Chapter 3 - The Temporary Haven
With Ashford Manor reduced to a blackened skeleton, Nathaniel relocated his temporary residence to a high-security penthouse overlooking the city harbor. It was modern, minimalist, and cold—a glass cage in the sky. He insisted, over his mother's furious objections, that Elena accompany him, ostensibly as his private convalescent aide since her hands were healing faster than his leg.
In the penthouse, the dynamics shifted dangerously. There were no other servants here; Nathaniel had dismissed the agency staff, desiring absolute privacy.
Elena found herself cooking simple meals with her healing hands, the flower-dusted apron replaced by clothes Nathaniel had ordered for her—simple, elegant, but distinctly not a uniform.
"You're burning the garlic," Nathaniel noted one evening, limping into the kitchen without his crutches, leaning against the marble island.
"I am not," Elena protested, though her cheeks flushed. "I am merely... browning it. There is a difference."
"A difference of about thirty seconds before it becomes charcoal," he teased, a genuine smile breaking across his face. It was a transformation that made him look ten years younger, stripping away the ruthless billionaire persona the world feared.
They ate at a small table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city lights blink like fallen stars. For the first time, they were not master and servant separated by twelve chimneys; they were a man and a woman sharing a meal in a quiet room.
"Why do you keep that photograph?" Elena asked softly, gesturing to the small, scorched frame sitting on the counter. It was the one he had saved from the fire.
Nathaniel’s smile faded, replaced by a deep, introspective sorrow. "It's my sister, Clara. She died when I was twelve. She was the only one in my family who laughed without checking if it was socially acceptable first. After she died, my father told me that feelings were a liability. He said if you care about something, the world uses it as a handle to pull you down. So I stopped caring." He looked up, his gray eyes piercing hers. "Until a maid started humming in my library."
May you like
Elena’s breath hitched. The intimacy in the room was thicker than the smoke had been. But before either could bridge the small distance between them, the elevator bell chimed, shattering the fragile peace.
Victoria Vance stepped out, wrapped in a fur coat, her eyes flashing with venom as she saw the two plates set tightly together on the table.
