Episode 9
The morning after the crisis, the temperature in the Lennox mansion felt several degrees lower than the day before. The unspoken moment in Lily's room—the lingering, charged silence and the sharp, sudden rejection—had created an invisible, absolute boundary between Zavian and Ella.
Zavian was the first to retreat, building his walls higher than ever. He communicated solely through written notes, leaving precise, formal instructions regarding Lily's recovery and schedule on Ella's office desk. He buried himself in the most severe work at Lennox Capital, returning home later than usual and maintaining a rigid, chilling distance. When he did speak to Ella, his voice was flat, focused strictly on facts and schedules. He was fighting the memory of the near-kiss by asserting absolute control over the entire household.
Ella reacted by plunging into her own work, using it as a shield. She deliberately avoided Zavian, using Lily's recovery time or her office as excuses. She even started auditing the house's expenses with unnecessary fervor, using the petty details of wasted money to justify her renewed hatred for the cold man who owned the place. She needed to remind herself that he was merely the Trustee, the jailer, the man whose ruthless business decisions hurt real people. The moment of vulnerability in the sickroom was a dangerous lie, and she needed to protect her own heart.
Their mandatory dinners became agonizing. The silence was no longer merely professional; it was thick, charged with the memory of the sickroom intimacy. Every accidental brush of hands near the serving spoon, every shared look over Lily's head, was a battle against the overwhelming awareness they now shared.
Lily, now recovered and back to her normal energetic self, immediately sensed the change. The comforting rhythm she'd found during the illness was gone, replaced by a strain she couldn't understand.
"Why is Zavian wearing his angry face again?" Lily asked Ella one morning, kicking her feet beneath the table.
"He's not angry, Lily," Ella sighed, pushing her uneaten breakfast away. "He is simply... focused on work. He's very busy."
"But he was nicer when I was sick," Lily insisted, her bright green eyes fixed on the hallway where Zavian had disappeared. "He sat by my bed and didn't yell about the spilled juice. Now he looks like a big, sad rock."
Lily's simple observation cut through Ella's defenses. Zavian was isolating himself, not just from her, but from the child he was contracted to protect. Ella realized that the near-kiss hadn't just scared her; it had scared him more, pushing him back into the lonely fortress of his work.
That evening, Lily tried to force them together. After dinner, she marched over to Zavian, who was reading a dense financial document, and thrust a picture into his hands. It was a chaotic drawing of the three of them—a stick figure Zavian with a severe black face, a stick figure Ella with a messy bob, and a brightly colored Lily.
"We have to color this together now," Lily announced firmly. "Families color together."
Ella watched, ready for Zavian's cold rejection. But Zavian merely looked at the paper, then at Ella, his eyes unreadable. He looked completely helpless.
"Ella," he said, his voice flat, "this requires coordination. Handle the logistics."
Ella stepped forward, accepting the crayons with a sigh. They sat on the floor, on opposite sides of the coffee table, a physical moat of polished wood separating them. The silence was unbearable. As Lily enthusiastically colored Zavian's severe black suit bright purple, Ella realized the boundaries hadn't been fixed; they'd simply been moved. The tension was coiled tighter than before.
A few days later, while meticulously organizing Zavian's legal and financial files—part of her legitimate role as an analyst and now a desperate escape from him—Ella found something odd. It wasn't a schedule violation or a high-calorie receipt. It was a complex legal document related to Lily's trust.
The document detailed a recent, highly unusual inquiry made into the trust's financial status. The request wasn't from the typical bank or oversight committee; it came from a private legal firm known for handling complex family disputes and inheritance challenges.
Ella's professional focus kicked in instantly. The request was formal, detailed, and utterly unnecessary, unless someone was actively looking for a weakness in the trust's management. She found a name associated with the legal firm: Thorne & Finch.
The realization was a sharp jolt of adrenaline. This wasn't just Zavian being cold; a genuine, external threat was developing. This inquiry suggested that someone believed Zavian's new marriage and guardianship were fraudulent and that they were preparing to challenge the entire arrangement.
Just as she filed the document away, Zavian's phone rang in the next room. His low voice was strained, sharper than usual. Ella couldn't hear the exact words, but she clearly caught a few phrases: "legal liability," "unforeseen challenge," and "They are moving faster than anticipated."
Ella froze. Zavian was stressed, distracted, and clearly fighting an external battle he was refusing to share. The man who valued control above all else was suddenly battling something he couldn't schedule or intimidate.
Ella knew two things: First, the trust, Lily, and her contract were all in immediate danger. Second, she now had a secret piece of information that Zavian did not know she possessed. The quiet domestic war had officially become a fight against a common, unseen enemy, and Ella's independent investigation was the only thing that could save them.