The Vane Estate didn't look like a home; it looked like a fortress.
Perched on a cliff overlooking the Hudson, the minimalist glass-and-steel structure felt as cold as the man who owned it. As the black town car pulled into the heated driveway at 5:45 AM, Elara clutched her battered duffel bag to her chest. It was the only thing she had left of her old life.
"Mr. Vane is in the gym," the butler, a man named Henderson who looked like he hadn't smiled since the nineties, informed her. "I am to show you to the Master Suite."
"The... Master Suite?" Elara stumbled over the words. "As in... his room?"
"Appearance is everything, Madam," Henderson said without turning around. "The staff must believe the lie if the world is to believe it."
The bedroom was larger than Elara's entire apartment. It was decorated in shades of charcoal and slate. The bed was a massive, king-sized expanse of silk sheets that looked like they had never been ruffled.
But it wasn't the bed that caught her eye. It was the wall.
Across from the bed was a gallery of empty frames. Dozens of them. Beautiful, ornate gold and silver frames, but every single one of them was missing its canvas.
"Why are they empty?" she whispered.
"That is none of your concern," a voice rasped from the doorway.
Elara whirled around. Silas stood there, draped in a white towel, his skin glistening with sweat. Without the tuxedo, he looked even more intimidating. His shoulders were broad, his chest scarred with a thin, jagged line near his heart, and his muscles were honed with the kind of precision that came from obsession, not just health.
Elara quickly looked at her shoes. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just... I'm a restorer. Empty frames are like open wounds to me."
Silas walked past her, the scent of cedar and sweat filling her lungs. He stopped at one of the frames—a heavy, Baroque piece—and traced the wood. "Some things are better left missing, Elara. They can't be broken if they aren't there."
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You'll have three hours to settle in. My stylist will be here at nine. We have a lunch meeting with the Board of Directors at noon. You will wear what they give you. You will speak when I prompt you. And most importantly..."
He stepped closer, his shadow looming over her. "You will look at me as if you love me."
"I'm an artist, Silas, not an actress," she snapped, her pride finally sparking through the fear.
Silas grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his damp chest. The heat from his body burned through her thin dress. Elara gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his bare shoulders.
"Then learn," he hissed, his eyes dropping to her lips. "Because my cousin Marcus will be at that lunch. He's spent ten years looking for a weakness in my armor. If he sees you flinch when I touch you, he'll tear us both apart."
For a second, the air between them thickened. The "business deal" felt dangerously personal. Silas's gaze softened for a heartbeat, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, before he abruptly let her go.
"Three hours, Elara. Don't be late."
He disappeared into the dressing room, leaving her trembling in the center of the cold, gray room.
Elara turned back to the empty frames. She realized then that Silas Vane wasn't just a vulture. He was a man who had stripped his life of everything beautiful so that he'd have nothing left to lose.
And she had just been framed and hung on his wall.