No Visits are Allowed

CHAPTER 12: NO VISITS ARE ALLOWED

RACHEL'S POV

The morning sun goes through my bedroom curtains, casting a glow across the room. It is a reminder for me that I am supposed to begin my day already even though I am not interested in stepping a foot out.

Just when I am still moving my body across my bed lazily, my phone buzzes beside me, and I pick it up to see a message from my sister, Emily.

  "Hey, Rach. Can we meet up? It’s been too long. I want to speak with you about Dad. I am sorry that he reacted that way to you. I need to speak with you, please. Can I come over?"

A small smile tugs at my lips. I’ve missed her. She is my closest friend, and we are each other comfort, but ever since our dad fell sick, the distance has widened, and we rarely communicate anymore. I quickly type back.

   "I’m free on Sunday. You can come over to visit."

A sense of excitement stirs within me. For the first time in a long while, something feels normal. But then, reality sets in—I need to ask Noah for permission. He’s made it clear that nothing happens in this house without his approval.

I exhale in exhaustion as I have to wait and speak to him first before hitting the send button so I put down the phone with the unsent message saving as a draft. 

I slip out of bed, wrapping a robe around myself. I hesitate for a moment before stepping toward his room. His words echo in my head: Never step into my room unless I invite you.

With a defeated sigh, I turn away. He’ll be heading to the office soon. I’ll wait. I stand at the door, checking in every time so I do not miss his departure. 

Minutes stretch into an hour before I hear his firm footsteps descending the stairs. I quickly rush toward the hallway, catching him just as he’s buttoning the cuff of his dress shirt on his way.

“Noah, good morning." I greet him softly as if speaking otherwise might make my presence irritating to him. He doesn't spare me a glance or even return my greeting. He just continues with what he is doing but as long as he is listening, I really do not mind.

   "Can I talk to you for a second?” My voice is careful, almost too gentle. "Please," I add.

He doesn’t stop, only gives me a sidelong glance. “Make it quick.”

“My sister wants to visit me on Sunday. I told her she could come over but I want to let you know...”

Noah halts mid-step. He turns to face me fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes glinting with something dangerous.

“No,” he says flatly.

I blink, caught off guard by his immediate refusal. “No? What?"

   "No, she isn't allowed to come over."

   " Why not?”

His jaw tightens. “Because it’s not part of our deal.”

“But—”

He sighs as if I am exhausting him already. "I agreed to marry you, Rachel, but I never agreed to welcome your family into my home. That wasn't part of the deal."

Anger prickles beneath my skin as I try to make sense of what he is saying to me. 

    "She isn't a kid, she won't ruin anything or..."

“No, Rachel.” His voice hardens. “I said no! I’m not giving any of your family members an opportunity to come here and that is final!”

I feel my chest tighten as I try to argue a bit, “She’s my sister, Noah. It is just one visit. Why are you being so—” I exhale, trying to hide my watery eyes, "You can't just..."

“I can,” he interrupts, adjusting his tie. “And I just did.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. My throat tightens as I watch him turn toward the door. He stops just before stepping out.

“Don't test me, Rachel. I am your boss, not your best friend. Speak to me with respect and do not dare to question my authority. Get to work on time,” he warns. “I won’t hesitate to punish you if you’re late.”

The door shuts behind him, and I stand frozen in place, my hands clenched into fists. Anger bubbles beneath my skin, but there’s nothing I can do.

I clutch my phone tightly, my fingers trembling as I type out a message to my sister.

   "I am sorry but you can't come over. I will choose a place for us to meet later."

.

.

.

Work offers little distraction from the hell of a life that I am currently living.  At least, I am grateful for that. I go through my tasks mechanically, my mind replaying the conversation over and over. I am unable to even have a cohesive thought - everything just keeps spiraling out of control, and the more I try to understand and make sense of my situation, the harder it gets for me. By noon, the kitchen head approaches me.

“You won’t be working night shifts anymore,” she informs me, not meeting my gaze.

I frown. “Huh? What? Why?”

She shrugs. “I do not know. Orders from above.”

From above? I know no one from above except him - Noah. It has to be him. My grip tightens on the towel I’m holding. What is he trying to do? First, he refuses my sister’s visit. Now, he’s controlling my work hours?

I don’t understand him. He’s cold one moment, controlling the next. Is this his way of punishing me? Or is it something else? Did I offend him and I just do not remember when and how?

By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. As I step inside, Noah’s car pulls into the driveway at the same time. The sleek black vehicle moves past me toward the entrance, and I watch as he steps out, his posture exuding confidence. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he strides into the house.

Frustration gnaws at me. Why does he act as if I don’t exist?

I freshen up and head downstairs for dinner. The dining room is eerily quiet as I take my seat. Noah is already at the table, cutting into his steak with meticulous precision. The silence is suffocating.

I clear my throat. “Did you change my work schedule?”

Noah doesn’t look up. “Yes.”

I wait for an explanation that never comes. “Why?”

“Because I can.”

My grip on my fork tightens. “That’s not a reason.”

He finally lifts his gaze, his eyes cool and calculating. “It’s the only one you need. I do whatever I want with you.”

The meal continues in silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. When he finishes, he stands abruptly.

I blink. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer. He simply picks up his keys and walks out, leaving me sitting alone at the table, frustration simmering inside me.

 Just as I am trying to get my mind together,  a message notification pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance down at my phone.

Elvis: I need to see you. Can we talk?

I stare at the screen for a while before looking back at the entrance that Naoh passed through with my heart hammering in my chest.

I can sense that something is or will be wrong soon.