After bathing, I dress myself in a white sundress with cap sleeves and a square neckline that reaches past my knees to the middle of my calves. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I gather my thick, hip-length brown hair and tie it back into a high ponytail.
My face looks naturally flushed from the heat of the water. I’ve always considered myself an average-looking girl, with amber eyes and a complexion that is far too fair for my liking. But the worst of my assets are my D-cup breasts on my otherwise petite frame. I despise how much they stand out, which is exactly why I always wear a minimiser bra to hide them.
The events of last night have left me completely unsettled, running rampant in the back of my mind. I try to convince myself that it was just a misunderstanding on my part; after all, I have never been this close to a man before. Was it all just in my head?
Whatever the truth, I am not ready to face him. The mere thought of being in his presence again makes my heart race, my fingers turning jittery. To avoid him, I intentionally skip breakfast, hoping he will have already left the house by the time I finally go downstairs.
My stomach rumbles in protest, but I force my mind to stay occupied by reading. Checking my watch, I see it is 11:45 AM. I convince myself that enough time has passed for the house to be safe.
I brace myself, open the door, and turn the corner—only to smack right into a solid wall.
Oh god, my nose hurts.
The impact sends me falling backward onto the floor. Blinking through the sudden sting, I see a pair of legs standing right over me. I trail my eyes upward and find Elijah with his phone pressed to his ear.
“I’ll have to call you back,” he says coldly into the receiver before disconnecting the call.
He extends a broad palm down toward me. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment as I reach out and place my hand in his. He pulls me up to my feet effortlessly.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I rub the tip of my sore nose and instinctively nod, taking a defensive step back from him.
“Sophie,” he rumbles, warning bleeding into his deep tone.
I take a shaky, deep breath and force myself to look up at him.
“Does your nose hurt?” he asks, his gaze locked onto my face. “Any more rubbing, and you’re going to look like a clown.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“Why are you sorry? It was an accident on both our parts,” he comments dryly. “Go downstairs and put some ice on it for a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
I take a wide step around him, treating him like a live bomb that could detonate at any second.
“One more thing,” his voice stops me cold before I can reach the stairs. “I want you downstairs for breakfast at eight sharp every morning. No more skipping meals. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, sir,” I stammer out my answer.
I hear his heavy, boot-clad footsteps moving away. I turn and watch his retreating back until he disappears through a set of massive double doors at the far end of the corridor. Is that his home office? Shaking myself out of my daze, I turn and head downstairs to find some ice.
My heart is still hammering against my ribs as I enter the pristine, sunlit kitchen. After last night’s warning, I half-expect a lecture just for walking in here.
A kind-faced woman in a neat apron is busy wiping down the marble countertops. She looks up, her eyes widening slightly when she sees me clutching my face.
“Oh, heavens! Miss Sophie, are you alright?” she asks, quickly setting her cloth aside. “I’m Mrs. Rose, the housekeeper. What happened to your nose, dear?”
“I... I accidentally bumped into a wall,” I lie softly, too embarrassed to admit I ran full-speed into Elijah’s chest. “Sir told me to put some ice on it.”
At the mention of Elijah, Mrs. Rose’s posture straightens with immediate respect. “Of course. Sit right down at the island, dear. Let me wrap some ice in a towel for you.”
She was apparently on a leave past week, gone away to visit her son.
Before I can slide onto a barstool, the click of high heels echoes across the hardwood floor. Martha walks into the kitchen, a tablet in her hand and a sharp frown on her face. She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes flicking from me, to my red nose, and then to Mrs. Rose.
“What is going on in here?” Martha asks, her voice dripping with annoyance.
“Miss Sophie had a little accident, ma'am. Mr. Elijah requested she ice her nose,” Mrs. Rose explains gently, handing me a cold, cloth-wrapped ice pack.
Martha’s eyes narrow into slits at the mention of her husband’s name. She steps closer, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Elijah is still home? Why on earth is he handling your clumsy accidents?
I shrink back, pressing the ice pack to my face to hide my trembling lips.
“I’m sorry, Martha. It was an accident. I didn't mean to bother him.”
“Clearly,” Martha scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Just make sure you stay out of his way, Sophie. He has enough actual corporate fires to put out without dealing with a stray teenager.
And Mrs. Rose?” Martha turns a cold glare towards the housekeeper.
“Once she is done with the ice, make her a plate. Elijah left explicit orders before he went into his study that Sophie is to be fed immediately, or we will all hear about it.”
Martha spins on her heel and breezes out of the room without another word.
I sit there completely frozen, the ice freezing against my skin, my mind racing. Elijah threatened the household staff just to make sure I ate?
I’m still lost in my thoughts, when Mrs. Rose gently places her hand on my shoulder.
“What would you like to have, darling?”
I startle and look up at her. “Anything is fine, I’m not really picky. I can always wait for lunch—I know you must be busy with the lunch prep, so I can wait... I’m not really hungry anyway.”
“Shhh... take a deep breath, darling,” she interrupts softly.
I snap my mouth shut, cutting off my nervous blabbering, and take a deep breath just like she said.
“Now, you will have your breakfast, and you are never a trouble to anyone here. Understood?”
I nod my head, a wave of relief washing over me. “Yes. Thank you.”
She smiles sweetly at me. “So, how do pancakes sound?”
My eyes widen with pure glee, and she lets out a warm laugh at my expression.
“Pancakes it is, then,” she comments, walking back toward the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. I look at the cozy setup and clear my throat softly. “Mrs. Rose, if you don’t mind, can I just sit right here by the kitchen island? That is, if I’m not going to be a hindrance to you.”
“Darling, this is your house too, and you can do whatever you feel like,” Mrs. Rose says warmly. “Come now, sit by me while I make these pancakes and talk to me.”
I readily agree. Picking up my coffee cup, I leave the massive, freezing dining area behind and walk back into the warmth of the kitchen. I pull out one of the sleek barstools at the island and make myself comfortable.
We chat about random things as the smell of batter hits the griddle. I ask about her own family and how long she has been working here. She tells me she has two sons, both of whom have finished their education and now work for Elijah's corporation.
She herself has been working for Elijah for more than a decade—long before Martha was ever a part of his life.
“He is just the sweetest boy,” Mrs. Rose murmurs fondly. “Very protective and caring.”
I stare at her, my brows furrowing in sheer confusion. Seeing the unasked question written clearly across my face, she looks up and clarifies, “Elijah, darling.”
My eyes widen at her proclamation. That can't possibly be true.
Mrs. Rose chuckles at my expression. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll get to know him in time. He is all hard exterior, but he has a gentle soul inside.”
Yeah, and I’m a saint, I think dryly to myself.
“He took me in when I had nowhere to go after my husband’s death,” Mrs. Rose explains softly, a faraway look in her eyes. “He gave me a place in this house where I could raise my two boys, took care of their education, and now they work for him in his company. He is always quietly helping the people around him.”
Mrs. Rose lives in one of the private quarters behind the mansion, and she has lived there ever since. Because of her age, Elijah strictly forbids her from exhausting herself; she only handles the cooking, while the rest of the heavy housework is managed by two other full-time staff members.
I guess he isn't entirely heartless, I realize silently. If he can care for Mrs. Rose to such an extent, there must be some good in him.
My anxiety fades, and I go back to happily stuffing my face. When Mrs. Rose asks about my life at the convent, I answer her between large bites of my heavenly breakfast.
God, I am never skipping a meal again if the food tastes this amazing.
“Mrs. Rose, I explicitly asked you to make something healthy for her, not this sugar-laden food.”
The bite of pancake instantly turns to sawdust in my mouth.
I freeze, looking up to find Elijah standing at the kitchen entrance. He is dressed impeccably in a dark three-piece suit, looking every bit the ruthless billionaire CEO, ready to head out for the day. His face is completely expressionless as his dark eyes locked onto me.
“Pff... Not everyone hates sugar and eats boiled cardboard like you do, Elijah,” Mrs. Rose scoffs with a playful wave of her hand. “Let the sweet girl enjoy her breakfast.”
My jaw practically drops. Wow, she isn't even a little bit afraid of him.
Elijah’s jaw clenches hard at the housekeeper's teasing. He walks slowly and deliberately toward the kitchen island, his commanding presence instantly shrinking the room. Without a word, Mrs. Rose smoothly hands him a glass bottle filled with green juice. He takes it, gives me one last lingering look, and turns on his heel to walk away.
My expression turns sour just looking at the swamp-green color of that juice. No sugar, and bitter juices—no wonder he is so grouchy all the time.
“I heard that,” a deep voice rumbles across the kitchen.
Elijah hasn't even turned back around.
My eyes bug out in absolute horror. Oh my god, did I say that out loud?
Mrs. Rose snickers softly beside me, quickly turning away to make herself busy with the dishes to hide her amusement.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I gasp, my face burning red. “I didn’t mean to say that…”
“Yes, you did,” he replies coldly, his steady footsteps never slowing down as he continues down the hall.
Hot tears instantly prick my eyes. How could I be so careless and callous? A few seconds later, the heavy thud of the front door echoing through the mansion signals his departure, followed by the distant rumble of his sports car driving away.
I turn to the housekeeper in a panic, a tear escaping and slipping down my cheek. “Mrs. Rose, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect him. Truly.”
“Oh, darling girl,” Mrs. Rose coos gently, pulling me into a soft side-hug.
“It is completely fine. Do not worry your little heart so much. He was just pulling your leg. Come now, finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”
——————————————————-
Elijah's POV
It has been an incredibly busy day, filled with back-to-back, exhausting meetings. I am just wrapping up the final details of my schedule with my assistant when my personal mobile rings on the desk. I dismiss my assistant with a brief nod and pick it up.
“Yes?” I answer, my voice tight.
“Good evening, Sir. This is Steve. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
“It's fine, Steve,” I reply, leaning back in my leather chair and loosening my tie. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if you had given any further thought to the issue in Sophie’s trust fund since the last time we spoke? There have been more inquiries regarding her estate from two more individuals today. I'll forward you their details shortly.”
My jaw tightens instantly, corporate instincts taking over. “What did they want?”
“I did not entertain their inquiries, so I wouldn’t know the specifics, Sir,” Steve admits over the line.
“Good,” I grunt. “Go ahead and execute the changes exactly as we discussed last time. I’ll take full responsibility for everything moving forward. Any and all decisions regarding her asset protection will come directly through me.”
On the other end of the line, Steve lets out a heavy, relieved breath. “Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate it. Sophie’s father always spoke very highly of you, and now I completely understand why.”
“And Steve?” I add, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous warning. “I don’t want anyone else finding out about this layout. It stays strictly between the two of us.”
“I understand completely, Sir.”
“Is that all, Steve?”
“Actually...” the lawyer's voice suddenly sounds incredibly hesitant over the line. “I spoke to Sophie today—just a routine check-in call. She seemed a bit off. She was asking me if it would be legally possible for her to move into her own apartment by the end of this month, as soon as she turns eighteen.”
My jaw clenches hard at the new information. An apartment? A dark surge of irritation hits my chest. What could have possibly possessed her to think she is leaving this house?
“I’m not doubting your guardianship, Sir,” Steve stammers quickly, sensing the sudden shift in my mood. “I just... I felt I should mention it.”
“I will take care of it, Steve,” I cut in, my tone leaving no room for argument. “And don’t ever hesitate when it comes to Sophie's well-being. I understand your reluctance, but you must remember that protecting her is your primary responsibility. Keeping me informed will never be a mistake.”
“Thank you, Sir. I’ll draft the new trust papers and hand-deliver them to you personally tomorrow morning.”
“Good evening, Steve,” I say, disconnecting the call. I turn my focus to the woman waiting by the door. “Let’s finish the rest of the paperwork tomorrow. Tell James to pull the car around front.”
After dismissing my assistant, I leave the executive suite and take my private elevator down to the garage. Sliding into the leather backseat of the sedan, I pour myself a glass of water from the console bar. What the hell was Steve talking about? Did something happen at the house while I was gone?
I close my eyes, resting my head against the leather backrest. Instantly, my vision fills with that beautiful, angelic face. Sophie. I picture her trembling lips, her flushed, heated cheeks, and her glassy amber eyes brimming with tears. She would look absolutely exquisite on her knees...
I snap my eyes open, thoroughly displeased with the dangerous direction of my thoughts. I clench my fists tightly, grinding my teeth to force myself back to reality and centre my focus.
She is an anomaly I never saw coming. A pure, untainted sweetness like hers has absolutely no place in a world as dark as mine.
After a short drive, the sedan pulls up in front of the mansion.
James steps out to open the door for me. Buttoning my suit jacket, I walk inside the quiet house and cross the grand foyer. I find Martha sitting alone at the expansive dining table, completely absorbed in her phone as she picks at her dinner.
My eyes sweep the room, noting the empty chair. Why isn’t Sophie down here eating with her?
“Where is Sophie?” I ask, my voice sharp enough to startle Martha.
Her face scrunches up in immediate irritation. “I’m not her keeper, Elijah. If I wanted children, I would have had my own by now. So, to answer your question—I don't know, and I don't care.”
My jaw clenches hard at her utter nonchalance. Fuck. Marrying Martha was undeniably the biggest mistake and deepest regret of my entire life. Without wasting another second on her, I turn and walk away before I completely lose my temper.
Just as I head toward the corridor, Mrs. Rose walks out of the kitchen, ready to leave for the night. She stops me, offering a gentle, knowing look.
“Your dinner is already heated, Elijah. But please, make sure you get that sweet girl to eat something. She hasn't come downstairs once since breakfast.”
I nod my head tightly, acknowledging her warning as she departs. Stepping into the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water, my frustration mounting.
So, she skipped lunch too. I check my watch; it’s already 9:30 PM. What am I going to do about this girl? It is clear we need to have a very serious discussion about her complete lack of self-care.
“You know, it’s tacky and beneath you to care so much for a mere housekeeper,” Martha’s voice drifts over from the dining table, dripping with condescension.
“She hardly does anything anymore. We could get someone much better for the astronomical amount you pay her, not to mention the free residence you provide.”
A cold, dangerous fury replaces the exhaustion in my veins. I step out of the kitchen and walk slowly toward the dining table, sliding my hands into my trouser pockets. I lock my gaze onto her, giving her my absolute, undivided attention. Martha immediately squirms, the casual arrogance fading from her face as she registers the sheer anger radiating from mine.
“Because this is my house, Martha,” I say, my voice dangerously low and quiet. “Everyone under this roof follows my rules. Who stays here and who works here is my decision alone. If you have a problem with that, you are more than welcome to pack your bags and walk out.”
She flushes, completely flustered by the blunt threat. “No, I—I’m sorry, Elijah. I didn’t mean it that way. I just care about you. I didn't want you getting cheated, that's all.”
“The only thing you care about is yourself, Martha,” I cut her off ruthlessly. “So next time, choose your words very carefully. If I ever find out that you have disrespected anyone in my house again... you will not like the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
She sinks back into her chair, thoroughly chastised, nervously looking anywhere but at me.
“Yes,” she whispers.
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