For days, Jemma had been watching.
She never asked questions, that would be stupid, but she saw things. She had more time to observe now, they weren't giving her as much tasks after the asthma attack, she was sure it was Xavier's doing.
The timing of the gardener's shift changes. The small side door in the north wing that Lucy once left ajar when bringing in flower arrangements. The way the guards were heavier around the front gate in the mornings, lighter just after lunch. Even the rain the night before had helped; the earth was soft, the air smelled of damp soil, and the crunch of footsteps on gravel would be quieter than usual.
She had been here long enough to know Xavier's routine, or at least, what passed for a routine in a man like him. He came and went without notice, but when he did leave, the entire house seemed to loosen. People moved faster, more openly, like they'd been holding their breath in his presence. And today, she had overheard him telling someone in the study that he'd be out for "a few hours." It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Jemma had memorized the floor squeaks, the way her door hinges moaned if she opened them too quickly. She waited until the clock in her room clicked over to 2:13, the moment the upstairs hallway went still after the maids disappeared into the laundry room. She slipped her shoes on quietly, heart drumming. Her palms were damp, but her mind was steady.
This is it. Just one shot.
She moved fast but careful, keeping her head down as she passed the large mirror in the hallway so she wouldn't have to look at herself. She hated how different she looked here. Too pale, too quiet.
The north wing smelled faintly of lemon polish and dust. She passed the closed door to the library, the one he sometimes gave her tasks in, and her throat tightened. She didn't want to think about Xavier right now, not the way he looked at her when she defied him, not the way his voice wrapped around threats like silk.
She found the side door exactly as she remembered. The brass knob was cold under her fingers. She turned it slowly, willing it not to creak, it didn't.
When the door opened, a gust of cooler air rushed in. Her heart leapt. She was outside.
The garden was empty. The gardener, a man in his late forties who sometimes nodded politely to her, was nowhere in sight. She skirted the hedges, staying in the shadows. Her eyes kept darting to the front gate, just visible between the trees. Two guards were there, but one stepped away toward the driveway, distracted by a phone call. The other was leaning on the fence, back turned.
Now or never.
She crouched low and slipped toward the old stone path that cut behind the tool shed. The air smelled of wet grass and gasoline. She could hear her own breathing, fast and shallow. She kept her steps light, avoiding loose stones that might crunch.
The gate was bigger now, looming. Just thirty feet. Twenty. She could see the road beyond, glistening from the rain, the faint sound of a car somewhere far away.
Her fingers brushed the rough metal of the gatepost.
And then—
"Jemma."
The sound of her name froze her mid-breath.
It wasn't shouted. It wasn't loud. But it cut through her like the crack of a whip.
She turned, slow, her stomach plummeting.
Xavier was standing by the corner of the shed, hands in his pockets, his dark coat still wet from the drizzle. His eyes weren't just cold, they were dangerous in that way still water is dangerous, hiding depth and current.
"How—" Her voice caught. "You weren't—"
"Here?" He stepped forward, boots silent on the damp ground. "I changed my mind."
The guard at the gate shifted awkwardly, eyes flicking anywhere but toward them. Xavier didn't even glance at him.
Jemma's heartbeat was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Still, she straightened her back. "I was just—"
"Trying to leave," he finished for her, his tone flat. "You were this close to making it." He lifted his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart. "Almost impressive."
Her pulse spiked. "Then maybe you should be impressed," she said, sharper than she meant.
Something flickered in his expression not amusement, not yet, but it vanished as fast as it came.
"Walk," he said, turning toward the house without looking to see if she obeyed.
She didn't move. "No."
That stopped him. Slowly, he turned his head back toward her. The rain had left his hair slightly mussed, but his eyes… those were locked on her, and the air seemed to thicken.
"You think you're in a position to tell me no?" His voice was low, almost too calm.
She swallowed but didn't break eye contact. "You can't keep me here forever."
"Watch me."
Her jaw clenched. The distance to the gate seemed to shrink and stretch all at once. She thought about running, just turning and sprinting. But the guard was watching now, tense. And Xavier… he would catch her. She didn't doubt it.
When she didn't move, he closed the distance in three strides. His hand wrapped around her wrist, not bruising, but firm enough that she felt the steel in it. "Inside," he said, and this time it wasn't a command. It was a promise of what would happen if she refused.
She tried to twist away, muttering, "You don't own me."
His mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile. "No. But I own your time. Every minute you breathe here is mine, Jemma."
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her chin up. "Then maybe I'll just stop breathing."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind rattling the wet leaves. His grip on her didn't tighten, but his gaze… it pinned her more than his hand did.
When they walked back or rather, when he walked and she was half-dragged, the whole house seemed to be holding its breath. The staff avoided looking at them. Her shoes squeaked faintly on the marble. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips.
He didn't speak again until they reached his study. The door closed behind them with a soft click. The silence was heavy.
"You almost made it," he said, pacing a slow circle around her. "That's the part that… irritates me."
"You mean scares you," she shot back.
His head tilted slightly. "Careful."
She lifted her chin higher. "Or what? You'll give me another scar? You'll lock me in the library? I'm still here, Xavier. And next time, I'll get further."
Something in his jaw tightened. He stepped closer, so close she could smell the faint smoke on his coat, the rain still clinging to the wool. "Next time," he murmured, "you won't get the chance."