After some time, Simon returned, a sleek black suitcase in hand. "Your clothes are in the upstairs room," he said curtly before ascending the stairs.
Stella watched him disappear, her jaw tightening in frustration. A part of her wanted to ignore him entirely, but curiosity got the better of her. With a sigh, she followed him upstairs.
When she stepped into the room, she found Simon carefully hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, his broad back to her. The sight was oddly domestic, yet the tension between them made the air heavy.
He knew she was there but didn't turn. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Stella finally broke it.
"Did..." She hesitated, licking her lips nervously. "Did that kiss mean anything to you at all?"
Simon paused, his hand hovering over one of her dresses. Slowly, he turned around to face her, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Without a word, he began walking toward her, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Instinctively, Stella took a step back, and then another, until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed.
She tumbled onto the mattress, her breath catching as Simon closed the distance between them. Hovering above her, he placed his hands on either side of her, caging her in.
His gaze was intense, his voice low and rough as he spoke. "That kiss, Stella? It wasn't enough. It will never be enough. I wanted more of you, all of you, and nothing less." His eyes burned into hers with a terrifying mix of desire and conviction.
Lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper, he leaned closer, his lips inches from hers. "You don't get it, do you? You're mine. Not just now, not just here—always. And I'll destroy anything, anyone, that tries to take you away from me."
"There are two things I want to say to you, Simon. One, you're sick. Two, I hate you." Stella's voice was sharp as a blade as she pushed him away and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
A few minutes later, she emerged, dressed in a black bandeau crop top paired with a flowing black maxi skirt and a sheer black robe. Her wet hair framed her face, glistening under the sunlight streaming through the window, and her presence radiated a fierce, almost dangerous allure. She looked every bit like a goddess of seduction, untouchable yet mesmerizing.
She glanced at the clock—it was 2pm Without a word, she made her way to the dining area, eating her lunch in tense silence. Simon's absence was both a relief and an irritation. Determined to find her phone, she began searching the house.
At the end of the dimly lit hallway, Stella's eyes landed on a partially open door, an unassuming crack of light spilling out into the corridor. Her heartbeat quickened, a mix of curiosity and apprehension driving her steps as she approached it. This has to be where he's hidden my phone, she thought, her hand hesitating just inches from the doorknob.
The silence in the house was heavy, almost oppressive, amplifying the soft creak of the floor beneath her feet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. But before she could push the door open, a shadow moved from within.
Simon stepped out with a fluid, predatory grace, his sudden appearance stopping her in her tracks. His piercing gaze met hers, and she felt her stomach drop.
Startled, Stella let out a sharp scream, instinctively stepping back. The abrupt movement threw her off balance, and she felt herself tipping backward, her arms flailing for support that wasn't there.
But Simon was faster. In a blur, his arms shot out, one snaking around her waist while the other gripped her wrist firmly, pulling her flush against his chest. The world seemed to slow as the air was knocked from her lungs.
Her breath hitched, her hands bracing against his chest as her eyes fluttered open. Simon was staring at her, his face inches from hers. His gaze was intense, unreadable, his crimson eyes burning with something that sent a shiver down her spine.
His grip was firm but not harsh, holding her securely as if daring gravity to defy him. Stella's pulse raced uncontrollably, and for a brief moment, the tension between them was palpable, electric.
"You're too careless, Stella," he murmured, his voice low and almost scolding, but there was an undeniable softness beneath the words.
"I wouldn't have been careless if you hadn't appeared like some ghost," she snapped, though her voice wavered, betraying her lingering shock.
"Why didn't you dry your hair?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
"My hair, my choice," she snapped, her tone defiant.
Simon's expression remained unreadable as he effortlessly lifted her into his arms.
"Simon, put me down!" she demanded, but he ignored her protests, carrying her up the stairs with an air of authority.
In the bedroom, he set her down on a stool in front of the vanity, retrieving a hairdryer. Checking the temperature, he began drying her hair, his fingers gentle yet commanding as they worked through her damp strands.
Stella's reflection in the mirror betrayed her turmoil—her anger, her vulnerability, and the faintest flicker of something she didn't want to acknowledge. Simon's gaze met hers through the mirror, steady and unrelenting.
"If you think doing this will soften me, you're wasting your time," she said, her voice tinged with frustration.
Simon smiled, leaning closer. "This isn't about softening you, Stella. If I want something, I take it. But you… I don't just want you. I need you. You're not just a part of my life—you are my life. Without you, there's nothing."
His words hit her like a thunderclap, her heartbeat stuttering at the intensity of his confession. A small chuckle escaped him as he noticed the effect he had on her, the corner of his mouth lifting in satisfaction.
"I need my phone," she said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation.
Simon's smile faded, his tone turning cold. "You'll get it back when you earn my trust."
Stella scoffed, standing abruptly. Trust? You lost that a long time ago, she thought bitterly but kept the words to herself.
Simon rose, his towering presence dominating the space. "Come down," he said firmly, gesturing downwards. "After that, we have work to do. It's time to test you."
Stella's eyes narrowed at his cryptic words, but she didn't argue. Not yet. Whatever Simon had planned, she would be ready—for him, for the test, and for her eventual escape.