Chapter 4 — Boundaries

The morning began the same way: a tray outside her door, Daniel waiting in the hall, the quiet walk to the studio. But Estelle felt different. The memory of the locked door in the basement and the folder in Jayden’s study lingered in her mind.

When she entered the studio, Jayden was already there. He didn’t greet her this time. He only gestured toward the canvas.

“You’ll continue.”

Estelle picked up a brush, but instead of returning to the portrait she had started, she turned to a fresh canvas.

She dipped the brush into black paint and began to sketch bold, heavy lines—shapes that didn’t resemble a face at all.

Jayden watched silently.

After a while, he spoke. “That’s not what I asked for.”

Estelle didn’t look up. “You said no restrictions.”

The silence stretched. She felt his gaze on her, sharp and unyielding, but he didn’t stop her.

When she finally set the brush down, the canvas was filled with stark, abstract strokes—chaotic, restless, nothing like the careful portrait from before.

Jayden stepped closer, studying it. His expression didn’t change, but his voice was quieter when he spoke.

“Defiance can be honest too.”

Estelle crossed her arms. “Maybe I don’t want to paint what you want.”

He met her eyes. “Then paint what you fear.”

Her chest tightened. She turned away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

That evening, Estelle skipped dinner. Instead, she wandered the mansion again, careful to avoid Daniel’s watchful eyes.

She found herself back in the music room. The piano gleamed in the dim light, untouched.

She sat at the bench and pressed a key. The note rang out, sharp and lonely. She pressed another, then another, until a hesitant melody formed. She wasn’t a pianist, but the sound filled the silence in a way that felt almost rebellious.

Behind her, the door opened.

Jayden stood there, watching.

“You play,” he said.

“Not really,” Estelle replied. “I just… wanted to hear something alive in this house.”

For the first time, his expression shifted. Not a smile, not quite, but something softer.

“My mother used to say the same thing.”

Estelle looked at him carefully.

“She’s the reason you collect people, isn’t she? You’re trying to replace her.”

The softness vanished. His face closed again, unreadable. “Careful, Miss Yang.”

The warning was quiet, but it carried weight.

Estelle stood, her pulse quickening. She brushed past him without another word, returning to her room.

That night, she opened her sketchbook and drew the piano again—but this time, she added a figure standing behind it. A shadow, tall and watchful.

She stared at the drawing until her eyes blurred. Then she closed the book and slid it back under her pillow.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t just painting for herself anymore. She was painting against him.

The following day, Estelle returned to the studio earlier than expected. She wanted to be alone with the canvas before Jayden arrived.

She set her sketchbook on the table and flipped to the page she had drawn the night before—the piano with the shadowed figure behind it. She stared at it for a long moment, then tore the page out and slipped it into her pocket.

When she turned back to the easel, she ignored the portrait she had started and began something new.

Her brush moved quickly, almost recklessly, filling the canvas with the outline of a locked door. Heavy strokes, sharp edges, the suggestion of something hidden behind it.

She was still painting when the door opened.

Jayden stepped inside, his gaze immediately falling on the canvas. He didn’t speak at first. He only walked closer, stopping just behind her shoulder.

“You’ve seen more of the house than I intended,” he said finally.

Estelle kept her eyes on the canvas. “Then maybe you shouldn’t leave doors unlocked.”

His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it.

“Curiosity can be dangerous here.”

She set the brush down and turned to face him.

“Then why bring me at all? If you wanted obedience, you chose the wrong person.”

For a moment, his expression didn’t change. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Good. I don’t want obedience. I want honesty. Even if it cuts.”

Estelle’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t tell if he was warning her or encouraging her.

Jayden stepped back, his eyes still on the painting of the locked door.

“Keep this one. Finish it. I want to see where it leads.”

He left the studio without another word.

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That evening, Estelle skipped dinner again. Instead, she wandered the halls, her steps slower this time, more deliberate. She passed the study, the music room, the staircase leading down to the locked basement door.

She didn’t try the handle. Not tonight.

Instead, she returned to her room and pulled the torn sketch from her pocket. She laid it flat on the desk, staring at the shadowed figure behind the piano.

She picked up her pencil and added more detail to the face. The lines sharpened, the features clearer. When she stopped, she realized she had drawn Jayden again—watching, always watching.

She closed the sketchbook, slid it under her pillow, and lay down.

Sleep didn’t come easily. The house hummed around her, alive with its hidden systems. Somewhere, she knew, Jayden was watching.

And for the first time, she wondered if part of her wanted him to.

The following morning, Estelle lingered in her room longer than usual. She didn’t touch the breakfast tray. Instead, she sat at the desk, flipping through her sketchbook. The pages were filling quickly—pianos, locked doors, cameras, Jayden’s face. It felt less like art and more like a record of her unease.

When Daniel knocked, she didn’t answer right away. He knocked again, firmer.

“Miss Yang. Mr. Wang is waiting.”

Estelle finally opened the door. Daniel’s expression was neutral, but his eyes flicked briefly to the untouched tray.

“You should eat,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t argue, only gestured for her to follow.

In the studio, Jayden was waiting. He stood near the easel, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His gaze moved to her immediately.

“You’re late.”

Estelle set her sketchbook on the table. “I didn’t realize there was a schedule.”

“There is now,” he said evenly. “Discipline matters.”

She bristled. “I’m not one of your employees.”

“No,” Jayden agreed. “You’re something else. Which is why I expect more.”

The words unsettled her, though his tone remained calm. She turned away, picking up a brush.

Today, she didn’t paint the portrait or the locked door. Instead, she began sketching the outlines of the piano. The strokes were deliberate, steady, her focus sharper than it had been in weeks.

Jayden watched in silence. When she finally stepped back, he moved closer, studying the canvas.

“You saw the music room again,” he said quietly.

Estelle didn’t answer.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not afraid to touch what isn’t yours.”

Her chest tightened. “Maybe I don’t believe it belongs to you.”

For the first time, his gaze hardened. The silence stretched, heavy, until he finally stepped back.

“Finish it,” he said. “I want to see how you remember her.”

Estelle froze. “Her?”

“My mother,” Jayden said simply. “You’ve already painted her without realizing it.”

He left the studio, the door closing softly behind him.

That night, Estelle sat at her desk, staring at the unfinished sketch of the piano in her book. She thought of Jayden’s words, of the way he had said her with such certainty.

She added a figure to the drawing—slender, seated at the piano, hands poised above the keys. She didn’t know what Jayden’s mother looked like, so she drew from memory of her own: her mother, bent over books, her face caught in lamplight.

When she finished, she closed the sketchbook quickly, her pulse racing.

She knew she was crossing a line. But she also knew she couldn’t stop.

The next day passed in uneasy rhythm. Estelle painted, but not what Jayden expected. She worked on the piano again, layering shadows into the background, her brushstrokes sharper than before.

She didn’t look at him when he entered the studio, though she felt his presence immediately.

He studied the canvas for a long time. “You’re circling something,” he said finally.

Estelle kept her eyes on the painting. “Maybe I’m not ready to finish.”

Jayden stepped closer, his voice low. “Or maybe you’re afraid of what happens when you do.”

She turned then, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s afraid.”

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. For a moment, she thought he might push back, but instead he only gave a faint nod, as if acknowledging a move in a game neither of them had named.

That evening, Estelle returned to her room early. She locked the door, though she knew it wouldn’t matter.

She pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to the drawing of the piano with the shadowed figure. She added more detail to the face, sharper lines, clearer features.

When she stopped, she realized she had drawn Jayden again—this time seated at the piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his expression unreadable.

A knock came at her door.

“Miss Yang,” Jayden’s voice carried through, calm and steady. “You’re adapting.”

Estelle froze, her hand still on the page. She didn’t answer.

After a pause, his footsteps moved away, fading into the silence of the hall.

Estelle closed the sketchbook and slid it under her pillow. She lay down, eyes open in the dark, listening to the hum of the house.

She knew now that every brushstroke, every sketch, every choice she made inside these walls was being measured.

And yet, she couldn’t deny it—part of her wanted to see how far she could push before something broke.

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