Bryce DeHaven glanced at the caller ID on his phone – Jordan. He signed the documents in front of him before handing it over to the waiting secretary.
"Go on." Bryce said after he answered the call, and the secretary left his office.
"I didn't notice anything. Anthony didn't either." Jordan said from the other end, voice calm.
Bryce nodded his head, humming in understanding.
"Maybe you should do it yourself. You might notice something that we're unable to." Jordan suggested.
"Hmm." Bryce hummed in response before hanging up
Oakley Perez.
Who was she exactly?
****
Oakley had taken a nap and by the time she woke it was already night time.
Time seemed to fly really fast here... She thought to herself.
Someone knocked on her door and she walked over to open it, wondering who it was. Was it her dinner?
It was a maid. Correction, two maids both with a bag in their hands.
That didn't look like food.
"We're here to get you ready." The maids said walking into the room after she had stepped out of the way.
Get her ready? For what?
"What for?" She shut the door.
"Dinner." The maid responded. "You should go shower quickly. We'll wait here."
Nodding, though confused, Oakley went into the bathroom to freshen up.
What was so special about today's dinner?
----
Oakley sat on the edge of her bed as the final brushstroke of gloss slicked across her bottom lip. One of the younger maids beamed with pride, while another adjusted a strand of hair behind her ear.
"There," the older one announced. "You look lovely."
Lovely. She blinked at her reflection. The soft wine-colored dress hugged her frame in a way that made her uncomfortable. The fabric was smooth, the off-shoulder neckline baring her collarbones. It wasn't extravagant — no sequins or frills — but there was something deliberate in the simplicity. As if someone had picked it specifically to highlight her, not hide her.
"Why... why am I dressed like this?" she asked softly, eyes flicking to the maids in the mirror. "Is it necessary?"
They exchanged glances.
"You'll see," one murmured with a smile that felt too secretive.
Before Oakley could ask further, the door opened. "He's waiting," came a voice from the hallway.
He?
Her heart skipped. She stood, uncertain, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress as she followed the maids down the corridor.
Each footstep echoed louder than the last.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. She passed no one on the way — not Daniel, not Anthony, not even Jordan or Ian. It felt as though the mansion had emptied, all the noise swallowed up in preparation for this moment she didn't understand.
When they reached the large double doors of the dining room, one of the maids stepped forward and pushed them open.
"Oakley," the same maid whispered gently, motioning for her to step in.
She did — hesitantly.
The long table stretched before her like a stage, polished and gleaming beneath the chandelier's soft glow. The smell of roasted meat and herbs filled the air, but her appetite shrank the moment she saw the man at the head of the table.
It was him. The man she had met the night before.
He was seated casually, one arm draped across the chair, a glass of dark red wine swirling in his hand. His gaze met hers the second she entered — calm, cold, and unreadable.
Oakley's feet stopped moving.
Does this mean that she was right? He was her owner?
Shouldn't he be away? Working? Staying anywhere but here in this mansion?That's what gave her space to breathe in this house without having to feel like a pet awaiting the commands of its master.
But now he was here.
And watching her.
"You're late," he said coolly, voice as smooth as the wine he sipped from.
She flinched, startled. "I—I didn't know I was expected."
His brow lifted a fraction. "You were."
The silence that followed was sharp. Oakley's fingers clutched the side of her dress, unsure whether to retreat or move forward.
"Sit," he said, voice leaving no room for question.
There it was. The command and her expected compliance.
She obeyed, walking to the far end of the table where a plate had been set for her. The seat wasn't close to his, but it wasn't far either — just near enough to make her feel the weight of his presence.
As she sat, she avoided his eyes.
A maid entered and began to serve the dishes. Oakley reached for her fork with trembling fingers. She could feel Bryce's gaze on her — not overtly, not in a crude way — but something quieter, deeper. Studying her like a puzzle he wasn't in a rush to solve.
"You don't talk much," he observed after a long stretch of silence.
Oakley looked up, startled. "I... I don't know what to say."
"You've been in this house for days."
Her grip on the fork tightened. "Yes."
"Has anyone mistreated you?"
"No," she answered quickly. "Everyone's been... kind." And by everyone she meant just Ian. Though she still felt suspicious of him, he was the only one who didn't appear to be studying her like some textbook. Jordan would have been on the list too, but her recent encounter with him this afternoon wasn't so pleasing.
His head tilted slightly, as though testing the truth of her words. "Even Daniel?"
She hesitated.
His lips curved, barely. "Interesting."
Oakley dropped her gaze to her plate, suddenly aware of how dry her throat felt.
"Do you read?" he asked next.
The question was so sudden – so random – it threw her off.
"Yes."
"Fiction?"
She nodded. "Mostly."
"What did you pick from the library earlier?"
She blinked. How did he know?
"A... book on werewolf fantasy," she answered carefully.
A beat passed. "Any reason why?"
"I like myths," she said honestly, then quickly added, "They're... a good escape."
From what?
The question lingered in the air, unspoken.
Bryce didn't respond. He cut into his steak with slow precision, the sound of silverware sharp in the quiet room.
"I'm not keeping you here against your will, Oakley," he said suddenly.
Her heart stuttered.
She looked at him, confused. "You... bought me."
"That's different."
"How?"
He met her eyes now — truly looked at her — and she froze.
"I don't force what doesn't belong," he said quietly, "but I always keep what does."
Oakley's breath caught.
She didn't understand what he meant. And somehow, that made it worse.
She looked back at her food, barely tasting it as she forced another bite into her mouth. Her appetite was gone.
Bryce sipped his wine again.
The silence stretched. He didn't speak again. And neither did she.
But even without words, the tension crackled between them — a current that licked beneath her skin, made the room feel colder than it was.
She couldn't read him. She didn't know if he was being polite, testing her, or quietly amused by her discomfort.
All she knew was that every glance he gave her made her feel like she was standing under a storm cloud — seconds before it broke open.
*************
Guys, my book was just recently contracted🥹 so I'll be locking chapters soon. Please show some support by unlocking chapters... I want to go to college😭 It would mean so much to me.
Thank you all in advance 😅