Morning arrived in a haze of pale gray light that bled through Avery's window. The estate felt colder than usual, its vast halls suffocating in their silence. She hadn't slept—not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ezra's face from the night before, heard the sharp edge of his words, felt the bruising weight of his presence and body pressed against hers and felt the pain that he´d caused her the night before.
A knock came at her door. Margaret entered, her expression carefully neutral.
"Mr. Johnson has asked to see you in his study."
Avery's stomach twisted. She unsteadily stood up from the bed and put on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans before followeing Margaret down the labyrinthine hallways, her steps hesitant.
Ezra was leaning against his desk when Avery entered the study, a glass of whiskey already in his hand despite the early hour. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting sharp lines across his face.
"You wanted to see me?" Avery asked quietly, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart.
Ezra looked her over, his dark eyes giving nothing away. "Sit."
She obeyed, perching on the edge of the leather chair across from him.
For a long moment, Ezra said nothing. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze locked on her as if he were evaluating something—some unspoken thought, some invisible flaw.
"You seem shaken, Avery," he said finally, his voice cold and sharp like broken glass.
Avery flinched slightly. "You were drunk last night, Ezra. I think you know why I'm shaken."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Drunk or not, does it matter? Everything I said was true."
The casual cruelty of his tone stole her breath. She stared at him, searching for some flicker of humanity, of regret—but there was nothing. Ezra Johnson was an impenetrable fortress.
"You have nothing to say?" he pressed, taking a slow sip from his glass.
"What do you want me to say?" Avery whispered.
He set the glass down with a sharp clink against the wooden desk. "That you understand your place here. That you know exactly what you are to me—and what you are not."
Avery swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "I know my place, Ezra."
"Good." He straightened, his cold gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the window. "You can leave now."
Avery hesitated, her chest tight with emotions she couldn't name—anger, fear, shame—but she forced herself to rise and walk to the door.
Just as her hand touched the handle, his voice stopped her.
"One more thing, Avery."
She turned slightly, her breath catching.
"Stay out of my way."
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Avery stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her, the sharp click of the latch echoing in her ears.
The hours slipped by in a fog. Avery spent most of the day wandering the quiet corners of the estate, avoiding Vivian's sharp gaze and the curious eyes of the staff.
But no matter where she went, Ezra's words clung to her like a shadow.
By late afternoon, Avery found herself in the library. The heavy scent of leather and paper offered little comfort as she sat near the window, staring blankly at the storm-gray sky.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of voices—a sharp exchange somewhere nearby. Avery rose from her chair, following the faint sound to a smaller study tucked behind the rows of towering bookshelves.
The door was slightly ajar, and she could make out Ezra's voice, low and tight with frustration.
"You don't need to concern yourself with her. This doesn't involve you."
"But it does, Ezra," came a woman's voice—soft but firm. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to her?"
Avery's breath hitched as she leaned closer, her ear almost pressed against the door.
"This conversation is over," Ezra said sharply, and there was the sound of footsteps as the woman exited the room.
Avery quickly ducked behind a shelf, her heart hammering in her chest as a slender woman in a dark coat passed by her, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
Once the hallway was silent again, Avery stepped into the small study. Ezra was standing by the window, his back to her, his shoulders rigid with tension.
"Who was she?" Avery asked softly.
Ezra turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. "You've been eavesdropping, Avery?"
She hesitated, but didn't deny it. "I heard voices."
"You heard nothing." He turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't concern yourself with things beyond your understanding."
"Ezra, please…" Avery's voice cracked slightly. "You don't have to—"
"I don't have to what?" he cut her off, his voice sharp. "Explain myself to you? Apologize for something I don't regret?"
His words struck like a physical blow, leaving Avery momentarily speechless.
"I'm not Evelyn, Ezra," she said finally, her voice trembling. "No matter how much you want me to be."
Ezra's gaze darkened, his lips curling into something that resembled a smirk but lacked any warmth. "No, you're not."
He turned away, effectively dismissing her.
Avery stood frozen in place for a moment longer before turning and walking away, her steps heavy, her chest tight with unspoken words.
As she reached the grand hallway, she leaned against one of the cold marble pillars, struggling to catch her breath.
In that moment, she realized something chilling:
Ezra Johnson wasn't just broken—he was dangerous.
And if she wasn't careful, he would shatter her too.