Cage With a View — First Night at the Estate
The doors closed behind us with a quiet finality that echoed deeper than sound.
The estate enveloped me—polished wood, lavender, stone cooled by centuries of obedience. Even the air felt disciplined. Designed to hold its breath.
Xander removed his coat with efficient movements, draping it over a chair before loosening his cufflinks. Every gesture was controlled. Measured.
As if nothing at all had just happened.
"You don't have to glare at me like that," I said lightly, breaking the silence.
His eyes lifted.
"I'm not glaring."
"Yes, you are."
A pause.
"You mistake awareness for anger," he said calmly. "A common error."
I scoffed. "You practically snapped at the driver."
"He overstepped."
"He kissed my hand."
Xander crossed the room, stopping just short of me. Close enough that I could feel his presence—not touching, never touching—but undeniable.
"That privilege," he said quietly, "belongs to me."
The words landed harder than they should have.
I laughed, sharp and nervous. "You don't own me."
His gaze sharpened—not heated, not amused. Focused.
"No," he agreed. "But while you're under my protection, you will not be treated as accessible."
The word sent an unwanted thrill through me.
I tilted my chin. "And if I don't agree?"
A flicker passed through his eyes—something restrained tightening its grip.
"Then you'll learn," he said evenly, "that defiance has consequences."
I should have backed down.
Instead, I smiled.
The Estate
The tour followed—quiet, deliberate.
Xander moved ahead of me through long corridors and vaulted rooms, the estate unfolding like a map of power. He didn't look back to see if I followed.
I did.
The library smelled of leather and ink. The dining room gleamed with silver and intention. Nothing here invited comfort. Everything demanded compliance.
At a set of double doors, I deliberately stepped closer.
Too close.
Our hands reached for the handle at the same time.
Contact.
His fingers brushed mine—brief, electric.
I didn't pull away.
Xander did.
Immediately.
His jaw tightened. "Don't."
"That was accidental," I said softly.
"No," he replied. "It wasn't."
I raised a brow. "You don't know that."
His eyes dropped to my hand—still hovering where his had been.
"I know exactly when you're testing me."
The air between us thickened.
"Then stop reacting," I challenged.
Silence.
Then—his hand closed around my wrist.
Not rough. Not gentle. Controlled. Final.
The slightest break of his own rule.
"Enough," he said quietly.
He released me at once.
But my pulse didn't slow.
And neither did his gaze.
Dinner
Dinner was served overlooking the lavender fields, twilight bleeding violet across the sky.
Xander sat across from me, posture immaculate, expression unreadable.
"So," I asked quietly, "does everyone who enters your world get claimed like this… or just me?"
A pause.
"No," he said. "Only those who attract attention."
I frowned. "You think I did something wrong?"
"I think," he replied calmly, "you enjoy provoking reactions."
I smiled faintly. "And you enjoy pretending you're unaffected."
The corner of his mouth twitched—gone before it fully formed.
"Careful," he murmured. "Awareness comes with consequences."
My chest tightened.
Balcony
Later, I escaped to the balcony, needing air—space—distance from the weight of him.
It lasted less than a minute.
"You don't like being watched," Xander said behind me.
I turned. "You don't like not being in control."
"True."
"You could try trusting me."
He stepped closer—not touching. Never touching.
"I don't trust circumstances," he said quietly. "And you are currently disrupting mine."
"That sounds less like caution and more like ownership."
"That," he said calmly, "is what caution looks like."
I searched his face. "Then why does it feel like you're claiming, not protecting?"
His gaze held mine—steady, intense.
"Because you keep approaching a line you shouldn't cross."
"And what happens if I cross it?"
His voice dropped.
"You already did."
Amaiyla — Alone
Later, in the silence of my room, the estate felt smaller. Like it was watching me breathe.
I couldn't stop thinking about his hand on my wrist. How brief it had been. How deliberate.
How he'd let go.
"You don't get to want him," I whispered to myself.
But my body hadn't listened then.
And it wasn't listening now.
Ending Beat
As sleep finally claimed me, one truth settled deep and undeniable, Xander's silhouette lingered in my mind as I drifted off. Cold, distant, and yet… impossibly magnetic.
Xander Reyes doesn't lose control.
He limits it.
One week.
One bed.
One man I can't stop thinking about.
And tonight, I'd learned something dangerous—
I wasn't trapped in this cage alone.
I was inside it with the man holding the key.