Page 30 of The Puppetmaster

When I hear the familiar sound of the limousine coming to a halt in the driveway, I rise from my seat, putting aside a newspaper that I was merely using as a prop to appear busy, even though no one was watching me. It’s vital to be in control of the way you’re being perceived by others, and the best way to do that is to maintain a certain level of poise even when in solitude.

I stroll languidly toward the door, my hand resting on the handle before the intrusive sound of the doorbell echoes through the hallway.

There’s a satisfying magic in the way my puppets look at me when I first open the door for them. They don’t smile. They don’t greet me the way you would any other time someone opens their home to them. Most of them stand there like a cement pillar, shoulders bunched up to their ears and their painted lips pressed into a thin line, their alert eyes finding mine.

Alena, however, doesn’t look at me at all. She’s standing in front of the door wearing a cute little navy-blue dress with a white collar, the hem ending above her knees and revealing her long slender legs. She’s wearing heels in a similar blue color, and a light gray jacket is draped over her shoulders. Her brown hair is cascading down her shoulders in thick waves, kept in place at the temple with a hairpin that makes her look younger than she is.

The sight of her is stunning. She looks like the perfect little doll, all dressed up in her innocent yet alluring get-up, and she’s so immaculate that ruining her will be a fucking pleasure.

But she doesn’t look my way.

Instead, her eyes trail over her shoulder, as if she was afraid of someone following her. I can tell that she hears the door opening by the way her ears twitch, but she doesn’t show any other reaction to it at first. Her gaze remains focused on something behind her, somewhere close to the limousine she was delivered in. Dan, my driver, is instructed to tell her to go ahead and enter the house on her own, while he stays back and takes care of what little luggage she was allowed to bring. The way she’s eyeing him now makes me wonder if she’s worried about something.

I don’t want to speak to draw her attention to me, so I just wait until the little madame realizes her mistake on her own. It’s yet another nuisance that fuels my anger—and my desire to put her in her place, just as she wants me to.

She better not be doing this on purpose.

When she finally turns her head to face the master she allegedly wants to serve so desperately, her eyebrows arch, as if she is surprised to see me standing in front of her.

There’s something written across her expression that I can’t place, and I hate that. Narrowing my eyes, I jut my chin forward, demanding an explanation without saying a word.

“Sir,” she says in a low voice. “I’m sorry. This is such a beautiful place, my mind wandered.”

She’s lying. There’s something on her mind, and she’s hiding it from me.

“I told you I hate liars, Alena.”

Her eyes widen in surprise and her brows rise in a strong arch.

“Why do you think I’m—”

“Get inside.”

My demand cuts her off right away. Another sign that she’s lying to me. Liars are always happy to be silenced.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she slides past me when I make room for her to come inside.

“Follow me.”

“What about my—”

“Dan will take care of it.”

I don’t wait for Alena to respond but rely on her following me as I make my way to the back of the house. She won’t spend much time down here, but it’s where everything starts. Always.

I lead her to the small living room that’s next to the open kitchen and dining area, which faces the backyard next to my office. It’s a small, secluded room that hardly ever gets used, but it’s perfect for my intentions with her, especially because it has a door that can be closed to make sure we’re undisturbed.

She’s following closely, attentive and a little shy when I close the door behind me after we’ve stepped inside the room. It’s bright and airy in here, one wall lined with floor-length windows shielded with white sheer curtains, still letting in the light while protecting us from curious eyes.

Alena stands in the middle of the room, her back straight and her shoulders pulled back a little too much to make her stance appear natural. She’s looking at me once again with that unreadable expression on her face.

She’s here. She’s right here, offering herself to me in a way that no sane person would ever offer themselves to another. And while the timing is not how I planned it, there’s a jubilant voice rising up inside me, an impatient roar to finally bring this project to an end.

“We’re starting right away,” I tell her, taking two steps to close in on her. “And we’ll do it properly.”

Once again, Alena doesn’t falter an inch.

That will change, come time.

---