The bathtub was carved from a single piece of black marble. It was deep enough to drown in.
Alivia sank until the water lapped at her chin. The heat soaked into her bones, but it couldn't melt the knot of tension in her stomach.
She raised her hand, staring at the water dripping from her fingers. No bruises. No marks.
She climbed out, wrapping herself in a towel that was softer than anything she had ever owned. On the vanity, a set of silk pajamas lay folded. Pearl white. Her size.
She dressed quickly and hurried into the bedroom, diving under the duvet. She fumbled for her phone and dialed Arianna.
"Liv!" Arianna's face filled the screen. "Oh my god, are you okay? Blink twice if you need a SWAT team."
"I'm... I'm okay," Alivia whispered, pulling the blanket over her head. "Ari, you won't believe it."
"Did he hurt you? Is he hideous?"
"No. He's... he's gorgeous."
Arianna's jaw dropped. "What? Are you suffering from Stockholm Syndrome already?"
"I'm serious. He's young. He looks like... like a god, Ari. It was all a lie. The rumors, everything."
"Wait, so you're telling me you're married to a hot billionaire who lives in a penthouse?"
"It's not that simple. He's terrifying. He looks at me like he's trying to solve a puzzle."
Suddenly, a soft chime sounded from a sleek intercom panel on the wall near her door. Alivia jumped, nearly dropping her phone.
Gideon's voice, calm and clear, filled the room. "Finish your call."
Alivia scrambled to sit up, her heart pounding. How did he know? "My... my friend. Arianna."
"I know," the voice from the intercom replied, a hint of impatience in it. "Come to the study when you are done. Now."
The intercom went silent.
Alivia grabbed the phone and whispered, "I have to go," before hanging up on a stunned Arianna.
She walked barefoot down the hallway. The floor was heated. Everything in this house was designed for comfort, yet it felt like a fortress.
The study doors were heavy oak. She pushed them open.
Gideon was sitting behind a desk that looked like it belonged in the Oval Office. He was still wearing his white dress shirt, top button undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.
He didn't look up from his tablet. He slid a black metal card across the mahogany surface.
It spun and stopped right at the edge, in front of her.
"Take it."
Alivia looked at the card. An American Express Centurion. The Black Card.
"I don't need money," she said. "I have my allowance from-"
"Your father cut you off the moment you signed the contract," Gideon said flatly. "And you are a Blackburn now. My wife does not count pennies."
"I can't accept this. It's too much."
Gideon finally looked up. His eyes were cold. "It's not a request. It's a requirement. You need clothes. You need books. You need to exist in this city without looking like a refugee."
Alivia flinched at the word.
Gideon stood up. He walked around the desk.
"And one more thing." He stopped in front of her. "Stop calling me 'Mr. Blackburn' in your head."
"I didn't say it out loud."
"I can hear it in your hesitation." He reached out, tucking a stray lock of damp hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw. "Call me Husband."
Alivia's face burned. "I... I can't."
"Try."
His thumb brushed her lower lip. The sensation was maddening.
"Husband," she squeaked.
Gideon's eyes darkened. A flash of satisfaction crossed his face.
"Better," he murmured. "Go to sleep. You have school tomorrow."
He turned his back on her, dismissing her as easily as he had summoned her.
Alivia grabbed the card and fled the room, her heart racing so fast she thought it might explode.
