Chapter 4: The Glass Box

The elevator ride to the penthouse took a long time. My ears popped as we went higher and higher.

When the doors opened, I stepped into silence.

Silas’s home wasn't a home. It was a museum.

Everything was black, white, or chrome. The floors were polished concrete. The walls were glass, showing the entire city spread out below like a map. It was beautiful, but it was freezing. There were no photos. No flowers. No mess.

It felt like no one lived here.

"Welcome home," a deep voice said.

I spun around.

Silas was standing by the window, holding a glass of water. He had taken off his jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the hollow of his throat. He looked relaxed.

It made me angry. I was ruined, covered in ink, and terrified. He was drinking water and looking at the view.

"Where is my room?" I asked, clutching my purse.

"Down the hall. Second door on the left," he said. "The master bedroom is the first door. Don't go in there."

"I have no intention of going into your room," I snapped.

"Good," Silas said. He set his glass down on a black table. "Before you unpack, we need to understand the rules."

He walked over to a small console table near the elevator. There was a silver tray on it.

"Put your phone on the tray," he ordered.

I froze. "What?"

"Your phone," he repeated. "And your laptop. And your tablet."

I gripped my purse tighter. "No. I need to call my sister. I need to tell Ellie where I am."

"Ellie knows where you are," Silas said calmly. "I sent my driver to the motel. He gave her cash for food and told her you found a job as a live-in assistant."

"You... you spoke to her?"

"My driver did. She is safe." He pointed to the tray again. "Now. The phone."

"I am not a child, Silas! You can't take my phone."

Silas didn't shout. He just walked toward me. He moved silently, like a shadow.

He reached out and gently took the strap of my purse. He pulled. I tried to hold on, but he was too strong. He took the bag from me.

He opened it, took out my phone, and dropped it onto the silver tray. Clatter.

"Rule Number One," Silas said, looking down at me. "No contact with the outside world. You focus on me."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "That’s illegal."

"So is the tax fraud your father committed," Silas countered smoothly. "Do you want me to call the police on him? Or do you want to give me the phone?"

I bit my lip. He had me trapped.

"Rule Number Two," Silas continued. "You do not leave this penthouse. The elevator is coded. The stairs are alarmed. If you try to run, the security team will stop you, and I will be very unhappy."

He leaned in close.

"And you don't want to see me unhappy, Clara."

"Is that it?" I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "Am I just a prisoner?"

"Rule Number Three," Silas said, ignoring my question. "No closed doors."

"Excuse me?"

"You leave your bedroom door open," he said. "At all times. I need to know where you are."

"Even when I sleep?"

"Especially when you sleep."

He turned and walked back to the window, dismissing me.

"Dinner is at 7:00. Cook something edible. The kitchen is fully stocked."

I stood there, shivering in my ink-stained suit. I looked at my phone on the tray. It was right there. But it felt like it was a million miles away.

I walked down the hall to my room.