Elena stepped into the dining room, her dress carefully chosen, hair neat, and expression composed. Despite all her preparation, her stomach still churned. Victor Hale was already seated at the head of the long oak table, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning her as if measuring her worth.
She paused, taking a deep breath. His gaze didn't soften; if anything, it sharpened as she approached.
"Sit," he commanded softly.
Elena slid into the chair across from him, hands folded neatly on her lap. The table was immaculate: fine china, crystal glasses, and breakfast laid out in perfect symmetry. It all screamed control—his control.
Victor lifted a brow. "Nervous?"
"No," she said quickly, though her pulse betrayed her.
He smirked faintly, a dangerous curl of his lips that made her stomach twist. "Liar."
Before she could reply, a footman placed a silver tray in front of her. "Breakfast, Miss Moore," he said politely.
Elena nodded, picking up her fork. Every bite felt heavy, her mind unable to focus on anything except Victor's presence across the table. He didn't eat yet, only watching her with that unnerving intensity that made her feel exposed.
"You need to understand," Victor said finally, his voice calm but firm, "every action in this house is observed. Staff notice everything: where you sit, how you respond, what you say."
Elena swallowed. "I understand."
"You will understand," he corrected, leaning back. "And if you make a mistake…" His eyes glinted dangerously. "It won't be forgotten."
She nodded again, tightening her grip on the fork.
The footman served him his meal, and Victor finally began to eat. Elena tried to concentrate on her toast and fruit, but she couldn't. She was too aware of him—the way he held his knife, the slight tilt of his head, the power radiating from him even in silence.
"You were noticed last night," he said suddenly, stopping mid-bite.
Elena froze, swallowing hard. "Noticed?"
"Yes," he replied, setting his fork down. "By certain… women. They were curious. You caught attention."
Her cheeks burned. "I didn't—"
"You did," he interrupted. "And I need you to remember: appearances are important. You belong to me here. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good." He leaned back, a slight smirk curling his lips. "The staff needs to see respect, obedience, and composure. Not flirtation or fear. They must understand you are mine—and mine only."
Elena swallowed, heart racing. "I… understand."
Victor picked up his fork again, and the silence stretched, heavy and tense. Elena tried to eat, but the taste of the food was swallowed by the weight of his gaze. Every glance he cast in her direction made her shiver.
"You're learning fast," he said finally, his voice quiet, almost approving.
Elena's stomach dropped. That word—approving—was dangerous. She hated how her chest fluttered at it.
"I am not—" she started, but he cut her off with a raised hand.
"Do not speak out of turn. You'll learn when to respond, when to act. Do not test me, Elena. Not in front of the staff, not privately."
"Yes," she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best effort to remain calm.
Victor smiled faintly, a flash of something dark and commanding in his eyes. "Good. You'll make mistakes, of course. But I'll correct them… personally, when needed."
Elena felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, a mix of fear, frustration, and something far more dangerous stirring deep inside.
Breakfast continued in tense silence. She felt the weight of his control pressing down on her, the danger of his presence lingering in every glance and every word he spoke.
When the meal ended, he stood abruptly. "Clear the table," he said to the staff, then turned to her. "Come with me. There are things you need to learn—privately."
Elena's heart thudded. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant.
And despite herself, a small, guilty part of her wanted to see what lessons he had in store.
Because this wasn't just a contract anymore.
It was a war of wills.
And she was already losing.