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No… I’m scared out of my mind.

I hope I made enough food.

I hope he doesn’t hate it.

“Well?” Mr. Evermere says, voice low and rough.

“I’m sorry?” I blink, startled.

“Sit down, Ella,” he growls.

“But, my Lord…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Everm…”

“No.”

His tone is sharper now, final. My throat dries.

“Oh… uhm… what shall I call you?” What was it Oswin called him again? “Sire?”

He looks at me then, eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight.

“Thorne,” he says.

The word settles between us like a drop of ink in clear water… bleeding out slowly, changing everything.

“I couldn’t,” I say softly. “It’s not proper.”

“Why not?”

His voice is low…not angry now, but curious. Testing.

“Well… because I work for you, of course.”

He leans back in his chair slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You live in my home. You cook my food. You brought me a rose.”

I swallow hard.

“You don’t simply work for me, Ella. Youlivewith me. As does Oswin. But he’s an old man set in his ways. You, however, are not. So, call me Thorne.”

He says it like a truth I haven’t yet earned the right to believe.

“So,” I say, swallowing the fear lodged in my throat. “I can leave whenever I want? Find a place of my own?”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

Then, finally…

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice quiet but taut. “Do you want me to grant your freedom, Ella?”

Do I?

The answer is surprisingly easy.