Bound by Shadows

Introduction

The gates looked taller than I expected. Dark, sleek, and way too imposing for my liking, they stretched high into the gray afternoon sky like they were keeping something locked in rather than people out. My fingers hovered over the intercom button, my nerves getting the better of me.

This was supposed to be the opportunity of a lifetime. Working as a personal assistant to Vincent Cross wasn't exactly the dream, but his name alone carried enough weight to open doors in a hundred different places once this was over. Assuming I survived the interview, of course.

The intercom crackled, startling me. "Lia Matthews?"

The voice was low, a bit too smooth, and exactly as intimidating as I imagined it would be. "Yes, that's me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

There was a brief pause before the massive gates swung open, revealing a long driveway winding through the trees. I took a deep breath and drove forward, the sound of gravel crunching under my tires as the mansion came into view.

No, not a mansion—a fortress.

The house was modern and cold, all sharp angles and glass that reflected the overcast sky. It was stunning in a way that made me feel small, insignificant. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, even though I couldn't see a single person. Just glass. Endless glass.

As I stepped out of my car, the front door opened, and he walked out.

Vincent Cross.

He was taller than I imagined, lean and sharp in every sense—sharp jaw, sharp gaze. His dark hair was tousled in a way that looked effortless but probably wasn't. And his eyes... they pinned me in place the moment they met mine.

I forced myself to smile, though the nerves were making it hard to feel anything but uneasy. "Mr. Cross, it's nice to meet—"

"You're early," he cut in, not unkindly, but with an edge that told me he didn't care for small talk.

"I, uh, hope that's alright," I said, immediately regretting how uncertain I sounded. His expression barely changed, just the faintest twitch of his lips into something that resembled a smile, but not quite.

"Punctuality is fine," he said simply, then turned and walked back inside without another word, leaving the door wide open behind him.

I followed quickly, stepping into the house and immediately feeling the temperature drop. It was colder inside than out. The walls were mostly glass and steel, and the space was wide open, so empty it echoed with every step. There were no personal touches—no photos, no warmth.

It felt like walking into a perfectly designed cage.

"Through here," Vincent said, leading me down a long hallway, his voice pulling me back into focus. He moved with precision, every step measured. I tried to keep up without tripping over myself.

The room he brought me to looked like a study, but instead of cozy bookshelves and a desk, it was lined with screens, sleek gadgets, and papers meticulously organized across a massive table. Vincent took his seat behind it, and I realized I hadn't seen anyone else in the house. No staff, no assistants. Just him.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

I sat, clutching my bag tightly in my lap, the leather creaking in the silence between us. He watched me for a moment, eyes dark and unreadable, before speaking.

"You've reviewed the job requirements?"

I nodded. "Yes. Administrative work, organizing your schedule, running errands. Pretty standard assistant duties."

His expression remained flat. "I'm not looking for standard, Miss Matthews."

Something in his tone made me tense. There was a coldness there, and I could feel his gaze pressing down on me, weighing every word I said.

"You'll be living here, working directly for me," he continued. "My time is valuable, and I don't have patience for inefficiency. You will be discreet. Everything that happens within these walls stays here. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," I answered, though the word came out smaller than I intended.

He leaned forward slightly, studying me. "I don't like being interrupted. I don't like being questioned. If you can manage that, we'll get along just fine."

For a moment, I thought about standing up, making some excuse, and leaving. There was something unnerving about him, something that made my skin crawl, like he already knew too much about me. Like he had decided my fate long before I even arrived.

But then I remembered why I was here. I needed this job, needed the paycheck and the connections that would come with it. I could handle a little eccentricity for a few months, right?

"Yes, Mr. Cross, I understand," I said firmly, hoping that sounded more confident than I felt.

He didn't reply immediately, just let his eyes linger on me. "Good," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "You're hired."

I blinked. "Wait... I mean, thank you, but when do I start?"

"Tonight," he said, his voice calm and measured as always.

"Tonight?" The word slipped out before I could stop myself. "That's... soon."

His expression didn't change. "You don't have any obligations, do you?" His tone was casual, but I could feel the pressure behind it—he expected the answer to be no.

I hesitated for just a second. "No, nothing I can't rearrange."

"Then you'll move in immediately. I'll have your room prepared."

Move in immediately? Everything was moving too fast. But before I could process it, he stood up, extending his hand across the desk. "Welcome to the estate, Miss Matthews."

I shook his hand, his grip firm, his skin cold against mine. It should've been a normal gesture, but the way he held on for just a beat too long made my stomach knot.

"You're mine now," he said softly, almost as if it were a fact, not a statement.

A chill ran down my spine, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the cold air or the words that clung