Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Vaughn
I can't focus.
That's unusual for me.
I built an eight-billion-dollar empire on focus.
On the ability to shut out everything except the task at hand.
To make decisions with coldness, precision, and execute them without hesitation.
But right now, sitting in my home office with quarterly reports spread across my desk and a conference call waiting on mute, all I can think about is the woman upstairs.
Eden.
She's been here four days.
Four days of watching her move through my house like a trapped animal.
Four days of silent breakfasts and tense dinners where she picks at her food and won't meet my eyes.
Four days of her exploring the library like it's a sanctuary, curling up in that leather chair by the window with whatever book she's currently devouring.
Four days of wanting her so badly I can barely breathe.
I close the laptop.
The quarterly reports can wait.
The conference call can be rescheduled.
Right now, I need to think.
Need to figure out what the hell I'm doing with Eden Finch.
When I bid two million dollars for her at that auction, I didn't have a plan.
I just knew I had to have her.
Knew that if anyone else won, if anyone else touched her, I'd lose my mind.
The obsession was immediate. Irrational. Completely unlike me.
I don't do things that are irrational.
But when our eyes met on that stage—when she looked at me with that mixture of terror and defiance—something in my chest shifted.
Something I didn't know was missing suddenly felt found.
I wanted her.
Not just her body. Not just her presence.
Her.
All of her. The fear and the fight.
The way she holds herself like she's trying to disappear.
The way her eyes flash when she's angry.
The intelligence I can see even when she's trying to hide it.
I wanted to possess her completely.
And now that I have her?
I have no fucking idea what to do.
She won't talk to me.
Won't look at me unless forced.
Flinches every time I come within three feet of her.
And I'm running out of patience.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Callum:
Need to talk. Available?
I dial his number.
He answers on the first ring. "Sir."
"What is it?"
"We need to discuss the girl."
"Eden," I correct sharply.
A pause. "Eden," he says carefully. "I'm concerned about your approach."
"My approach."
"You're keeping her locked up. Even with the unlocked door, she's still a prisoner. She knows it. You know it. And from what I've observed, she's not adjusting well."
"She's been here four days, Callum."
"Four days during which she's barely eaten. Barely slept, from what the night security reports tell me. She jumps at every sound. She's terrified."
"She was terrified when I bought her."
"Yes. And you're not making it better."
I lean back in my chair. Rub my eyes. "What would you have me do?"
"Give her space. Let her breathe. Stop watching her every move on those security cameras."
I don't deny it.
"She could hurt herself," I say.
"She could. But she won't. She's a survivor, sir. She ran from a cult. Made it hundreds of miles before Sarah caught her. She's not going to do anything stupid."
"She'll run."
"Eventually, yes. But she won't succeed. The perimeter is secure. Biometric locks on all exits. Motion sensors. She can't get off the property without you knowing."
"So, I should just... let her run? Chase her down when she tries?"
"I'm saying you should decide what you actually want from her. Because right now, you're treating her like a possession you're afraid to break. But she's not a possession, sir. She's a person. And if you want anything real from her—trust, affection, eventually more—you need to treat her like one."
The words hit harder than they should.
"When did you become a therapist?" I ask.
"When I watched you spend four days obsessing over a woman you won't even talk to properly. Sir, with respect, I've known you since you were twenty-five. I've never seen you like this."
"Like what?"
"Unmoored. You're usually ten steps ahead. Right now, you're stumbling through each day waiting for her to—what? Magically start trusting you? That's not how this works."
"Then how does it work?"
"Slowly. Patiently. You show her you're not a threat. You give her reasons to trust you. You let her set boundaries and you respect them."
"And if she sets the boundary at 'never touch me, never speak to me, never come near me'?"
"Then you've wasted two million dollars on a beautiful woman who will hate you forever." He pauses. "But I don't think that's what she wants either."
"What makes you say that?"
"I've been watching the security feeds too, sir. She's curious about you. Watches you when she thinks you're not looking. Asks Mrs. Silva questions."
That catches my attention. "What kind of questions?"
"How long she’s worked for you. What you're like as an employer. Whether you're..." He trails off.
"Whether I'm what?"
"Whether you're dangerous. Whether you've done this before. Whether she should be afraid."
"What did Mrs. Silva tell her?"
"That you're a good employer. Fair. That she's worked for your family for thirty years and you've never given her reason to fear you."
"And Eden believed her?"
"I think she wants to. But she's been lied to before. By her father. By Sarah. By everyone who should have protected her." Callum's voice softens. "She needs time, sir. And she needs you to be patient."
"I'm being patient."
"You're being obsessive. There's a difference."
I want to argue, but I can't.
He's right.
"What do you suggest?" I ask finally.
"Talk to her. Actually talk to her. Not demands or rules. Real conversation. Find out who she is. What she likes. What she's afraid of. Treat her like a person you're interested in, not property you're managing."
"She won't talk to me."
"Have you tried? Really tried? Or have you just been issuing commands and expecting compliance?"
I think back over the past four days.
Breakfast: silent except for my questions about whether she slept well, whether the food is acceptable.
Dinner: the same.
The few times I've sought her out: always to tell her something. The rules. The boundaries. What I expect.
I haven't actually talked to her.
Haven't asked her anything that matters.
"Point taken," I say quietly.
"Good. Because sir, if you want this to work—whatever 'this' is—you need to give her a reason to want it too. Right now, all she sees is another cage. Another man controlling her. You need to show her you're different."
"I am different."
"Then prove it."
He hangs up.
I sit there in the silence of my office, staring at nothing.
Callum's right. I know he's right.
I've been approaching this all wrong. Treating Eden like a problem to solve. An acquisition to manage.
But she's not a problem.
She's a woman who's been controlled her entire life. First by her father and the Sanctuary elders. Then by Sarah and the traffickers. Now by me.
No wonder she won't trust me.
No wonder she flinches when I come near.
I need a different approach.
I pull up my laptop and open a private browser.
I need to start researching.
The Sanctuary of Divine Light.
I read Eden's file when I bought her, but I need more.
Need to understand what shaped her.
What she's running from.
Why she's so terrified of her own body.
It takes thirty minutes of digging through message boards and ex-member testimonies, but I find what I'm looking for.
A blog post from a woman who escaped the Sanctuary fifteen years ago.
She writes about the purity culture.
How girls were taught that their bodies were shameful.
That desire was sin.
That they existed only to serve men and bear children.
She writes about the punishments.
Public shaming for minor infractions.
Isolation for asking questions.
Physical discipline for disobedience.
She writes about medical neglect.
Women dying in childbirth because the elders forbade hospitals.
Children dying from preventable illnesses because modern medicine was "corrupted by worldly sin."
She writes about the marriages.
Girls as young as sixteen being married off to men chosen by the elders.
No choice. No say. Just pure obedience.
And she writes about escaping.
About the years it took to deprogram herself.
To learn that her body wasn't shameful.
That pleasure wasn't sin.
That she had value beyond obedience.
I close the browser.
Lean back in my chair.
Eden's mother died in childbirth when Eden was twelve.
The file said complications, but now I know what that means.
Complications that could have been prevented with basic medical care.
Eden watched her mother die because the elders said it was God's will.
And then, eleven years later, they tried to marry her off to Elder Jacob.
A man forty-one years older than her.
A man who already had three wives.
She ran.
Two weeks before the wedding, she stole money from the community fund and disappeared into the night.
Made it all the way to Little Rock before Sarah found her.
And then Sarah—someone Eden thought was helping her—drugged her and sold her to traffickers.
Who brought her to that auction.
Where I bought her.
Another man taking her choices. Taking her freedom.
Fuck.
I run my hands through my hair.
I'm not like them. I'm not.
But from Eden's perspective, how am I different?
I bought her. Brought her to my house. Keep her here against her will.
The only difference is the cage is prettier. The control more subtle.
But it's still control.
And she knows it.
I need to show her I'm different. Need to prove I'm not just another man trying to break her.
But how?
I pull up my phone. Scroll through my contacts. Find the number I need.
Dr. Naomi Caldwell. Sex therapist. Discreet. Works with trauma survivors.
I've never needed her services before. But she's been recommended by people I trust.
I dial.
She answers on the third ring. "Dr. Caldwell."
"This is Vaughn Sutherland. I need your expertise on a sensitive matter."
"I'm listening."