Elara
The Sterling estate didn't look like a home, it looked like a fortress of silence.
Standing behind a set of iron gates that had probably been forged like it was in the medieval times the house was a towering masterpiece of red brick and black shutters.
It was beautiful, in a way that felt cold and unapproachable. Just like its owner.
The black Rolls Royce pulled into the cobblestone driveway with a silence that was almost eerie. As the driver opened my door, the crisp Boston air bit at my cheeks.
I clutched my single suitcase, a battered leather thing that looked pathetic against the luxury of the estate and took a deep breath.
"This way, Miss Vance."
The Chief of Staff was a woman named Mrs. Gable.
She was as sharp and colorless like her boss, her grey hair pinned back so tightly I wondered if it helped her think faster. She didn't offer to take my bag. She didn't smile. She simply turned and led me into the foyer.
The interior was a study in monochromatic perfection. White marble, grey silk wallcoverings, and light fixtures that looked like frozen raindrops. There was no clutter.
No scent of cooking. No sound of a television. It was eerie.
"Mr. Sterling's suite is in the East Wing. Yours is in the West, adjacent to Master Julian's room." Mrs. Gable said, her heels clicking against the floorboards.
"Your schedule will be delivered to your tablet every morning at 06:00 AM. Breakfast is at 07:00 AM. Silence is maintained in the common areas between the hours of 8:00 PM and 7:00 AM."
I expected nothing less...
"Does anyone actually live here, or do you just curate it?" I asked, the playful sarcasm in my voice echoing too loudly in the hollow space.
Mrs. Gable stopped and turned, her cold grey eyes snapping at me with a chilling look. "We maintain an environment that minimizes sensory distress for the Master and the Principal".
She turned back. "I suggest you learn the difference between 'curating' and 'surviving' in this house very quickly, Miss Vance."
She led me up a grand staircase that felt like it belonged in a museum. We passed a closed door made of heavy oak.
"Mr. Sterling is in his study. He is not to be disturbed until dinner at 7:30 PM. You are expected to be dressed and ready in the formal dining room five minutes prior."
She stopped in front of a door at the end of the West gallery. "This is you. Master Julian is next door. He has been... difficult today. I suggest you start there."
With that, she vanished back down the hall, leaving me alone in the heart of the "Ice King's" kingdom.
I didn't go into my room. Instead, I stood in front of Julian's door. From inside, I didn't hear crying or screaming. I heard a low, repetitive thumping.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I pushed the door open slowly.
The room was large, filled with high-end wooden toys and a bed that could fit four of him, but Julian wasn't in the bed. He was sitting in the middle of a plush navy rug, staring at a stack of metallic blocks.
Such a sad toy to have as a child...
He was holding one in his hand, hitting it against the floor in a perfect, rhythmic beat. He was wearing the same stiff, navy-blue sweater he'd had on in the park.
He looked small and lonely.
"The rhythm is off." I started softly with a smile, staying by the door.
Julian froze. He didn't look up, but his hand stopped mid-air. "It's a four-count." he whispered.
"It sounds like a three-count to me." I said, sliding down to sit on the floor, keeping a respectful distance. I didn't try to touch him. I didn't coo at him. I just sat.
"One, two, three... pause. One, two, three... pause."
Julian looked at me then, his wide blue eyes guarded. "The worm girl-"
"The worm girl." I agreed with a soft chuckle. "I moved in today. I'm going to be staying for a while."
His big blue eyes widened. "In the big room?"
I sent him a playful smirk. "In the room next to yours. I heard you were having a difficult day. Is it the sweater? It looks itchy."
Julian's bottom lip trembled. He looked down at the wool sleeves. "It bites my skin."
"Then take it off." I said simply, such a hideous piece of clothing. "Nobody is watching."
"Mrs. Gable says we have to be 'proper' for dinner."
I was shocked at how well spoken he was. As expected from the only child of Arthur Sterling...
"Mrs. Gable isn't here." I reached into my bag and pulled out a soft, worn-out cotton crop top I'd packed. It was old and thin, the kind of fabric that felt like nothing.
"Trade you."
Julian stared at the shirt, then at me. Slowly, he began to peel off the expensive, biting wool.
I spent the next hour sitting on the floor with him, not talking, just helping him build a city out of blocks that didn't make noise. By the time 7:20 PM rolled around, he was wearing my crop top like a nightgown, his breathing steady and calm.
"I have to go to dinner, Julian." I whispered, standing up and smoothing my hair. "Will you be okay with the nanny for an hour?"
He blinked softly. "You're coming back?"
"I'm right next door."
I slipped out and hurried to my room, changing into a simple, thin strapped, silk slip dress. Letting my curls out to cascade down my shoulder, I looked composed. I looked like Arthur Sterling's fiancé.
I walked into the dining room at exactly 7:25 PM.
Arthur was already there, sitting at the head of a table long enough to host a cabinet meeting. He had on reading glasses, reading a file, a glass of mineral water by his hand.
He looked even more handsome with those glasses on and a simple grey dress shirt that rolled up to his elbow, revealing his veiny strong hands. I had a thing for this kind of look on men, and him being older makes it even better.
He didn't look up when I entered, but I saw his jaw tighten. "You're early," he said, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room.
"I like to observe the terrain before the battle starts." I joked, taking the seat to his right.
He finally looked up.
His striking blue eyes traveled from my face down to the silk of my dress, stopping at my collarbone where the hickey he'd left was exposed obnoxiously.
The air in the room suddenly felt thin, the memory of the parking lot surging between us like a physical wall.
"Julian is calm." Arthur noted, his voice sounding slightly strained. "Mrs. Gable said he was headed for a meltdown an hour ago. What did you do?"
I scoffed. "I gave him a cotton shirt and some silence, Arthur. It's not rocket science. It's empathy."
Arthur's eyes darkened.
He set his file down and leaned toward me, the scent of his citrus aftershave cutting through the sterile air of the room. "In this house, we value results over 'empathy,' Miss Vance. Do not overstep."
"You bought my time, Arthur. You didn't buy my brain." I leaned in, too, mirroring his posture until we were inches apart.
"And if you want this merger to work, you're going to have to start listening to the person you hired to save your reputation."
The front door chimed in the distance.
"That will be the first of the security briefs." Arthur said, standing up abruptly as if my proximity were burning him.
"Go to your room after dinner. We have a long day tomorrow. The L'vov representatives arrive for an informal brunch."
He turned to leave, but he paused at the door, his back to me.
"And miss Vance?"
"Yes?"
His eyes were hard, now. "The shirt you gave him. It's... unacceptable for a Sterling. See that it's replaced with high-thread cotton by morning."
He didn't wait for a reply. He walked out, leaving me sitting alone at the massive table, the silence of the house closing in on me.
I was in the fortress now.
I had the four million dollar contract. I had the room. But as I looked at the empty chair where Arthur had sat, I realized the hardest part wasn't going to be Julian or the merger.
It was going to be surviving this man who doesn't do well with change.
