Chapter 2

The first thing Belly noticed when she woke up was the silence.

Not the normal kind—the kind that feels deliberate, like the walls are holding their breath. She sat up slowly, clutching the edge of the blanket, taking in the unfamiliar guest room: charcoal-grey curtains, a clean white duvet, and a single lamp on the bedside table casting a soft morning glow. Everything looked untouched. Unlived in.

She rubbed her eyes and listened again.

Still nothing.

No footsteps.

No kitchen noise.

No television.

No Conrad.

A wave of relief rolled through her. She wasn’t ready to face him first thing in the morning—not after how stiff and uncomfortable the previous night had been. She remembered how he barely looked at her, how his jaw had clenched at her presence, how he watched her retreat to the guest room like she was an accident he couldn’t undo.

Belly slid out of bed, the cool floor against her feet grounding her. She cracked the guest room door and peeked into the hallway.

Empty.

She stepped out quietly, almost tiptoeing even though she hated how timid it felt. The penthouse was bright with natural light, the dawn sun spilling through the long corridor. She looked around for signs of Conrad—shoes, shadows, sound—anything.

Nothing.

He was either asleep… or gone.

For now, that meant freedom.

Belly took a hesitant step toward the living area, feeling the weight of the place settle around her. The penthouse was beautiful, yes, but it was beautiful the same way a museum exhibit was—cold, pristine, designed for display rather than comfort.

Her eyes landed on the first camera.

A discreet black dome in the corner of the living room ceiling.

She blinked.

Not normal.

She moved to the kitchen—sleek countertop, expensive appliances, marble everywhere. And there, above the pantry door, another camera.

Her unease prickled.

Why were they pointed inward? Why not toward the entrance? What kind of person watched their own living room?

She forced herself to breathe and kept walking, curiosity winning over fear.

Most of the doors along the corridor were identical—thick, dark wood with silver handles. She reached out and tried the first one.

Locked.

She frowned and moved to the next.

Locked.

Another.

Locked.

The locks weren’t old. They clicked shut with the satisfying precision of something recently installed—a level of security that didn’t match a normal penthouse.

Her heartbeat thudded at the base of her throat.

What is he hiding in here?

She turned a corner and found herself in another hallway—a narrower one, dimmer, colder. Belly reached for the next doorknob, her hand trembling slightly.

Locked.

This one gave her chills.

She stepped back quickly, wiping her palms on her pajamas. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, but every locked door, every quiet camera, every unnaturally silent room pulled at her like a loose thread she couldn’t stop tugging.

She moved toward the living room window, the city sprawling beneath her—busy, loud, alive. A direct contrast to this silent cage.

“Seriously, where does he go this early?” she whispered.

Her voice sounded too loud, like she was interrupting something she wasn’t meant to hear.

She walked further into the living room, noticing subtle things she missed last night—shoes lined up neatly by the entrance, an expensive jacket thrown over a chair, a pair of gloves on the console table.

Gloves.

Thick ones.

Not fashion gloves.

Work gloves.

Her curiosity deepened into something heavier.

She opened a kitchen cabinet—tea, coffee, nothing unusual. She pulled open a drawer—cutlery, neatly arranged. Boring.

Then she opened another one.

Empty.

Completely empty.

Not even dust.

She frowned, then checked the next.

Empty.

And the next.

Empty.

Why would someone have drawers that looked like they were never used?

It was as if Conrad lived here without actually living here.

She moved toward the coffee table and noticed something else—small marks on the surface, faint rings from glasses or mugs. But only one place. Repeatedly. As if only one person ever used it.

Belly exhaled slowly.

This place wasn’t a home.

It was a fortress.

Her eyes flicked again to the camera.

A fortress with surveillance.

Her stomach twisted with a mix of fear and fascination. She didn’t know much about Conrad, but this—this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t the life of some business executive or private introvert.

This was something else entirely.

Belly clasped her hands together, suddenly feeling small in the enormous space. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned toward the kitchen to make tea, needing something warm to steady her heart.

She opened a cabinet, found a mug, and filled it with water.

That was when the lights flickered.

Just a small shudder—barely noticeable—but her body froze anyway.

Another flicker.

The hum of the refrigerator paused, resumed, paused again.

Belly swallowed hard.

The penthouse dimmed for a split second, the lights trembling like unsure breaths.

And then—

The power snapped off.

Everything went dark.

Her heart lurched to her throat.

“Hello?” her voice cracked. “Conrad?”

No answer.

Her hands fumbled along the counter, searching for her phone, for light, for anything. The penthouse was silent, suffocatingly silent. Her breath came faster; her skin prickled.

“Conrad—?”

A sudden flash of light made her gasp, stumbling back with a choked scream.

A flashlight beam hit her chest, then rose slowly to her face.

And behind it—

Conrad.

His expression was carved in stone, sharp with concern he tried to hide. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and his presence in the dark felt like a wall dropping into place—cold, firm, unmovable, but undeniably protective.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly.

His voice.

Low.

Controlled.

Too controlled.

Belly’s pulse thundered, half fear, half adrenaline, half something she didn’t want to name.

He stepped closer, the beam now lighting only his chest as he lowered the flashlight.

“You okay?” he asked.

The question was soft, too soft for the man who’d barely spoken yesterday.

She nodded, unable to speak.

Conrad exhaled slowly, something unspoken passing between them in the dark corridor. Something that warmed her and terrified her in equal measure.

When the lights flickered back on, the spell broke.