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My father didn’t have anything like this. You still had to wash the dishes, then place them in a sanitizing machine.
"This cuts the work in half. It's unnecessary to have to wash the food off first. Cross designed it."
I'm stunned. Impressed. So he is smart. Interesting.
"It's…brilliant," I say with a smile, placing the dishes inside with food and all.
"He is"–I look up, waiting to hear more–"brilliant."
For the next two weeks, I read, eat alone at the dining table, and stay in my room most of the day. I always clean my own dishes and made sure to learn my way around the kitchen in case I got hungry. I don't want the staff to think I'm a snob. I was hoping to talk to someone and make a friend, but everyone is curt with me. And he never shows. Not at the dining table when I make a point to sit at it, hoping he would make an appearance. Not when I hear a knock on my door and it’s just my dinner tray. Two weeks of being alone in a big mysterious house and I've never felt so at war with myself. My father never called me. It was like I never existed.
To anyone.
It's funny when you look around and notice everything, but when no one cares you exist, it's the worst pain of all.
The following Monday, I decided to explore the common areas of the house. I stayed out of the west wing, making sure I wore my mask and only took it off in the privacy of my room.
Moving through the house, I find corridors illuminated by pathways of light that seemed to guide my way, responding to my footsteps with a gentle brightness. Smart windows showcased panoramic views of both the futuristic cityscape outside and the distant ocean, blending the urban in a harmonious embrace.
The heart of the house was like a nexus room—an interactive area where technology and imagination merged. Holographic displays floated in midair, allowing me to explore virtual realms. It allowed you to communicate, but I had no access. Even if I did, there was no one to call. I’ve accepted that my father was done with me.
I spent my time looking through immersive holograms and even conjured up lifelike simulations for entertainment. Furniture in the room morphed at a thought, adapting to my needs in real time by appearing from the wall. As I settled into a chair, it seemed to mold itself to the contours of my body, creating an experience of comfort and connectivity unparalleled by anything from the past. It was surreal.
The fusion of technology and nature was perhaps most evident in the Biosphere Garden. It felt like a sanctuary, transporting me to a bioluminescent wonderland, where plant life intertwined with luminescent fibers, casting a soothing, ethereal glow. The air was crisp and purified, thanks to a network of advanced filtration systems seamlessly integrated into the futuristic architecture. It was gorgeous. It was peaceful. But I was alone.
By the third week, I can't take being in my room anymore. It’s Thursday evening, and I’m bored and want to see the other parts of the house. I quietly pull the door open and adjust the mask over my face, glad it’s made of a breathable fabric.
I step into the dark hallway with concrete-colored walls. White strips of light illuminate each side of the hallway, so it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the lighting. Heading on the opposite side of the west wing, I want to see what’s on the east side of the house. I draw a mental picture like the nexus room and figure it’s probably where Killian Cross sleeps.My stomach clenches in anticipation, wondering if he's there. What he might look like. Maybe he isn't wearing his mask, or maybe he doesn't take it off. Spending so much time in his house, I know he designed it all. From what I have seen so far, there is no way he wasn’t a genius.
In a way, I'm glad he doesn't expect me to share his room. What if he's violent? A shudder rips through me, thinking of being married to a man like that. All the what-ifs.
Passing the landing and walking farther into the hallway on the west side, I hear a faint tapping noise from one of the rooms. I can see that a door is slightly open, letting a glow of light reach the hallway.
When I reach a safe distance to look inside the room, I hear a woman's moan. My eyes widen; a man fucks her with her legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s holding her suspended in the air. The glow of the light illuminates her perfect skin and breasts. The man's face is hidden in the dark shadows as he moves inside her.
"You feel so good, Kill. Right there."
I blink twice, trying to figure out why I'm simultaneously bothered and aroused. I've never had sex like that. Ethan has never held me that way, and I’ve never felt the need to moan because it felt good. The times I did have sex, there was a lot of rubbing, but it was nothing like I read about. No butterflies. No moans escaping my lips. Just sweating and when I expected the fireworks to start, nothing. It was over. For Ethan, it was perfect. He always said I was when we were done. I wasn't sure if he was just being nice or maybe something was wrong with me and I couldn't feel what he was feeling.
"Yes. Harder, Kill," she begs.
With a growl, he begins to savagely fuck her. His strong, inked hands grip the sides of her torso as he thrusts harder, and I notice she lies flat on a table. Her small breast bounce with every thrust.
I can hear how their bodies come together, and then it hits me. Kill is short for Killian. It's Killian Cross, and he's fucking someone while his paid soon-to-be wife is in another room on the other side of the hallway. Jealousy pricks my insides, running through me like a poison with no cure. Her body is voluptuous, and the way she calls him Kill means she isn't some random woman. Killian could have any woman because of his wealth alone, yet her familiarity grates on my nerves, causing them to tighten. From the lighting in the room, I can tell she isn't gorgeous or what they would consider pretty, but he's having sex withher.
I tear my eyes away and practically run toward my room, hating myself for feeling this way. I should be relieved he doesn't want to have sex with me. I also shouldn't be surprised that the man who bought me for a crazy amount of money is no different from the other men who live on this island. Evil men who live together serve each other like demons and use women for their guilty pleasure.
I try to bake a cake, but an annoying siren goes off, then a whooshing sound. I wince when the light of the oven turns off and dings. I couldn't sleep last night. My mind kept going back to Killian and the woman. At six o’clock, I gave up and went straight to the kitchen to bake a cake. I found all the organic ingredients, but I guess the oven cooks a little faster than what I'm used to.
"Are you okay, miss?" Kiera asks, rushing to open the oven door, followed by a cloud of smoke.
"Smoke detected. Purifying now," the automated voice says from a speaker in the ceiling.
"I'm fine," I say, a flush creeping up my cheeks. "I'm sorry–"
She presses a button, and the burnt clump of cake is tossed out.
A tall, dark figure looms in the doorway. My heart begins to beat hard inside my chest, but then the figure is gone. I blink twice. Maybe I'm seeing things from lack of sleep.
