~ Clara’s POV ~
The word “condition” hung in the air between us.
In my experience, conditions were never mere suggestions; they were compulsory commitments written in the language of pain and humiliation.
Hearing it now, spoken by a woman whose power dwarfed Julian’s in every conceivable way, sent a cold spike of anxiety straight through my chest.
I felt small, helpless, and exposed.
I was so lost in the static of my own panic that I didn’t realize how close she had become.
The first thing that registered was her scent, a sophisticated, intoxicating blend of lavender.
It was a clean, expensive fragrance that seemed to wrap around me.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart hammered against my ribs as Miss Evelyn stalked closer, her movements possessing the predatory grace of a panther closing in on its prey.
She wore a smirk that screamed of ultimate power, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made me feel like she was reading the very blueprints of my soul.
I held my breath, terrified that if she looked deep enough, she would see how broken I was on the inside.
“What… what is it?” I stammered.
Her eyebrow arched a sharp, elegant line of displeasure as my incoherent words and shaky voice must have grated on her nerve.
I swallowed hard, forcing my vocal cords to steady.
“May I know what the conditions are, Miss Evelyn?” I asked, my voice finally finding a bit of ground.
The question earned me a quirky, enigmatic smirk that left me momentarily breathless.
Her stare unnerved me, yet it was fundamentally different from the gazes I had endured for three years.
Julian’s eyes were always hot with hostility, anger, or a simmering resentment.
Evelyn’s were cold, yes, but they were clear.
There was no malice there, only an exacting expectation.
“Nothing that the Valedictorian of Bristol University couldn’t handle,” she said simply, while walking past me, and stopped in front of a massive, empty canvas.
My heart nearly stopped.
How did she know about that?
I felt a fresh wave of panic.
What else does she know?
“One professional artwork every week,” she stated, her long, manicured fingers trailing over the blank canvases.
I released the breath I had been holding in a shaky, silent exhale.
Her condition wasn’t as bad as I expected.
From my perspective, it wasn’t a “condition” at all.
It felt like a career I thought I couldnt have anymore, a lifeline to fulfilling my dreams even if she’s the only one that gets to see it.
And she was providing all of that’s without any hidden agenda….atleast not that I know of.
But a new fear quickly set in.
What if I miss the deadline?
What if her taste is as exacting as her business reputation?
What if she hates what I create?
“You will present the finished work to me every Friday after dinner. Is that understood?” She turned back to look at me, her expression unreadable.
“Failure to do so will attract a penalty,” she added.
“Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head vigorously.
I didn’t trust my voice to remain steady, and the word “penalty” was enough to keep my lips sealed.
Yet, beneath the fear, something else was swelling in my chest; a profound sense of gratitude.
I felt the sting of tears behind my eyelids but i quickly looked away, staring at a box of one of the charcoal pencils, terrified she would see my weakness and misunderstand it for manipulation.
“Very good then,” she said.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she headed toward the exit.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The words were barely a breath, but she stopped for a fleeting second, a slight hesitation in her stride before continuing out and closing the heavy door behind her.
I looked around the studio again.
Walking to the supply table, my hands hesitated before picking up a high-quality sketchbook, a set of charcoal pencils, and a few of the technical art texts she had bought.
I held them to my chest as if they were the most precious thing in the world.
Returning to my room afterwards, I climbed onto the massive bed and opened the first book.
I began to devour the words, the sentences, and the intricate illustrations inside the textbook.
It was like drinking water after a lifetime in the desert.
I felt my mind waking up, the fog of the three disastrous years of my life beginning to thin.
I was so deeply lost in the books I was reading that I didn’t even notice the sun beginning to peek through the curtains.
I put the books away and slept off.
For the first time in a very long time, I had fallen asleep without soaking my pillows with tears.
I stirred on the bed for the umpteenth time that morning, my mind caught in the heavy, shifting fog of a deep sleep.
When my eyelids finally fluttered open, my gaze fell on the minimalist clock mounted on the opposite wall.
7:30 AM.
The realization hit me harder than a splash of ice water.
‘Oh my God, Julian is going to kill me’, the thought screamed through my head before I was even fully conscious.
Panic, raw and chocking, surged through my veins.
I scrambled out of bed, my heart drumming against my ribs in a frantic, sickening rhythm.
I was already bracing for the sound of a door being kicked open, or the venomous shout that usually followed my “laziness”
But as my bare feet hit the cold tiles, the room came into focus.
These wasn’t my old room.
Stopping mid-stride, i clutched my chest as I forced air into my lungs.
“Oh my God,” I hissed, a long, trembling sigh escaping me.
My heart began the slow, painful process of returning to a normal tempo.
‘This wasn’t the Sterling’s mansion’.
I whispered to myself.
However, the relief was short-lived.
I remembered the 7:00 AM breakfast appointment.
I was already thirty minutes late.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I cussed, stumbling toward the bathroom.
In fifteen minutes, I was already dressed in one of the clothes from the closet and racing out of the room.
I tried to follow the path James had shown me the night before, but the Miss Evelyn’s mansion was a labyrinth of endless corridors.
I walked for fifteen minutes, my anxiety mounting with every wrong turn, only to find myself back at the same spot for the third time.
Finally, I spotted one of the maids, a young woman adjusting a vase of lris in a side hall.
“Excuse me,” I called out, my voice breathless.
The maid turned, and to my surprise, she didn’t look annoyed.
She offered a small, polite smile.
“Miss Clara, how may I help you?”
“I’m so sorry for bothering you, but I… I think I’ve lost my way to the dining room,” I said meekly, my face heating up with embarrassment.
“Oh, that’s no problem at all. Follow me.”
She didn’t lead me back through the winding interior hallways.
Instead, she opened a set of glass French doors that led out to a sprawling garden.
We walked along a stone path until we reached the shade of a magnificent mahogany tree.
There, seated at a small glass table, was Miss Evelyn.
As our eyes met, I felt a physical urge to turn and run.
The intensity of her stare was even more chilling in the morning light.
“Good morning, Miss Evelyn,” I greeted, my voice barely audible as I silently slid into the chair opposite her.
I took a moment to observe the scenery.
It was breathtaking.
The garden bathed in the soft, golden glow of the morning sun.
It felt like sitting inside one of the classical paintings I had studied at Bristol…..peaceful, vibrant, and warm.
My greeting was met with a wall of silence.
I sat there, wondering if her stillness was a sign of a brewing storm or simply her natural state of being.
The silence stretched further until I couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore.
I had to explain.
“I am so sorry for arriving late and keeping you waiting,” I started, my eyes fixed on the white linen tablecloth.
Nothing.
She didn’t even utter a sound.
“I… I lost my way, but one of the maids was kind enough to direct me here,” I explained, my words tumbling over one another in my haste to explain.
That seemed to be the key.
She finally looked up from her plate.
Her gaze lingering on me for a few brief, heavy seconds, long enough for me to see the calculation behind her eyes before she returned her attention to her breakfast.
I took that as a tentative sign of peace and began to eat.
As the meal progressed, I found myself stealing glances at her.
Her table manners were nothing short of hypnotic.
Every movement was gracious, practiced, and carried an air of effortless nobility.
There was no clinking of silverware, no hurried chewing.
She carried herself with a quiet dignity that suggested she hadn’t just been raised with wealth; she had been forged by it.
“Thank you,” I said softly when the silence finally felt less like a threat and more like a shared space.
“Follow me,” she commanded as soon as she was done with her meal.
It was the first word she had spoken to me all morning, and strangely, it acted like a soothing balm on my frayed nerves.
“You certainly do not need to make your benefactor angry now, Clara,” I whispered to myself, falling into step a respectful few feet behind her.
I kept my eyes on the floor, mesmerized by the sharp, rhythmic click of her designer heels against the floor.
I was so deep in my own thoughts wondering where she was leading me to and what the day held, that I didn’t realize she had stopped and I just walked straight into her, my chest hitting her back with a soft thud.
I gasped, stumbling back.
“Clara, what is wrong with you today?” I chided myself internally, my face burning with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
Miss Evelyn turned slowly.
Her expression was unreadable.
Instinctively, I lowered my head, staring at her feet, bracing for the sharp reprimand I knew was coming.
The order was quiet but absolute.
I forced my chin up, meeting her gaze.
In the morning sun, her emerald eyes were so vibrant, so piercingly clear, that I found myself wondering if they were even real.
“If you always keep your eyes and face on the floor while walking around this house, how do you expect to recognize the paths you are meant to follow?” she asked.
And like a bad habit, an apology played on the tip of my tongue ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’…but I bit it back.
I remembered her lecture from the night before: Don’t waste my time with useless contrition.
“I will not do it again,” I said instead, my voice surprising me with its steadiness.
“Also,” she continued, stepping to the side and gesturing to the space right next to her.
“When you are walking with me, you do not walk behind me like a shadow, nor ahead of me like a scout. You walk beside me. Is that understood?”
“Yes… I understand,” I replied.
I tried not to read too much meaning into it.
She was probably just thinking about her image, her assistant shouldn’t look like a cowering servant.
And yet, the instruction sent a small spark of warmth through my chest.
It felt really nice that someone of her calibre wanted me to walk with them and not behind them.
She gave a curt, satisfied nod and set off again.
I had to quicken my pace to keep up, my shoulder inches from hers as we went around the mansion.
We eventually arrived at her private quarters.
If the rest of the house was a palace, this was the inner sanctum.
It was the most sophisticated environment I had ever stepped foot in, all clean lines, expensive textures, and an air of quiet, absolute authority.
She gestured for me to sit on a plush, cream-colored sofa while she disappeared upstairs.
A few minutes later, she returned, carrying two expensive-looking bags.
She placed them on the glass center table before seating herself opposite me, her legs crossed with an effortless grace.
“Take those,” she said.
I reached out and pulled the items toward me.
“One is a phone, the other is a laptop,” she explained.
“I noticed you arrived without a mobile device. You will use this one from now on; my personal number and the office directory are already saved. The laptop is for your research… and your art. Use it wisely.”
I stared at the devices, my throat tightening.
In one day, this woman had given me more tools for independence than Julian or his family had granted me in three years.
I had to look away, using the sleeve of my blouse to quickly brush away a stray tear.
I hoped she was too busy with her own phone to notice.
“Starting tomorrow, you will be working closely with me as my personal assistant,” she said, her voice turning professional.
“For now I will give you an overview of your work, by tomorrow Lydia, my first assistant, and Francis, my secretary, will handle the technicalities.”
For the rest of the day, the “Ice Queen” became a teacher.
She walked me through the basics of her schedule, the way she expected her documents to be handled, and the flow of her office.
It was a mountain of information, but for the first time in recent years, my brain felt hungry for it.
And then, she mentioned the salary.
I nearly choked on my saliva.
The figure she named was more than I had ever seen in my life.
it was a fortune.
Whilst spending the whole afternoon at her quarters we had a quiet lunch together.
She even gave me a stack of documents to review, watching me with those keen emerald eyes as I made my first tentative notes.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
I shook my head.
I wanted to save my questions for Lydia and Francis, afraid that if I spoke too much to her, I might break the spell of this strange, peaceful Sunday.
“And one final thing,” she said, her voice softening just a fraction.
“Sundays are my rest days. I know… even the ‘Ice Queen’ has her moments of downtime.”
She let out a dry, almost imperceptible chuckle.
But then, her phone vibrated on the table.
She picked it up, and for a heartbeat, the mask of the CEO vanished.
A bright, genuine smile broke across her face, a smile so mesmerizing, so warm, that it made my breath hitch in my throat.
I had never seen her look like that.
It made her look human.
Made her look…even more beautiful than she already is.
I felt a sudden prick of curiosity as she answered the call.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said into the phone, her voice carrying a tone of affection I hadn’t known she possessed.
The call lasted only five minutes, but I found myself memorizing the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as she listened to the person on the other end.
When she hung up, she stood, her professional mask sliding back into place, though the warmth still lingered in her gaze.
“I will be stepping out for the evening,” she said, heading toward the stairs to change.
“We will continue at the office tomorrow morning.”
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at me over her shoulder.
“Oh… and do not wait for me for dinner, Clara. I’ll be late.”
I watched her go, the silence of the room suddenly feeling much heavier than before.
As I sat there with my new laptop and my new life, I couldn’t help but wonder who could possibly make a woman like miss Evelyn Vance smile like that.
And for some reason, the thought made the beautiful room feel just a little bit colder.
Poor Clara seemed to have fallen for Evelyn’s cold charm.