Ivara didn't remember leaving the building.
She remembered the elevator doors closing—the quiet descent. The way the city looked through the glass remained unchanged, as if nothing significant had happened.
Outside, a black sedan waited at the curb.
The driver didn't ask her name.
He opened the door and said, "Mrs. Voss."
Her spine went rigid. She didn't correct him. Correcting things didn't seem to matter today.
The car moved before she fully settled into the seat.
No music. No conversation. The windows were tinted just enough to turn the city into a blur. Ivara watched familiar streets pass and tried to calculate exits, alternatives, and ways this could still be temporary.
Calder hadn't come with her.
That should have felt like mercy.
Instead, it felt deliberate.
They crossed the river and climbed into the upper districts where the buildings thinned and the security thickened. The sedan passed through a private gate without slowing. Cameras tracked them. The lights stayed green.
The car stopped beneath a tower that didn't advertise itself. No sign. No name. Just stone, glass, and a quiet authority that didn't need branding.
The driver opened her door again. "This way."
Inside, the lobby was silent, as expensive places always were. No receptionist. No artwork meant to impress—just space designed for people who didn't wait.
An elevator opened immediately.
The doors closed. The ascent was smooth, uninterrupted.
Ivara folded her hands together to stop them from shaking.
The doors opened into a private foyer.
Not a hallway. Not a shared floor.
A residence.
The space was vast and restrained—pale stone floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city like a controlled exhibit. Furniture chosen for function more than comfort. Nothing personal. Nothing careless.
This wasn't a home.
It was a command center that happened to include a bed.
A woman waited near the entry, dressed in a tailored suit and holding a tablet.
"Ms. Knox," she said, then corrected herself smoothly. "Mrs. Voss. I'm Elaine."
"Ivara," she replied automatically.
Elaine smiled politely but didn't repeat it. "Your belongings will be delivered within the hour. We've already transferred essentials from your apartment."
Ivara frowned. "Transferred how?"
"With permission," Elaine said. "Granted under Clause Fourteen."
Ivara swallowed. She hadn't memorized the contract. That was on her.
Elaine gestured toward the interior. "I'll show you around."
They moved through the space with efficient steps.
Living area. The dining table looked unused. Kitchen stocked with food she hadn't chosen. The hallway leading to a bedroom suite that was too large to feel intimate.
"This is your room," Elaine said.
Your, not theirs.
Ivara noted that immediately.
"And his?" she asked.
Elaine's pause was brief but real. "Mr. Voss occupies the east wing."
Separate.
That should have reassured her.
It didn't.
Elaine continued, voice professional. "Security protocols apply throughout the residence. Movement outside the building requires notification. Schedules are coordinated daily."
"I'm not a prisoner," Ivara said.
"No," Elaine agreed easily. "You're a protected asset."
The phrasing tightened something unpleasant in her chest.
Elaine handed her a slim phone. "This device replaces your personal number for external communication. Your previous phone will remain functional for approved contacts."
"Approved by who?"
Elaine met her gaze. "By Mr. Voss."
There it was.
Ivara took the phone anyway.
"Dinner is at eight," Elaine said. "You're not required to attend. But it is customary."
"Customary," Ivara repeated.
Elaine inclined her head. "Rest. You've had a long day."
She left without another word.
The door closed with a soft, final sound.
Ivara stood alone in the bedroom, letting the silence settle.
The bed was untouched. Crisp. Neutral. Hotel-perfect. A closet door stood open, revealing clothing already arranged by color and function.
Her size.
Her taste approximated frighteningly well.
She crossed the room and pressed her palm to the glass. The city spread below her, distant and unreachable. She was high enough now that the ground felt theoretical.
A chime sounded behind her.
She turned.
Calder stood in the doorway.
She hadn't heard him enter.
He didn't apologize for that.
"You're settled," he said.
"I've been processed," she replied.
A corner of his mouth moved. "Efficiency matters."
"You moved my things without asking."
"You consented," he said calmly. "The contract allows for expedited transition."
"I didn't think you'd act this fast."
"That was your mistake."
He walked into the room, stopping at a careful distance away. Close enough to command attention. Far enough to honor the amendment.
"I want clarity," Ivara said. "Right now."
Calder nodded once. "Ask."
"What are the rules?" she said. "Not the legal ones. The real ones."
He studied her for a moment, then spoke.
"You represent stability," he said. "Publicly, you appear aligned with me. Privately, you do not act in ways that contradict that alignment."
"That's vague."
"Deliberately."
She folded her arms. "What about work?"
"You'll continue consulting," he said. "Within approved parameters."
"Approved by you."
"Yes."
"What about leaving this building?"
"You notify security."
"Not ask?"
A pause.
"Notification," he confirmed. "Denial is rare."
Rare wasn't.
"And the no-touch clause?" she asked.
Calder's gaze held steady. "It stands."
"For how long?" she pressed.
"For as long as you need it," he said.
That answer unsettled her more than a refusal would have.
She lowered her arms. "You're very comfortable with control."
"I'm comfortable with responsibility," he replied. "Control is a byproduct."
She laughed once, quietly. "You really believe that."
"I believe in outcomes."
Silence stretched.
Ivara realized something then. He wasn't watching her body. He was watching her reactions. Measuring which lines made her push back, which made her adapt.
She straightened. "This is temporary."
Calder didn't contradict her.
Instead, he said, "Dinner is in twenty minutes. Appearances matter."
"And if I don't?"
"Then tomorrow's headlines adjust accordingly."
Not a threat. A statement.
He turned to leave.
"One more thing," she said.
He paused.
"You said this contract protects you more than me," she said. "From what?"
Calder looked at her over his shoulder, expression unreadable.
"From uncertainty," he said. "And from wanting things at the wrong time."
Then he left.
The door closed.
Ivara stood alone again, pulse steady, mind racing.
She still believed she could outlast this.
Still believed she could learn the system faster than he expected.
Still believed twelve months was survivable.
What unsettled her wasn't the rules.
It was how easily she was already adapting to them.