CHAPTER FOURTEEN #3
The entryway was cathedral-high, sunlight streaming through glass walls that stretched two stories up, warming stone floors polished to a mirror-sheen. An iron-and-glass chandelier hung from above in geometric tiers, modern, striking, impossibly elegant.
And silent.
So silent I could hear the soft shift of Riley’s footsteps as he led me forward.
“This is the main living area,” he said, sweeping a hand toward an open expanse of minimalist furniture arranged with museum-level precision. Long low sofas in warm cream, a fireplace framed in dark steel, art on the walls that looked more expensive than whole apartments.
He didn’t speak like he was showing off.
More like he was stating facts.
His domain.
His rules.
His world.
“And over here,” he continued, guiding me down two steps into a sunken room lined with glass, “is the lounge.”
I followed, my gaze drifting over the deep leather chairs, the bar stocked with bottles glowing amber under recessed lights, and a built-in bookshelf filled with hardcovers arranged by color.
I tried to imagine living here.
I tried and failed.
“It’s… beautiful,” I whispered.
Riley glanced over his shoulder, his mouth curving at one corner. “It’s functional.”
Of course he’d say that.
We moved toward the dining area next, long table, clean lines, black oak, then the chef’s kitchen gleaming with stainless steel and marble spanning the length of the room.
“Staff quarters are through there,” he said, nodding toward a corridor we didn’t enter. “They stay out of sight unless needed.”
Something in the way he said it made a shiver slide down my spine.
He kept walking. I kept following.
Every space was more breathtaking than the last, but all of it felt curated, intentional. Like the house had been designed to look effortless without a single detail actually being left to chance.
Riley paused at the base of a sweeping staircase, one hand resting on the railing.
He watched me for a long second, long enough that the silence turned thick.
“Time to show you upstairs.”
But the way he said it made my pulse jump.
Like upstairs meant something more than a tour.
The staircase curved up in a smooth arc, the glass railing catching the late-afternoon light. I tried not to stare, but the whole place felt like a museum of money and control.
Riley didn’t walk ahead of me.
He didn’t walk beside me either.
He walked just one step behind, close enough that I could feel the weight of his presence at my back, warm, aware, unignorable.
“You’re walking too stiff,” he murmured, voice low enough that it skimmed the nape of my neck. “Relax.”
“I’m not stiff.”
He made a quiet sound. Not quite a laugh. More like he didn’t believe me for a second.
“If you say so.”
My hand tightened on the railing.
He wasn’t touching me, but somehow it felt like he was.
When we reached the landing, the hallway stretched long and clean, dimmed by soft sconces along the wall. Three doors on each side. Minimal. Private. Too quiet.
Riley stopped at the last two doors facing each other.
“This is your bedroom,” he said.
I blinked.
“Which one?”
He tapped the door on the right. “That one.”
“And this?” I gestured at the door directly across.
“Mine.” His mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Convenient, right?”
My heart picked up speed. “Convenient for what?”
“Checking on you.”
A beat.
“Making sure you don’t get lost.”
Another beat.
“And if you need something, I don’t have to walk far.”
He leaned a shoulder lightly against his doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. He looked so sure of himself, like he didn’t see the hallway as simple architecture but as something that bent to his every whim.
“You’re staring,” he said softly.
I snapped my gaze away. “I’m not.”
“You are.” He tilted his head, studying me the way someone studies a secret they already half-solved. “It’s cute.”
Heat climbed my throat.
He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough to make the distance feel thin.
“You nervous?” he asked.
“No.”
Another one of those quiet, skeptical hums. “You should be.”
The air thickened between us.
He reached past me, slowly, and turned the handle to my door.
“Go on,” he said. “Make sure you like it.”
I hesitated in the doorway, the light from the hallway brushing across my shoulders.
Riley stayed in the hall, leaning casually against my doorframe now, like he had all the time in the world to watch me absorb the fact that my room was directly opposite his.
That every night, he’d know exactly where I was.
Exactly how close I was.
His gaze lowered, then lifted back to mine with deliberate ease.
“Welcome to your room, Luna.” A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth.
The door swung open silently, as though the room had been waiting.
I stepped inside, and for a moment I just… stared.
It wasn’t what I expected.
The room was large, bigger than my room back home, but it didn’t feel cold the way the rest of the house did. Warm light pooled from recessed fixtures overhead, softer, golden, almost gentle. The walls were a muted cream, the floors smooth dark walnut, polished but lived-in.
My things were already here.
All of them.
The duvet from my old bed, the pale blue throw I’d had since freshman year, the framed photos Sienna and Chiara insisted on gifting me every Christmas. Every piece I’d sent weeks ago was here.
Someone had unpacked everything meticulously.
My books lined the built-in shelves in the exact order I kept them.
My jewelry dish sat centered on the nightstand.
My candle, the vanilla one I lit when studying, was already set on the dresser, wick untouched.
A strange tightness pulled at my chest.
It felt like walking into a room I knew… inside a house I didn’t understand at all.
The bed faced a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the valley, Palo Alto stretching out in glittering hints of light below. Sheer curtains softened the view, swaying gently with the air con’s quiet hum.
Then there was the walk-in closet.
The door stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of organization so perfect it made my breath catch. Color-coded clothes, shoes lined up in a neat row, accessories already tucked away.
It was too much.
Too prepared.
Too intimate.
Someone had touched everything I owned.
And yet… it didn’t feel invasive.
It felt intentional.
I turned slowly, noticing the second door for the first time. It sat on the same wall as the entrance, matte black, unmarked.
“What’s that?” I asked, glancing back toward the hallway.
Riley was still standing in my doorway, watching me with the kind of attention that made my skin prickle.
His eyes warmed with a slow, dangerous kind of amusement.
“That,” he said, pushing off the doorframe, “is the best part.”
I arched a brow. “Which is…?”
“A bathroom.”
His tone made it sound like a promise more than a fact.
My pulse jumped as I crossed the room and reached for the handle. The door glided open, quiet and seamless.
The breath left my lungs.
The bathroom wasn’t a bathroom.
It was a sanctuary. A spa. A work of architectural seduction.
White marble veined in gold stretched across the floors and walls.
A freestanding tub sat beneath a frosted skylight that poured in soft, diffused light as if the room had its own private moon.
A walk-in shower was encased in crystal-clear glass, steam jets built into the wall like we were in a five-star hotel.
Brass fixtures gleamed everywhere. Even the towels were rolled with ridiculous precision.
I stepped inside, stunned.
“Wow,” I whispered.
I ran my hand over the marble counter, noticing the separate drawers already stocked perfectly.
I didn’t even hear Riley follow me in.
Not until I felt it.
That shift in the air.
That warmth.
That gravitational pull.
I turned a little, and there he was, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me with a grin that curled slowly, wickedly, like he was already ten steps ahead of me.
“You like it,” he said.
“It’s… incredible.”
“Mm.” He nodded once. “Wait until you see the rest.”
“The rest?” I frowned. “What rest?”
He didn’t answer.
He just watched me.
Watched me take a slow lap around the room, studying the tub, the shower, the vanity—completely unaware of everything but the luxury swallowing my senses whole.
I nearly thanked him.
But then—
A flicker of something caught my eye.
A seam in the marble wall.
A faint line where the tile didn’t quite match the pattern.
A door.
Another door.
My heart tripped.
I stepped closer.
That wasn’t just any door.
It was…
“No,” I breathed, realization crashing into me.
Riley’s grin sharpened.
It hit me like a cue.
This wasn’t just my bathroom.
This was our bathroom.
Shared. Connected.
One door to my room…
One to his.
My mouth went dry.
Completely, helplessly dry.
A cold prickle ran down the back of my neck, spreading like frost beneath my skin. My eyes widened before I could stop them, vision sharpening in that horrible, hyperaware way fear always brought. My pulse thudded against my throat, frantic and uneven.
“How did I miss that?” I whispered.
Riley pushed off the frame and took one slow step toward me, hands in his pockets, confidence radiating off him in waves.
“Because you were too busy being impressed,” he said.
I swallowed.
“And because,” he added, voice dropping into something warm and dangerous, “I wanted to see how long it would take you.”
He stopped beside me, close but not touching.
I stared at the second door and felt my stomach dip, as if the floor had shifted an inch lower beneath me.
He could be right there.
At any time.
One door away.
A breath shuddered out of me, too quick, too shallow, scraping the inside of my chest like sandpaper. The air in the bathroom felt thinner, tighter, as if the marble walls had leaned closer just to hear my panic.
The realization wasn’t loud.
It was quiet.
Quiet and devastating.
I wasn’t safe in here.
Not from him.
Not from myself.
My hands started to tremble. I curled my fingers into a fist, nails biting my palm, trying to ground the shaking into something I could hide.
But Riley saw it.
His eyes flicked down to my trembling fingers, then up to my face, catching every unguarded flicker of fear with a slow, knowing satisfaction that struck like a gentle blade.
And that was the worst part.
How much he enjoyed seeing the truth unravel in me.
His head tilted slightly toward the connecting door.
“Now you know,” he said softly. “If you open that door…” a pause, intimate and charged, “…you’ll be in my room.”
Riley brushed a knuckle lightly against the marble as he walked away from me, heading toward the his door.
“Welcome home, Luna,” he said without looking back. “And welcome to the one place in this house where you can’t ignore me.”