The moment Elara set the pen down, the room seemed to exhale.
Not her. Not Vander. The room.
As if the walls themselves knew that a line had just been crossed.
Vander took the contract without a word. He didn't look triumphant or relieved. Just tense… like he was bracing himself for a storm only he could see coming. He closed the folder and slid it into a slim black case on the counter.
"That's it?" Elara asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "No… instructions? No lectures? No 'good choice'?"
Vander looked up at her. "This isn't a victory for either of us. It's a necessity."
Her stomach tightened. She didn't know what answer she expected, but it wasn't that.
He walked to the doorway and paused. "Come with me."
She didn't move at first. "Where are we going?"
"To see where you'll be staying. You need to know every exit, every room, every blind spot."
The word "blind spot" sent a cold shiver down her arms.
Still, she followed.
The hallway stretched long and silent, interrupted by the soft hum of hidden lights. Vander didn't look back to see if she was behind him; he simply expected her to follow. She wasn't sure if that annoyed her or reassured her.
He stopped at a door on the right and opened it.
"This will be your room."
Elara stepped inside and blinked.
It wasn't the sterile, cold guest room she expected. It was warm, surprisingly warm—soft cream walls, a large bed with layered blankets, a small reading nook by the window, and a closet already half-open as if someone had prepared it.
"There are clothes in the dresser," Vander said. "New ones. Your size."
She turned to him sharply. "How do you know my size?"
He didn't flinch. "I had to remove your shirt to treat your shoulder. It wasn't difficult to estimate the rest."
Heat surged up her neck. "You could've—asked."
"You were unconscious."
The embarrassment only got worse. She cleared her throat and looked away. "Right. Okay."
He stepped inside the room, moving toward the window. "This house looks ordinary from the outside. But the glass is reinforced, the locks are remote-controlled, and only I have access to the security controls."
Her eyes widened. "So I'm locked in?"
"You're secured in," he corrected. "There's a difference."
She wasn't sure the difference mattered.
He gestured to the door across the hall. "My room is there."
Elara froze. "Your room?"
"You'll need to be close. If something happens, I need to reach you in seconds."
A strange warmth twisted in her stomach—part fear, part safety, part something she didn't want to name.
"Is this… normal?" she murmured. "For you to keep someone this close?"
His expression changed—sharpened, darkened.
"No. It isn't."
The way he said it made her heart skip.
He stepped around her, but his voice lowered as he reached the door. "Rest. Your body is still in shock. And don't try to wander outside. You won't get far."
"Is that a warning?" she asked.
"A fact."
The door closed behind him.
Elara looked around the room again, trying to absorb what was happening. Just twenty-four hours ago she had been taking photos of street lights reflecting on puddles. Now she was living in a fortified house with a man whose shadows had shadows.
She sat on the edge of the bed. The softness surprised her, pulling her down a little as though it wanted to hold her. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle.
But silence didn't bring peace.
It brought memories.
Running.
Pain.
Screaming.
Vander's arm under her, lifting her, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
She opened her eyes quickly, breath shaking.
A soft knock came at the door. "Elara."
His voice.
"Come in," she said.
The door creaked open and Vander stepped inside, holding a small white pill bottle and a glass of water.
"Pain medication," he said. "You should take one now."
She hesitated. "Are you… a doctor?"
"No."
"A nurse?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like one?"
"Well—" she gestured vaguely at the bottle "—you seem to have a lot of medical supplies."
"I have a lot of enemies," he corrected. "And I can't afford to rely on hospitals."
Her heart sank at the reminder. She took the bottle and swallowed the pill.
He watched her, his expression unreadable, until she handed the bottle back. Then, he placed it carefully on the bedside table.
"You should lie down."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Elara frowned. "You don't even know me."
Vander met her eyes. "I carried you bleeding through the rain. I think I know enough."
Her lips parted—but no words came out.
He turned to leave again, but she stopped him without thinking. "Why did you really come to check on me?"
He paused, hand on the doorframe. "To make sure you're breathing."
Her heartbeat stumbled.
"That's… surprisingly gentle for someone like you," she said quietly.
His shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around. "You know nothing about what I am."
"Then tell me."
A long silence followed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer.
Lower.
More human.
"If I tell you, you'll be afraid."
"I'm already afraid."
He exhaled, slow and controlled. "Rest, Elara."
And then he left—this time without a backward glance.
---
Hours passed before she left the room again. Hunger eventually won the war against anxiety. She made her way down the staircase, holding the railing to keep her balance.
The house was larger than she thought. Too modern, too empty, like it had been staged for photos rather than lived in. She followed the faint sound of movement into the kitchen.
Vander stood there, sleeves rolled up, cooking.
Actually cooking.
She blinked. "You cook?"
He glanced at her. "I eat."
"That's not what I—"
"Yes," he said. "I cook."
He plated something simple—grilled chicken, rice, vegetables—and slid it toward her.
"For me?" she asked, surprised.
"You need food."
Elara sat slowly. "You didn't poison it, right?"
His eyes flicked to her, sharp. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be sitting here asking stupid questions."
Somehow… that was comforting.
She took a bite. It tasted better than she expected. He watched her eat for a moment before returning to his own plate.
"You still look afraid," he said.
"I'm living with a stranger," she said honestly. "A powerful, dangerous stranger."
"And yet," he murmured, "you signed a contract with him."
Her cheeks heated. "I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Then why did you sign it?" she countered.
Vander's fork paused midair.
"For reasons," he said quietly, "I'm not ready to tell you."
But the way he looked at her then— dark, intense, almost conflicted—
told her something she wasn't ready to admit.
This wasn't just about protection.
Not anymore.