped into her throat. But today was different. As the maid raised her hand to the keypad, she shifted her weight slightly, a subtle, almost unnoticeable movement to adjust her footing. In that brief moment, Naomi saw it. A flash of numbers under the maid's fingers.
2... 6... 0... 8.
The sequence was burned into her eye, with hope and terror. The maid finished her task and left, the door closing with a soft, final click. Naomi was left alone in the hallway, the numbers echoing in her mind.
She waited until the maid's footsteps had completely faded down the hall. Now was the time. But her feet were fixed on the same spot. Her hands were trembling, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. What if someone sees her? What if a guard turns the corner? What if the combination is wrong and it sets off some kind of silent alarm, or worse, a loud one?
She stood there for what felt like an eternity, her mind a chaotic battlefield of fear and desire. The fear was a physical thing, a cold knot in her stomach that made her want to run back to the safety of her room and never leave. But the desire... the desire for normalcy, for a taste of freedom, for a sliver of control in this life he had stolen from her, was a powerful, hungry fire.
She thought of the maid's dismissal. She thought of the daily humiliation of dinner and the nightly violation of his kiss. She thought of Anaya, of the sacrifice her sister had made, a sacrifice that would mean nothing if Naomi remained a beautiful, terrified doll for the rest of her life.
The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but beneath it, something new was stirring: resolve. This was a risk, yes, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She looked left, then right, her eyes scanning the long, empty hallway. The polished floors reflected the dim light. No one was coming. The guards were on their timed patrols, the maids were occupied in other wings of the massive house. It was now or never.
With a final, deep breath that did little to calm her trembling nerves, she approached the door. Hesitantly, she raised a shaking hand to the keypad. The numbers felt cold and smooth under her fingertips. She tried to steady her breathing, to slow the frantic thumping in her chest.
2... Her finger trembled as it pressed the first button.
...6... Sweat trickled down her forehead.
...0... She was holding her breath now, her lungs burning.
...8. She pressed the final digit and held her hand, frozen in place.
For a second, there was nothing. Absolute, deafening silence. Her stomach dropped. It failed. It was a trick. An alarm is about to go off. Panic, cold and sharp, began to claw its way up her throat.
And then she heard it. A soft, almost inaudible click.
It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. The door creaked open a tiny bit, revealing a sliver of darkness within.
She had done it. The door was open. A wave of dizzying relief and adrenaline washed over her, so intense it almost made her knees wobble. She was in.
A wave of joy washed over Naomi. For the first time in weeks, something was going her way. It was a small victory, a crack in the seemingly impenetrable wall of his control, but it felt temporary.
Slowly, she pushed the heavy door open just enough to peek inside. The dark, masculine space was revealed, exactly as she remembered it from that one, terrifying time she had been summoned.
The massive desk, the wall of glass overlooking the dark grounds, the scent of power. But this time, she was looking at it on her own terms. It was no longer just his domain; it was a place she could enter.
The thrill of it was terrifying and exhilarating. She didn't dare step inside. That was too much, too soon. This was just a test. With a final, confirming glance, Naomi quickly pulled the door shut. It clicked softly, re-engaging the lock. She spun around and practically ran, her footsteps silent but swift on the marble as she made her way upstairs, her heart pounding with a victorious rhythm.
Back in the safety of her room, she leaned against the door, a breathless, giddy laugh escaping her lips. She felt head over heels happy. Things were finally going according to her plan. She had a key, the combination 2-6-0-8 was a sign of hope in her mind. For the first time, she felt a flicker of real power, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this.
What Naomi doesn't know, what she couldn't possibly know in her bubble of hard-won hope, is that the moment the lock on his office door disengaged, a silent, encrypted notification was sent to a secure server, a secure server that only lead to one man.
Downtown, Xavier sat in a boardroom, listening to the executives drone on about quarterly projections. He wasn't paying attention. His phone, lying face down on the polished table, vibrated silently.
He casually picked it up, swiping it open. A single notification appeared on the screen, a simple, clean line of text: OFFICE ACCESS - UNLOCKED.
Xavier
The boardroom was a fucking bore. Some executive was droning on about quarterly projections, his voice a boring hum. I was halfway through a mental checklist of my assets when my phone vibrated silently on the polished table. I picked it up, swiping the screen open without interest.
OFFICE ACCESS - UNLOCKED.
I tapped the camera feed app, my thumb moving with practiced ease. The screen split into four views of my office. I saw the maid, the one with the tight bun, let herself in. She moved with her usual efficiency, placing a stack of fresh papers on my desk, straightening a picture frame, and cleaning. Routine. Nothing out of the ordinary. I dismissed the notification, my attention drifting back to the meeting just as the executive started talking about marketing strategies.
Fifteen minutes later, another vibration. Same notification.
OFFICE ACCESS - UNLOCKED.
Annoyance pricked at me. What the fuck was she doing? Did she forget something? I sighed, running a hand through my hair, and brought up the camera feed again, ready to see the maid. But the hallway was empty. I frowned, switching to the camera angle directly outside the door.
And then I saw her.
It wasn't the maid. It was her. My precious wife. Naomi. Her head was darting around like a frightened little bird, her hand raised to the keypad. I watched, frozen for a second, as her trembling fingers typed in the code. The door clicked open.
The rage was instantaneous, a blinding fire that consumed me. It was a primal thing. She had disobeyed me. She had gone into my space. The one place I told her was forbidden.
"Mr. Thorne?" the executive's voice cut through my fury.
I didn't answer. I stood up so fast my chair shot back and crashed against the wall behind me. With a surge of fury, I swept my arm across the table, sending laptops, files, and a carafe of water flying. The crash was deafening, the sound of shattering glass and clattering metal. The room fell silent, everyone staring at me, their faces a mixture of shock and terror. My assistant flinched, her eyes wide with confusion.
That fucking bitch, I thought, my knuckles white where I gripped the edge of the table. Once I get my hands on her...
But then, as the red haze of my anger began to decrease, another thought crept in, cold and slithering. It was a dangerous, thrilling thought. She thought she was so clever. She thought she was getting away with something.
A slow, cruel smirk twisted my lips. I could punish her now. I could go home and drag her out of that office by her hair, make her regret the day she was born. But where was the fun in that?
No. I would let her have this. I would let her snoop. I would let her believe, for a little while, that she had the upper hand. I would watch her on the cameras, let her build her little hopes and plans. And then, when she thought she was about to win, when she was standing on her pathetic little pedestal of victory... I would crush her. I would crush her so completely she would never even think of defying me again.
I knew what she was after. And I was going to get to it first. The game had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.