The Billionaire's $500,000 baby

Four days. 

That's how long it took for the walls to start moving in. It was four days of green juice, four days of silent meals, and four days of being poked by people who didn't even know my last name. 

I felt like I was disappearing into the architecture of the house. The West Wing was beautiful, but it was a desert where there were no voices and no mess...Every morning, I woke up and counted the steps in my room, and every afternoon, I walked the garden and counted the bricks in the wall. I was becoming a machine, and the thought that I needed to see something real...a person who wasn't a statue and hit me during lunch.

I stared at the bowl of expensive ass soup on my table, which was perfectly seasoned but also incredibly boring! I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. I didn't even wait for Anya or a signal from the staff. I just walked out of the dining nook and toward the long hallway that led to the library, the place Anya called the border.

 I felt my heart start to thud in a fast, messy rhythm and my mind told me not to do it, to just go back to my room, but I told myself I wasn't a dog...

I kept walking until I reached the library where the thousands of books stood like a wall and Noo! I didn't stop there. I crossed the threshold into the dark hallway Anya had warned me about....the Main Wing. The air felt different here; it was colder and smelled like old wood and expensive cigars. 

The marble under my feet changed from white to a dark, veined grey. I took ten steps, then twenty, waiting for a siren to go off or for the house to scream, but there was only silence. I reached a set of massive, black double doors that were taller than me. I reached for the handle, my hand shaking with the thought of the monster being home...

Before my fingers could touch the metal, a shadow moved. It was fast and heavy. A hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around so quickly I gasped, stumbling back as my sneakers squeaked on the stone. It was Marcus. He didn't say a word, just stood there blocking the doors in a black suit that looked like it was holding back a mountain of muscle. His face was blank and he didn't even look angry; he just looked like a stone wall.

"Step back Miss Hayes ," he said, his voice deep enough to vibrate in my chest.

"I wanted to see the rest of the house," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

"You belong in the West Wing."

"I'm not a piece of furniture, Marcus. I can walk where I want." I tried to push past him, but it was like trying to push a skyscraper. He didn't move or even lean.

"The Main Wing is restricted," he insisted.

"By who? Darian?"

"By the contract you signed."

I felt a surge of heat in my face as I told him the contract said I lived here, not that I was a prisoner in one wing. ..Marcus just told me safety was the priority. I asked him what he was protecting me from...the hallway or the curtains and lunged to the left to dodge him. He moved with a speed that didn't make sense for a man his size and blocked me again. He didn't touch me this time, but he was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. He told me to go back now, but I stood my ground and refused to look away.

The heavy doors behind him groaned as they opened with a sound like a thunderclap. I looked up and saw Darian standing there. He wasn't wearing a suit today, just a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked tired and hot....Um I mean dangerous. 

His blue eyes landed on me, and the tension from the camera-stare on that first night came rushing back as a physical weight that made it hard to breathe...

"Marcus," Darian said, his voice too calm. "Leave us."

Marcus nodded and walked away into the shadows without looking at me. Now it was just me and the man who bought my life. Darian stepped forward and didn't stop until he was only a foot away, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him.

"You're a long way from home, Liora," he said.

"I'm bored, Darian," I snapped. "And I'm tired of being locked in."

"The doors were open," he pointed out. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be standing here."

I told him the doors to my room were locked at night and the maids treated me like a hazard. Darian looked at my shoulder for a long time and told me Marcus didn't touch me that hard because he was watching the feed. 

I asked him what he was hiding in this half of the house, dead bodies or the rest of his soul, and his lip curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. He told me there were things in this wing I wasn't ready to see, but I told him I didn't care about his business.

"You should," he said. "It's paying for your mother's heartbeat." The reminder hit me like a punch and I flinched, which he saw. He stepped closer until I could smell leather and something sharp like 

ozone. He asked if I wanted freedom, and when I said yes, he reached out and grabbed a lock of my hair, running it between his fingers.

"You are free to go anywhere you want," he whispered, giving me a spark of hope before adding, "But don't ever forget who owns the ground you're walking on." 

He let go of my hair and told me I could use the library and walk the halls, but if I touched a closed door, Marcus wouldn't be the one to stop me next time. I asked if that was a threat, and he said it was a fact because he doesn't make threats.

He looked me up and down and told me to go back to the garden because I looked pale and needed the sun. 

He turned around and walked back into the dark room, and the doors closed with a dull thud. I stood there alone in the dark hallway, my heart racing and my skin feeling like it was on fire. He had given me an inch, and I knew why; he didn't want a prisoner who hated him, he wanted a prisoner who forgot she was in a cage. 

I walked back to the West Wing, counting the steps, and when I got to my room I touched the journal under the mattress. I promised my dad I wouldn't forget as the phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't look at it. 

I just stared at the door, waiting for the next time it would open, knowing I needed to find Elias before Darian Volkov made me forget my own name.