Locked

Ayin

I woke up to the golden light of morning spilling through the curtains, casting long shadows across my room. I pushed myself up, the silk sheets pooling around my waist as I glanced around. Everything here was too grand, too polished, too him. Dark tones, sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the soft morning glow. It felt almost unreal.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. It had been a long night.

Shaking off the unease, I got out of bed, freshened up, and changed into something comfortable. I wasn't about to have breakfast here, since I had no idea how things work in Ithan's house. I figured I'd leave a little early so I could have some time to grab something from a coffee shop on the way. So, I grabbed my bag and headed to the main door, fingers curling around the handle—only to find it wouldn't budge.

I frowned, trying again. Locked.

A slow, simmering frustration built in my chest. Ithan.

My eyes landed on a small note taped to the door in his annoyingly elegant handwriting.

'My love, you ain't going anywhere'

I clenched the paper in my fist, my blood heating with frustration.

"Ithan," I hissed under my breath, spinning around and storming toward his bedroom. If he thought he could lock me in like some helpless damsel, he was sorely mistaken.

I pounded on his door.

"Ithan! Open this damn door!"

Silence.

My heart thudded. I knocked again, harder. "I swear to God, if you don't open this right now—"

my phone vibrated. I snatched it up. A message from an unknown number.

"Stay put. Unless you want to see what happens when you don't listen to Ithan Houndston."

A cold chill ran down my spine.

I swallowed hard, gripping my phone tighter. Was this some kind of joke? A warning? A threat?

My first instinct was to call him, but just as I tapped on this contact, I heard the distinct sound from the living area.

I spun around, storming back into the living room, and sure enough—there he was. Sitting on the couch like he had all the time in the world, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves lazily rolled up, a watch gleaming on his wrist. He was sipping coffee, watching me like he had been waiting for this exact reaction.

I marched toward him. "You locked me in?"

Ithan set his cup down, tilting his head. "Good morning to you too, wife."

"Don't 'wife' me." I placed my hands on my hips, glaring. "Why the hell is the door locked?"

He leaned back, his gaze steady. "Because I don't trust you not to do something reckless."

My jaw clenched. "Like what?"

His lips curled into that infuriating smirk. "Like going to Huston the second I leave."

A flicker of guilt ran through me. Okay, maybe I had planned that. But that wasn't the point.

"You don't get to control where I go," I said through gritted teeth.

He rose from the couch, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us in an instant. His presence was suffocating.

"I don't control you," he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down my spine. "I just keep you safe."

I swallowed. Hard. That was it. I shoved at his chest, my hands pressing against the firm, unforgiving warmth beneath the fabric. He didn't budge.

Not even a step.

I glared up at him, expecting mockery, but his expression had shifted.

His smirk was still there, but his gaze had darkened, something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

The air between us changed.

My breath felt heavier.

His hands, slow and deliberate, rose to my wrists, his fingers curling around them with just enough pressure to hold me in place. Not rough, not forceful—just there.

"You're impossible," he murmured, his voice quieter now, lower.

"And you're insane," I shot back, my own voice weaker than I wanted it to be.

His thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, slow, teasing. My pulse betrayed me, hammering against his touch.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

His lips parted slightly, his breath warm against my skin. He was close—too close. Every inch of space between us felt like a live wire, charged and waiting to ignite.

His eyes flickered to my lips.

For one aching second, I thought—no, I knew—he was going to kiss me.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned in, so close that I could feel the heat of him against my skin. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke.

"You'd like it too much," he said, his tone laced with something wicked.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers curling into fists, resisting the urge to grab onto him, to pull him closer.

But then, just as quickly as he had closed the space between us, he stepped back.

I exhaled shakily, my mind spinning, my body burning.

Ithan let out a quiet chuckle, the sound entirely too pleased with itself.

He turned away, walking to the side of the couch where a small, sleek suitcase sat waiting. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that I did, my stomach clenched.

He grabbed the handle, adjusting the strap on his shoulder before glancing back at me. "I'll be gone just today."

I blinked. "So?"

He took a slow step toward me, his free hand lifting—knuckles brushing against my jaw. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

"I'll see you always," he murmured, his voice softer now. "So don't do anything foolish while I'm gone."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Then, before I could stop him, before I could demand more—he walked out.

The penthouse door shut with a soft, final click, locked. Left me all alone. 

And yes, I am that helpless damsel, he thought he could lock in.