Chapter 7 — Art Object #2
He set the cup down on the glass coffee table with a sharp click.
“You're rough, Maya.” He looked her up and down critically. “You're a diamond in the rough, covered in the dirt of your previous life. Your manners are defensive. Your posture screams defeat. You dress to hide. You speak to apologize.”
“Sorry I didn’t have etiquette lessons at some Swiss boarding school,” she spat.
“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “Never apologize in this house again unless you’ve made a real mistake. Being who you are isn’t a mistake—it’s simply a state that needs... polishing.”
“Polishing?” She laughed, incredulous. “You want to turn me into a doll? A Stepford Wife?”
“I want to reveal what’s beneath the soot,” Ethan said. “And for that, we need to establish the rules of your stay.”
Maya hugged her arms tighter around herself.
“What rules?”
Ethan began walking around her, circling like a shark in shallow water.
“Rule number one: Presence. You won’t hide in your room. You won’t lock yourself away in the dark. When I’m home, you’ll be in the common areas. I want to see you. I paid for your presence, and I intend to enjoy it.”
“You want me to just sit here while you... what? Read? Work?”
“Yes. Exactly that. You’ll exist in my space. You’ll fill the emptiness of this room with your breathing, your movement. You’ll be the life in this mausoleum.”
He stopped behind her. Maya felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Rule number two: Honesty.” He whispered near her ear. “You lied about the coffee. Don’t lie to me again. I know when you’re lying. Your pulse speeds up—right here at the base of your neck. It’s a dead giveaway.”
Maya’s hand went to her neck instinctively.
“Rule number three...” He came back around to face her, blocking the sunlight, becoming a dark silhouette ringed with light. “...Access.”
Maya’s heart stopped. This was it. The moment she’d dreaded since Kyle’s pen touched paper.
“You said you wouldn’t force me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“And I keep my word,” Ethan said, his voice firm. “I won’t drag you to my bed. I won’t touch you without your explicit consent—or your begging.”
“Begging?” she choked out. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“We’ll see. But ‘access’ doesn’t mean sex, Maya. It means I have the right to look. I have the right to inspect my collection.”
He pointed to a square of sunlight streaming through the main window, illuminating the stone floor like a stage.
“Go to the light.”
“What?”
“Stand in the light. Now.”
There was a weight in his voice, an undeniable authority that made Maya’s legs move before her brain could protest. She walked to the square of light.
The sun hit her, warm, almost blinding. She felt exposed.
The white t-shirt suddenly seemed transparent.
She tried to tug the hem down to cover her bare thighs.
“Let go of the shirt,” Ethan ordered.
Maya let go. Her hands fell to her sides, useless.
Ethan remained in the shadows, watching her. He studied her with clinical intensity, his gaze sweeping from her bare feet to her disheveled hair. He wasn’t looking at her with lust—he was looking at her with possessiveness. He was cataloging every freckle, every scar, every curve.
The silence stretched for an eternal minute. Maya felt sweat break out on her back. It was humiliating. It was degrading. And, in a twisted, confusing way she hated to admit, it was electrifying. Being the sole focus of a man like him... there was a strange power in that.
“Turn,” he said.
Maya turned slowly. She felt like a horse at auction.
“Stop.”
She stopped with her back to him.
“Lift your hair.”
She lifted her hair with trembling hands, exposing the nape of her neck.
She heard his footsteps approaching. Tap. Tap. Tap. Bare feet on stone.
He stopped right behind her. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back.
“You carry tension here,” he said. His voice was so close she could feel it vibrate against her skin.
He didn’t touch her. He just hovered there, an overwhelming presence.
“You’re beautiful, Maya,” he murmured. “But you’re a mess. Your muscles are locked in a perpetual state of fight or flight. Your shoulders are hunched under the weight of responsibilities that aren’t yours anymore.”
He stepped back. The absence of his warmth was a cold shock.
“You can let your hair down.”
Maya let her hair fall, turning quickly. Her face was burning.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“An initial assessment,” said Ethan, walking back to the table where he'd left his coffee. “There's a lot of work to be done.”
He picked up something from the table, next to the cup. A matte black card and a cutting-edge smartphone, thin as a sliver of glass.
He walked over to her and held out the objects.
“Take them.”
Maya looked at the card. An American Express Centurion. The legendary black card. No limit. And the phone.
“What is this?”
“The phone is secure. Encrypted. My number is the only contact saved. The GPS is always on. Don't try to disable it; I'll know.”
“And the card?”
“For you to spend.”
Maya laughed, incredulous.
“You think you can buy me with shopping?”
“I already bought you, Maya,” he said, brutally honest. “The card isn't to buy you. It's to dress you. It's to feed you. It's to make sure that when you're by my side, you look like you belong in this world.”
He took her hand and placed the objects in her cold palm.
“Buy clothes. Buy skincare products. Buy books. Buy whatever you want. But buy things that last. Quality things. No polyester. Nothing disposable.”
Maya closed her hand around the card and phone. They felt heavy. Heavy with obligation.
“I don't want your money.”
“You represent me now,” said Ethan, ignoring her protest. “Your appearance reflects my taste. And my taste is impeccable. Don't embarrass me.”
He turned and walked toward the door of the forbidden office.
“Elena will arrive in ten minutes with breakfast. Eat. Protein and fruit. No empty carbs. You need energy.”
“Ethan!” she called before he opened the door.
He stopped, his hand on the biometric keypad.
“What happens in six months?” she asked. The question that haunted her. “When you're done 'polishing' me. What happens to the statue?”
Ethan looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes were unfathomable, dark wells of secrets.
“Some pieces are returned to the market,” he said softly. “Others… the rarest ones… never leave the collection.”
He entered the code, the door opened with a soft click, and he disappeared into the darkness of his private sanctuary, leaving Maya standing in the sunlight, holding a limitless card and feeling more trapped than ever.