Elena pulled her attention away from the canvas. "I'm aware. I'm quite taken with Joseph Dawson's pieces as well."
"You're familiar with painting?" Henry asked, a note of surprise slipping into his voice.
"Just a bit."
Considering her upbringing, Henry found it easy enough to grasp why her experience was limited.
"Would you like to continue studying?" he asked.
Elena turned to him, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "What?"
"If you're interested, I can arrange for a qualified instructor," Henry said. "Think of it as a gesture in exchange for your cooperation."
For a fleeting second, Elena caught herself wondering if he might not be as merciless as rumor painted him.
She offered a slight smile. "I appreciate it, but there's no need. I already have someone teaching me. I won't be taking lessons from anyone else."
Ashton's brows drew together faintly. He looked ready to point out that whoever she was currently learning from couldn't possibly measure up to the kind of expert his boss could provide, but Henry cut in first. "Forget it."
Ashton promptly bit back his words.
Elena raised her gaze, letting it sweep across the room before settling on Henry again. "Which room is mine?"
"Third floor. Once you step out of the elevator, it's the second door on the right."
The living room stretched upward into the higher levels. Elena cast a glance toward the upper floor, and Henry added, "The room beside it is yours as well, if you'd like to turn it into a study or a studio."
"And your room?"
"Left side. Last door."
"You're staying on the third floor too?" Elena had assumed they'd be on separate levels.
Henry gave a short nod. "Yes."
"Go have a look," he said, rising from his seat.
Elena went up after him.
The instant they stepped out of the elevator, she took note of the layout. Their rooms were positioned on opposite sides—comfortably distant. That suited her just fine.
Then Henry turned to her and said, "What happened that night was an accident. Don't come into my room again. Next time, you might not get away so easily."
The warning in his voice was unmistakable, revealing the controlling edge beneath his refined facade.
Elena paused, saying nothing for a moment. So he truly believed she had been drawn to his appearance?
"Don't worry," she replied evenly. "From where I stand, it wasn't worth a second time either."
His expression darkened at once. That felt like a small victory on her side. A trace of amusement shimmered in her eyes as she turned and headed toward her room.
She had scarcely moved an inch when fingers clamped firmly around her arm. She turned sharply. "What do you think you're doing?"
Without a word of warning, Henry hauled her back and pressed her against him, his arm tightening like a restraint. His gaze locked onto hers. "Was it really that unbearable? Did I hurt you?"
Elena remained silent.
"You only have yourself to blame," Henry continued.
A flush flickered across her face before fading. "Let go. Don't force me to make you."
Henry looked utterly unbothered. "Then try and get out of it."
A sharp glint ignited in her eyes. She didn't pause for even a second. Her fist drove straight toward his face.
Henry moved far quicker than she had anticipated. In one fluid motion, he dodged and seized her wrist. His grip was ironclad, leaving her no chance to pull free.
She stared at him, startled. "What are you—"
A spoiled heir who could actually fight? And not just that—strong enough to keep her pinned?
Over the years, Elena had crossed paths with many capable fighters, but never someone who could genuinely stand on equal ground with her.
Interesting.
She was still caught against Henry, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Their gazes remained locked. Something tense and unfamiliar stirred in the quiet between them.
"Are you planning to keep me like this?"
Henry's eyes darkened. A moment later, he released her.
Elena immediately stepped away, putting space between them.
"I'll be in the study," he said. "If you need anything, ask Ashton."
"Understood."
They turned from one another and walked off in opposite directions.
Elena pushed her bedroom door open and stepped inside. The space was large and welcoming, clearly arranged with deliberate care. Deeper in, a broad balcony extended from the room, set with a small table and chairs. From there, she could look out over a pristine pool and a beautifully kept garden.
A soft breeze drifted in, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers.
Gradually, the unfamiliar surroundings began to ease her mind. It even stirred the urge to paint. She preferred working in solitude, wrapped in silence, with nothing but her own thoughts for company.
But if she began painting here, there was a real chance Henry would uncover her identity.
Better not.
Time passed quietly as Elena sat alone on the balcony. She stayed there until a knock sounded at the door.
She rose and opened it.
Ashton offered a courteous smile. "It's time to arrange dinner. What would you like to have, Mrs. Watson? I'll inform the kitchen."
Elena hesitated. The title struck her like a jolt. It felt unfamiliar, excessive, and she was nowhere close to getting used to it.
"Ashton, Henry and I are only married in name. There's no need to address me like that in private. Just call me Elena."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mrs. Watson. It's best you grow accustomed to it." He added, "Besides, those were Mr. Watson's instructions. I wouldn't dare go against them."
Elena regarded him. "I'm beginning to think your boss isn't as cold or frightening as people claim."
"That's only because you haven't seen—" Ashton cut himself off mid-sentence, then forced a dry laugh. "What I mean is, it varies from person to person. He clearly wouldn't treat you the way he treats others."
Elena didn't respond. The ease with which Ashton addressed her as "Mrs. Watson" made it clear he had already grown entirely accustomed to it.
"What would you like for dinner?" he asked again.
After a brief pause, Elena replied, "You should ask your boss. I'm fine with anything."
"Mr. Watson is the one who instructed me to ask you."
Elena went quiet for a moment. "Then anything will do."
After considering it for a second, Ashton gave a small nod. "Understood. I'll have the kitchen prepare something.
Two hours later, Elena and Henry sat across from each other in the dining room.
They ate without speaking, the silence stretching between them. They looked exactly as they were—two near-strangers sharing a meal.
After only a few bites, Elena set her utensils down. "I'm finished. I'm going upstairs."
Henry's gaze lifted to her. "You don't like the food?"
"It's fine. I'm just not very hungry."
A short silence followed before Henry said, "You're already slim enough. There's no need to diet."
"I'm not dieting."
She had always eaten sparingly.
"Then eat a bit more." His eyes rested on her, his tone firm and leaving no room for refusal. "You're not leaving yet."
If it had been anyone else speaking to her like that, Elena would never have tolerated it. But this time, she said nothing. Instead, a voice rose unbidden in her mind—soft, yet steady.
"Lena, sit down. Eat a little more. You barely eat anything. Be a good girl."
Her father. A voice she would never hear again for the rest of her life.
Elena remained seated. She picked up her utensils once more, her delicate features composed, though something quiet and aching lingered deep within her eyes.
Her gaze stayed lowered, and Henry failed to notice what she kept hidden there. Seeing that she had resumed eating, he said nothing further.
After a while, Elena lifted her head again, her expression already calm. "You suddenly got married. Your family won't object?"
Families like his usually demanded a suitable match.
Henry replied evenly, "They won't. What I decide is final in this family."
The only exception was his grandfather. But the old man had never cared much for status or background. All he had ever wanted was for his grandson to choose someone he truly wished to keep by his side.
