Elizabeth's point view: Why is Richard’s house so weird? I thought as I walked into the room. It looked less like a bedroom and more like a luxury hotel suite—no, an apartment. And not just any apartment, but one that put my entire place to shame. The sheer size of it was overwhelming. There was a small living room area with couch set and a mini fridge, separated from the bedroom by a wide doorway. The bed itself was massive, a king-sized piece floating on a pure white frame. The whole room was white—walls, floors, everything—like it had been designed for someone who feared a single speck of color. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall in both the living room and the bedroom. At the far left was a walk-in closet, and at the opposite corner, a bathroom. Next to the bathroom door were four different switches, their purpose unknown. Curious, I flipped one, and the entire bathroom wall disappeared, turning the space see-through from the bedroom. I quickly flicked it off, my face heati
Elizabeth’s Point of View I found myself smiling at their little banter while eating my meal. 'Maybe this might not be so bad after all,' I thought, for the first time feeling a hint of comfort in Richard’s house. Margaret had somehow managed to make the place feel homely. “I’m done. I need to get ready for work,” Richard announced after rushing through his meal. I watched as he rose to his feet, placed his plate in the dishwasher, and walked toward the door. But just before stepping out, he paused, turning back to me. “I hope you don’t think you’re going anywhere today,” he said, his tone firm. “I’m going to work,” I countered without hesitation. “You’re not. I already spoke to your office—you’ve been given the day off,” he stated firmly. I shook my head. “I don’t need it. I’m fine to go to work.” I was finally gaining real experience at the office, and with only two months left, I wanted to make the most of it. “You’re not going. That’s final.” His voice left no room f
I noticed Margaret’s expression shift instantly. Her once-warm demeanor hardened into something unreadable as she narrowed her eyes. "I don’t know," she said, her words clipped, almost defensive. "Neither does Richard. No one knows what happened to her." Her gaze locked onto mine, searching, as if trying to decipher my intentions. "I hope you’re not asking because you believe the rumors—that Richard had anything to do with her disappearance," she added, her tone sharp, her words almost like a warning. I shook my head immediately. "No… I was just wondering what happened to her," I stammered. Margaret studied me for a second longer before her face gradually softened. "Well, like I said, no one knows. She just woke up one day and disappeared," she said, turning back toward the television. And just like that, she shut the conversation down. "Ooh! My show is starting!" She cranked up the volume—so loud that any attempt to continue our discussion would have been pointless.
Elizabeth's point of view: Inside the room was a nursery—an old, abandoned nursery with two baby cradles in the middle. The room was covered in dust, cobwebs stretched from corner to corner, making it clear no one had stepped foot in here for years. I took a step inside, and the moment I did, a sharp crack echoed through the air. I looked down to find shattered glass scattered across the floor, pieces of picture frames mixed with ripped-up notes, torn apart as if someone had wanted to erase them completely. If it wasn’t so old and dusty, the nursery would have been the most beautiful thing ever. It had promise once. Now, broken toys littered the floor—ripped bears missing their button eyes, cracked dolls with their stuffing spilling out, and pink star mobiles still hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly. But this place wasn’t just abandoned. It was ruined. Someone had deliberately trashed it. I found myself walking further, my curiosity pulling me in as I took everything in
Elizabeth's point of view: "Richard!"My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I thought he was at work. "Answer me, damn it!" he roared, eyes blazing with anger. He lifted his foot as if to step inside but stopped midair, hesitating like something invisible was holding him back. "I... I got lost trying to find my room," I stammered. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Get out," he ordered, his voice low at first. But before I could gather myself to move, his voice rose sharply. "I said get out, Elizabeth!" I flinched, scrambling past him into the hallway. "Don't ever come in here again," Richard muttered as I rushed by. I barely had time to catch my breath before realizing—I was lost again. My room could have been anywhere. Richard must have noticed because he pointed to a door at the corner of the hallway. "There," he said, his voice quieter now, almost drained. I nodded quickly and hurried toward it. But just as I reached my door, I glanced bac
Richard's perspective: (point of view): "Martin, cancel all my appointments for the day. I don’t think I’ll be coming in," I said, feeling an unexpected pull to stay home. "Understood, sir. But if I may remind you, the award ceremony is today. You’ve been nominated for Philanthropist of the Year again," Martin informed me. "Would you like me to send a representative to accept it on your behalf?" I leaned back in my seat, exhaling. "I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know before the event." Another award. Another ceremony. I’d received so many over the years that I was starting to lose count. The whole thing felt exhausting—endless speeches, handshakes, and hollow congratulations. None of it truly mattered. But this time, something felt different. For the first time in years, I was actually considering going. That is, if I could convince Elizabeth to come with me. "Should I inform your family?" Martin asked. I sighed. My mother and Beatrice always made sure to attend on my
Elizabeth's point of view: Richard was insufferable. And Margret—what was taking her so long? I found myself glancing toward the kitchen, wondering what she was doing. With how long she was taking, she might as well have been baking a whole new batch of cupcakes. "I told you already, I’m not going to see any therapist. I don’t need one," I spat, my patience running thin. Richard smiled, unaffected. "You are," he stated firmly. I shook my head, seeing this as an opportunity to bring up Jake. "About yesterday..." I started, then hesitated. I remembered how angry Richard had been the day before, and it made me skeptical. "I... spoke to..." I stopped again, suddenly aware of the way he was watching me—focused, his full attention on me, smiling. It was unsettling. Then, as if sensing my discomfort, his expression shifted, growing serious. "What is it, Elizabeth? Talk to me." His deep voice was calm, soothing, and for some reason, it made my heart flutter slightly. "Your e
Elizabeth's Point of View; The cupcake was worth it. Margaret had magic hands. Even though I had planned to take just one, I devoured an entire box of ten before I even realized it. "This is lovely! Thank you," I said, wiping the last crumb from my lips. Margaret smiled warmly, clearly pleased with herself. "Listen, my shift is over. Want to go dress shopping together?" she asked. I glanced down at my clothes. They were new—I had bought them with my first paycheck—and I thought they were pretty decent. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, frowning. Margaret chuckled. "For the award ceremony tonight. Richard said you two are going." I rolled my eyes. "I’m not going anywhere." Richard wasn’t the boss of me. Well… maybe technically he was, but that didn’t mean he could summon me to his events just by commanding it. Margaret gave me a knowing look, but I stood my ground. "Don't worry about any dress shopping, ma'am. I’m not going anywhere tonight," I
"What do you say?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost casual.I didn’t answer. Instead, I just stared at her, trying to read the room, trying to understand why. Rich people were strange, but this? This was something else. It wasn’t just that she was offering me money—it was how she did it. Like it was a simple transaction. Like I had a price tag. And considering her son already thought I would do anything for money, this was more than suspicious. Had Richard put her up to this? Was this some kind of test? The thought made my jaw tighten. But why would he even bother testing me? He knew I was around him because I had to be. But...what if I was wrong? What if this wasn’t a test, and I was about to walk away from the offer of a lifetime? "Fine! You drive a hard bargain—two million," Mrs. Williams said, and I blinked. Before I could react, she waved a manicured hand in the air, like she was already growing bored of the conversation. "This is my final offer, and I’m not moving
I followed Richard to what looked like an auditorium, then into an elevator that led to a VIP box overlooking the stage. As soon as we stepped out, I noticed three people seated with their backs to the elevator, their attention fixed on the stage. Richard moved forward, his hand slipping from my back as he took another step toward the chairs. "Mum!" His voice was sharp, directed at a silver-haired woman sitting in the first chair. She turned instantly, a warm smile flashing on her face. "Richard!" Her soft voice rang out as she rose gracefully and walked toward him. This is Richard’s mother? I stared at her, taking in her beauty. She looked young and elegant, and she carried herself with effortless grace. Her nude-colored dress complemented her flawless skin, and the diamond necklace around her neck screamed money. "What are you doing here, Mum?" Richard asked, his body tensing as she pulled him into a hug. "Did you really expect me to miss this?" she said. She had a bea
Elizabeth's point of view: We got down to the parking lot, where a pure white Cadillac Escalade limo sat waiting just in front of the elevator. As soon as we stepped out, the driver rushed forward, fumbling to open the door for Richard. But Richard stopped him, "The lady first." Richard instructed. And the driver nodded redirecting his efforts to me. I tried not to blush as I stepped inside, my breath hitching at the sheer luxury surrounding me. The interior was sleek, with plush leather seats, a TV screen, and crystal-clear wine glasses arranged neatly beside a fully stocked mini fridge. It was the kind of car that screamed wealth, the kind I had only ever seen in movies. I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but as beautiful as this dress was, it wasn’t exactly made for sitting. The fabric clung to me, suddenly feeling too tight, my knees pressed together in a way that made breathing a conscious effort. The leather squeaked as I adjusted, my frustration growing.
Elizabeth's point of view: "Fine!" Richard sighed. "I won't touch you without your permission... but if your eyes beg me to, I just might." His teasing tone sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Also, would you accompany me to the award dinner? It’s important, and I wouldn’t want to leave you alone in this house in case you decide to go snooping again,"Ah. There it was—the real reason he wanted me out tonight. "What do you say?" he asked. It wasn’t how I wanted him to ask but it was a win nonetheless. "Fine. I’ll go," I sighed, "'I'll pick something from the collection. Thank you." "Good. See you at seven," Richard said, and I nodded instinctively—forgetting, for a moment, that he couldn't see me. As I hung up, my lips curled into an involuntary smile. A small, fluttering sensation stirred in my stomach, but I quickly shook my head to rid myself of the ridiculous feeling. "He’s so infuriating", I thought, though I couldn't deny the thrill of having had the upper hand fo
Elizabeth's Point of View; The cupcake was worth it. Margaret had magic hands. Even though I had planned to take just one, I devoured an entire box of ten before I even realized it. "This is lovely! Thank you," I said, wiping the last crumb from my lips. Margaret smiled warmly, clearly pleased with herself. "Listen, my shift is over. Want to go dress shopping together?" she asked. I glanced down at my clothes. They were new—I had bought them with my first paycheck—and I thought they were pretty decent. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, frowning. Margaret chuckled. "For the award ceremony tonight. Richard said you two are going." I rolled my eyes. "I’m not going anywhere." Richard wasn’t the boss of me. Well… maybe technically he was, but that didn’t mean he could summon me to his events just by commanding it. Margaret gave me a knowing look, but I stood my ground. "Don't worry about any dress shopping, ma'am. I’m not going anywhere tonight," I
Elizabeth's point of view: Richard was insufferable. And Margret—what was taking her so long? I found myself glancing toward the kitchen, wondering what she was doing. With how long she was taking, she might as well have been baking a whole new batch of cupcakes. "I told you already, I’m not going to see any therapist. I don’t need one," I spat, my patience running thin. Richard smiled, unaffected. "You are," he stated firmly. I shook my head, seeing this as an opportunity to bring up Jake. "About yesterday..." I started, then hesitated. I remembered how angry Richard had been the day before, and it made me skeptical. "I... spoke to..." I stopped again, suddenly aware of the way he was watching me—focused, his full attention on me, smiling. It was unsettling. Then, as if sensing my discomfort, his expression shifted, growing serious. "What is it, Elizabeth? Talk to me." His deep voice was calm, soothing, and for some reason, it made my heart flutter slightly. "Your e
Richard's perspective: (point of view): "Martin, cancel all my appointments for the day. I don’t think I’ll be coming in," I said, feeling an unexpected pull to stay home. "Understood, sir. But if I may remind you, the award ceremony is today. You’ve been nominated for Philanthropist of the Year again," Martin informed me. "Would you like me to send a representative to accept it on your behalf?" I leaned back in my seat, exhaling. "I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know before the event." Another award. Another ceremony. I’d received so many over the years that I was starting to lose count. The whole thing felt exhausting—endless speeches, handshakes, and hollow congratulations. None of it truly mattered. But this time, something felt different. For the first time in years, I was actually considering going. That is, if I could convince Elizabeth to come with me. "Should I inform your family?" Martin asked. I sighed. My mother and Beatrice always made sure to attend on my
Elizabeth's point of view: "Richard!"My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I thought he was at work. "Answer me, damn it!" he roared, eyes blazing with anger. He lifted his foot as if to step inside but stopped midair, hesitating like something invisible was holding him back. "I... I got lost trying to find my room," I stammered. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Get out," he ordered, his voice low at first. But before I could gather myself to move, his voice rose sharply. "I said get out, Elizabeth!" I flinched, scrambling past him into the hallway. "Don't ever come in here again," Richard muttered as I rushed by. I barely had time to catch my breath before realizing—I was lost again. My room could have been anywhere. Richard must have noticed because he pointed to a door at the corner of the hallway. "There," he said, his voice quieter now, almost drained. I nodded quickly and hurried toward it. But just as I reached my door, I glanced bac
Elizabeth's point of view: Inside the room was a nursery—an old, abandoned nursery with two baby cradles in the middle. The room was covered in dust, cobwebs stretched from corner to corner, making it clear no one had stepped foot in here for years. I took a step inside, and the moment I did, a sharp crack echoed through the air. I looked down to find shattered glass scattered across the floor, pieces of picture frames mixed with ripped-up notes, torn apart as if someone had wanted to erase them completely. If it wasn’t so old and dusty, the nursery would have been the most beautiful thing ever. It had promise once. Now, broken toys littered the floor—ripped bears missing their button eyes, cracked dolls with their stuffing spilling out, and pink star mobiles still hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly. But this place wasn’t just abandoned. It was ruined. Someone had deliberately trashed it. I found myself walking further, my curiosity pulling me in as I took everything in