Page 11 of Candy Cane Chains
Maybe this is just how the other half lives. Maybe I'm reading too much into everything, and he's just not trying to send me home as an absolute mess.
"Breakfast?" Julian's voice cuts through my thoughts. My head jerks up to see him standing in the doorway. His expression remains unreadable, those ice-blue eyes giving nothing away.
I nod, not trusting my voice. For some reason…I don't feel like I can say no to him. I'm sure many people in his presence feel this way. And honestly, I need food, so why turn it down?
With a hand on my low back, he guides me through double doors into a hallway that takes my breath away. Everything sparkles. A twelve-foot Christmas tree towers in an alcove, dripping with crystal ornaments and white lights that catch the morning sun. Garland winds up the banister, studded with silver bells and white roses. The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air.
My feet sink into plush carpet as we pass artwork worth more than my yearly salary. Another tree stands in the living room, identical to the first in stature but only decorated in white lights. Perfect white presents nest underneath, wrapped with military precision, each bow crafted just so.
"Your home is beautiful." My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
Wreaths hang on every door we pass. The mantlepiece could be straight out of Architectural Digest - more garland, more lights, mercury glass candle holders that sparkle like diamonds. Not a single pine needle out of place.
It's Christmas perfection. Too perfect. Like a department store display where nothing's meant to be touched. My family's mismatched ornaments and badly wrapped presents feel shabby in comparison.
We enter a kitchen bigger than my entire apartment. Stainless steel gleams everywhere I look. Another tree stands in the corner, completing the winter wonderland theme. The breakfast bar holds covered silver dishes, steam curling from beneath their edges.
"Sit." He pulls out a chair, his hand brushing my lower back as I settle in.
The touch sends electricity through me, memories of last night flooding back. But something feels off about all this pristine holiday cheer. Like I've stepped into a beautiful cage where everything's too bright, too perfect.
I perch on the edge of the chair, feeling small and out of place among all this calculated luxury. Even the table setting looks like it belongs in a magazine - white china rimmed with silver, crystal glasses catching the light.
Julian lifts the silver dome from my plate, revealing a perfect eggs benedict with fresh fruit on the side. Steam rises from perfectly poached eggs, hollandaise sauce glistening. He takes the seat beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine.
My stomach growls at the sight. I haven't eaten since before the holiday party yesterday.
"Eat." His voice carries that same silken command from earlier.
I pick up my fork, cutting into the first egg. Rich yolk spills onto an English muffin as I take a bite. The flavors explode on my tongue - buttery hollandaise, perfectly seasoned eggs, Canadian bacon with just the right amount of crispness.
"Good girl." His praise sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "I love how obedient you are." I give him a small smile as I look at him, loving how he's here, staring at me like my every movement enraptures him. "Keep going. You'll need your strength."
I freeze mid-bite, fork hovering. "What do you mean?"
"We need to discuss the rules." He takes a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. "You're staying here. Your car's already been moved to my private garage."
The fork clatters against the plate. "I- what?"
"You're not leaving the penthouse. I told you last night you were mine and you agreed."
I stare at him, gaping. His gaze hardens, and shockingly, my stomach tightens at that. I don't want to displease him.
"When I'm here, you'll do exactly as I say." His tone remains conversational as he continues, like he's discussing the weather. "Follow my rules, and I'll make it very worth your while. Just like last night."
My mouth opens and closes. Part of me wants to scream, to throw the plate at his perfect face and run. But where would I go? I'm trapped twenty stories up in clothes he bought me, my phone and car keys who knows where.
Another part of me remembers his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, the way he made me feel things I never knew existed. That part wants to lean into him, to feel that intensity again.
"I have work," I whisper. "My family-"
"Everything's been handled." He cuts through my protests like they're nothing. "Eat your breakfast, Ivy."
I stare at my plate, torn between terror and a sick thrill at his commanding tone. My hand shakes as I pick up the fork again.
I take another bite of eggs benedict, but the rich flavors turn to ash in my mouth as reality crashes over me. The holiday party was supposed to be my last event before I took time off for the holidays. And now, with everything that happened with Travis, they'll all assume I went home or something to get away from him, and they'll be busy anyway. No one will question my absence.
Julian watches me eat, those ice-blue eyes tracking every movement. My body responds to his attention with a warmth that conflicts with the panic clawing at my chest. How can I feel both terrified and aroused by the same person?
