Emilia froze in place, her heart pounding in her chest as Jonathan's voice sliced through the air. It was calm, cold, like the quiet before a storm, but it held the weight of something darker. Something demanding.
She didn't answer immediately, instead turning slowly to face him. The light from the living room cast sharp shadows over Jonathan's face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the fierceness in his eyes, where a simmering rage threatened to boil over.
"Where were you, Emilia?" His tone remained unnervingly calm, but a razor-sharp edge sliced through his words.
Emilia felt a flash of anger surge within her, but she suppressed it. "Out," she said curtly. "Not that it's any of your business."
Jonathan's gaze didn't waver, his posture stiff as if preparing for whatever she might throw at him. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, his voice low and even. "Out.." he pressed "Out where, Emilia?"
Emilia's chest tightened, her thoughts racing as she fought to keep her composure. She could feel his eyes on her, like a predator watching its prey. She had no choice but to meet his gaze, a defiant spark in her eyes. "I'm not your possession, Jonathan," she snapped, "You can't control me."
The words hung in the air between them, raw and unfiltered. Emilia knew she had crossed a line, I mean it's not the first time she has crossed the line but in that moment, she didn't care. She was tired of being treated like she was nothing more than a piece on a chessboard to him, she was tired—tired of being treated like a pawn, tired of his cold eyes always watching, always judging. Tired of not having a say in her life. Tired of the cage disguised as luxury
Emilia took a step forward, her voice unwavering as she continued. "I'm tired of your cold, controlling presence suffocating me every time I try to make a move", she said her breath steady, but her heart raced as the words left her lips, each one a declaration of her frustration, her anger. "You think you can manipulate me with your silence, your power, your damn money—but I'm not your puppet. I'm tired of pretending I'm okay with this... whatever this is between us." She threw her hands up, her emotions spilling over.
Jonathan didn't flinch. Didn't soften. Didn't even blink. "You still haven't answered my question," he said flatly, his voice slicing through the heavy air. "Out where, Emilia?"
The fire that had burned so fiercely inside her flickered for a second. Shock rippled across her face—not just at his words, but at how effortlessly he dismissed everything she had just spilled out. Every emotion. Every crack in her armor. Every desperate plea for freedom.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Emilia's lips curled into a bitter smile, the sarcasm dripping from her voice like venom. "You've got to be kidding me," she scoffed, arms folding tightly across her chest. "You want to know where I went? Fine. I went out. For a walk. Is that forbidden now too, Jonathan? Do I need a permission slip to breathe?"
Jonathan's jaw tensed, but he remained silent, eyes narrowed—studying her like he was dissecting every syllable, every twitch of defiance in her face.
Just then, a sharp ping cut through the tension.
Jonathan's expression shifted—barely. A twitch in his brow. A subtle tightening around his eyes. But Emilia noticed. She always noticed. That microscopic crack in his otherwise impenetrable mask.
His gaze locked on the phone. Her phone.
A beat passed.
"I didn't give you a phone," he said slowly, voice dangerously calm, each word laced with quiet fury. "And I sure as hell didn't authorize anyone to bring one in here."
"A friend got it for me," Emilia said, her voice steady but her pulse thudding in her ears.
Jonathan's eyes darkened, the room seeming to drop a few degrees with the chill in his silence. He took one slow step toward her, then another, his eyes never leaving hers.
"What friend?" he asked quietly, dangerously. The calm in his voice was gone—it was too composed now, too exact. The kind of calm that comes just before a storm ripped everything apart.
Emilia didn't blink. "Katherine."
His jaw clenched.
"Of course it was Katherine," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "You had no right—" he started, voice rising slightly, but Emilia cut him off.
"No, you have no right," she snapped, stepping forward now, unafraid. "You don't get to cage me up like some pet and then act surprised when I try to find a way to live."
Jonathan's hand twitched at his side, as if resisting the urge to grab something—control something. "You're in this penthouse for your protection."
"Bullshit," Emilia hissed. "Fucking bullshit, don't talk to me about protection when you barely know me, I am in this penthouse against my own will, so don't fucking talk to me about protection."
Jonathan's eyes flared, just for a second, as if the full weight of her words had slapped him clean across the face. But he didn't react—not physically. His body was still, statuesque, but his silence roared.
"You're pushing it," he said finally, his voice low, almost inaudible. A warning cloaked in restraint.
But Emilia didn't care anymore. She was done with restraint. "Good," she spat. "I want to push it. I want to break whatever twisted little rules you've made up to justify this prison." Her voice cracked with emotion, but she didn't back down. "Because you keep saying it's for my protection, but the only thing you're protecting is your damn ego."
Jonathan stepped closer now—close enough that she could see the pulse in his jaw, the faint tremble of tension in his fingers. His eyes, usually so dark yet controlled, were now burning with an unspoken fury. But it wasn't just anger. It was something else too. Something volatile. Something personal.
"You think I don't know what this is?" Emilia continued, breathless. "You don't give a damn about protecting me. You just don't want to lose control. That's what this is really about, isn't it? Control."
His lips parted, like he might respond, but Emilia cut him off again, her voice rising now, the dam finally breaking.
"You took my life, Jonathan. My freedom. You threw me in this penthouse like some expensive pet and called it safety. You gave me books and movies and expected me to sit here like a good little girl and be grateful—well, guess what? I'm not."
Another beat of silence. The only sound was their breathing—hers erratic, his sharp and measured, as if he were holding something back by sheer will.
"I could cut your access to everything in seconds," he said quietly, coldly. "Internet. Books. This phone." His gaze flicked to the device still buzzing in her hand. "And don't think I won't."
Emilia's jaw clenched, and she stepped forward until they were nearly chest to chest. "Go ahead," she whispered. "Strip it all away. See if that finally makes me obedient. Or maybe, just maybe, it'll make me hate you more than I already do."
Jonathan didn't move. Didn't blink. But something in his eyes flickered—pain? Frustration? Loss of control?
Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly.
Then he turned on his heel, walking away without another word.
And for the first time… Emilia wasn't sure if that silence meant victory—or the beginning of something much worse.
The silence that followed Jonathan's departure was heavy, broken only by the sound of Emilia's uneven breathing. She stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the spot where he had disappeared into the hallway.
The phone in her hand felt hot, like it carried the weight of everything that had just happened—proof of the control he was so desperate to keep.
As the minutes dragged on, her fury slowly gave way to something else—something colder. Unease. Had she gone too far? The thought crept in, quiet but sharp. Still, she shoved it aside. No. She wasn't going to regret speaking up.
The penthouse seemed darker now. The shadows stretched across the walls like they were alive, twisting into something sinister. The silence wasn't peace—it was pressure. It wrapped around her throat like a noose.
Then, suddenly—
Buzz.
The phone vibrated in her hand, loud in the stillness. Emilia flinched, her heart skipping a beat—not from confusion, but from the sudden noise cutting through the tension she quickly checked the screen.
A message from an unknown number flashed on the display, the words sending a shiver down her spine: "I'M WATCHING YOU ÀMARA."