Chapter 3 In His House

Part 1: The Housekeeper

The door whispered shut behind her.

Ivy stood in the entryway for a moment, heels clicking softly as she shifted her weight, unsure if she was supposed to wait, speak, knock again even though there was no door between them. Knox didn't follow. The car pulled away.

She was alone.

Except she wasn't.

A soft voice drifted from down the hall.

"Ms. Taylor?"

Ivy turned.

A woman stood near the stairwell, wiping her hands on a dark linen apron. Late fifties, maybe, with a lined face and sharp, intelligent eyes. Her posture was straight, her tone polite-but not stiff. More like someone who'd seen too much to be easily surprised.

"I'm Mirella," the woman said. "I handle the house."

Ivy exhaled. "Hi. Uh. Ivy. But you probably knew that."

Mirella gave a tiny smile. "Of course."

She walked over, not quite warmly, but not coldly either. Something neutral, practiced. Like she'd worked in high places long enough to keep herself three steps removed from everything.

"Come," she said. "You shouldn't stay in that dress any longer than necessary. Mr. Soren doesn't like makeup on the furniture."

Ivy raised a brow but followed her up the staircase.

"Does he live here alone?" she asked as they climbed.

Mirella's heels were nearly silent on the stairs. "He doesn't live. He operates."

Ivy blinked. "What does that mean?"

"It means the house is his, but don't expect it to feel like a home."

They reached the guest wing. Mirella opened Ivy's bedroom door and stepped inside, walking over to the closet like she'd done it a thousand times.

"There are fresh robes here. Sleepwear. And the linens are changed every third day."

"Thanks," Ivy said. "This place is... intense."

Mirella didn't respond to that. Instead, she turned toward the corner of the ceiling and tapped the light switch.

A soft click followed.

Ivy frowned. "What was that?"

"Camera off," Mirella said simply.

Her mouth went dry. "Wait. It was on?"

"It's always on. In the hallway. In the kitchen. In the guest wing."

Ivy stared. "What about my bedroom?"

Mirella met her eyes evenly.

"It's not my place to say."

Something sharp passed between them.

Not hostility. Not comfort either. Just... truth.

Ivy lowered her voice. "Does he really watch all of it?"

Mirella didn't answer.

But she didn't deny it.

She moved toward the door.

Before she left, she paused. "He's not cruel, Ivy. Just used to getting what he wants. That includes obedience."

Ivy's throat tightened. "And if I'm not obedient?"

Mirella held her gaze for a moment.

Then smiled.

But it didn't reach her eyes.

"Then I'd advise you not to sleep too soundly."

The door closed.

Ivy stood in the middle of the perfect room, perfectly lit, perfectly watched.

She turned toward the mirror.

And for the first time, wondered if this house had any mirrors that weren't two-way.

---

Part 2: The Surveillance Room

The next day was quiet.

Too quiet.

Knox was gone before she woke. No note, no message, just the buzz of the house alive without him. Mirella brought her breakfast like clockwork. Ivy tried to read, tried to explore, but everywhere she went, she felt eyes.

By late afternoon, the silence got to her.

She wandered past the library, down a hallway she hadn't noticed before-narrow, darker, more utilitarian. No art on these walls. No designer lighting.

And at the end of it: a door.

Unmarked. Slightly ajar.

She hesitated.

Then pushed it open.

Inside was a room that didn't match the rest of the house.

It was windowless. Cold. Lined with black screens. A wall of monitors flickered in the dark-some showing the front gate, others the kitchen, the garage, the stairwell.

And one-

Her room.

Live.

She stared at it, frozen. Her bed. Her empty coffee mug. The robe she'd tossed on the chair. Everything.

Then the feed flickered.

Changed.

It was a recording.

Last night.

She was asleep, curled tight on her side. The room glowed soft and blue in the security camera's night mode.

She watched, breath held.

And then-he appeared.

Knox stepped into frame.

He didn't turn on the light. Didn't touch her. Just stood in the doorway. Watching.

Minutes passed.

He didn't move.

Just stood there. Silent. Still. Staring at her like she was something valuable and dangerous all at once.

Ivy's hand clenched at her side.

Another screen flickered. Then another.

He hadn't just checked once.

There were multiple recordings-different nights, different angles. Some from her first day here. One of her brushing her hair in the mirror.

Another of her curled up with a book on the couch, barefoot.

And in most of them, somewhere in the frame-blurry, still-Knox.

Watching.

Not hidden. Not secret.

Just... present. Unapologetic.

Like he wanted to be seen.

"I didn't give you permission to be in here."

The voice came from behind her.

Smooth.

Close.

She spun.

Knox stood in the doorway. No jacket. Sleeves rolled. Calm.

Dead calm.

"I-" she started, "-I was just walking and-"

He stepped inside.

She backed up instinctively.

He glanced at the screen showing her sleeping form. "You sleep like you're afraid to wake up."

She didn't answer.

He walked past her, hit a button, and all the screens went black.

Then he turned toward her.

And finally, for the first time, smiled.

"You can scream if you want," he said softly. "No one's listening in here."

---

Part 3: The Warning

Ivy didn't scream.

She couldn't.

Not because she wasn't afraid - she was. But not in the way she should've been.

Knox stood there, the screens behind him now dark, the silence in the room thicker than the walls. He hadn't moved since he said it.

"You can scream if you want."

It wasn't a threat.

It was a test.

"I wasn't trying to snoop," Ivy said, voice tight.

"Of course you were."

She swallowed. "Then maybe don't leave the door cracked open to your personal spy hub."

He stepped closer.

Not fast. Just one step. But it felt like the floor shifted under her.

"I don't hide the way I protect what's mine," he said.

She held his gaze. "You mean watch."

Knox tilted his head. "You're here to be seen. That's the job."

"Not like that."

Another step. Close now. She could smell the faint hint of his cologne-something dark and expensive.

"You didn't read the contract carefully enough."

"I read it," she snapped. "It didn't say you could film me sleeping."

"It said I could do whatever I deemed necessary for protection."

"Of you or me?" she challenged.

His eyes dropped to her lips. "Both."

Her breath caught.

Knox's hand lifted-not touching, just hovering near her jaw, like he was thinking about it.

"You look better when you're angry," he murmured. "More awake."

She didn't flinch.

"If you want me to be obedient," she said, "maybe try being less of a creep."

That earned her something rare: a real smile. Small. Sharp. Amused.

"There she is," he said quietly. "I was starting to worry you'd gone soft on me."

He stepped past her then, casual, like they hadn't just been standing on a wire pulled tight.

At the door, he paused.

"I know you feel watched," he said. "Because you are. But don't mistake that for weakness."

She turned. "What is it, then?"

He looked over his shoulder.

"Attachment."

And then he was gone.

---