Chapter three

The interview came to an end for the day.

Elena pushed back her chair and rose slowly, her palms still faintly damp. Cain Maddox didn’t move, didn’t speak he simply watched her with that unnerving gaze of his, a dark silence that echoed louder than words.

Without sparing him another glance, she stepped out of the room, inhaling a breath of cool air as the heavy door clanged shut behind her. One of the guards handed her back her phone.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

As soon as she turned the screen on, a single message glared back at her.

Come home.

Elena groaned under her breath. Her mother. No ‘hi,’ no warmth. Just a command. Of course.

She made her way across the lot, climbed into her car, and started the engine. As she drove away from the prison gates, her mind was still reeling from the intensity of her encounter with Cain. But now, another storm awaited her. Home.

Forty minutes later, Elena drove through the towering iron gates of the Hart estate. Their family mansion loomed ahead stone and glass, all sharp lines and cold grandeur. It stood in stark contrast to the small, messy warmth of her apartment. There was no comfort here. Only control.

She parked near the front steps and was greeted by a waiting housekeeper, who silently opened the door for her.

Inside, the familiar scent of polish and citrus filled her nose nothing ever felt lived-in here. Just curated. Immaculate.

She found her parents already seated in the dining room, a vast mahogany table between them. Her father, Harold Hart, brows furrowed behind silver-rimmed glasses, glanced up from his tablet. Her mother, Vivian, looked up slowly, swirling red wine in her glass like it was blood.

Her mother set down her glass of wine with an icy precision that sent a shiver through Elena. “You’re late.”

Elena’s gaze met her mother’s. “I didn't realize that this was a scheduled meeting,” she replied, her voice flat.

Harold looked up briefly from his tablet, offering a neutral nod. He didn’t seem concerned, absorbed as he was in whatever financial data he was scanning. As always, his world revolved around numbers and margins, not people. Not her.

Vivian’s eyes, however, never wavered from Elena’s face. “Dinner,” she repeated, her tone clipped. “Join us.”

“I’m not hungry,” Elena muttered, leaning against the back of the nearest chair, arms crossed. “Just tell me what you want, Mother. Why am I here?”

Her mother’s lips tightened. “It’s not up to you to question why,” she said, her voice laced with authority. “You’ll sit, and you’ll join us for dinner. We will talk after.”

Elena clenched her teeth but didn’t argue. This was how things went with Vivian Hart control was everything. No space for negotiation. Elena sank into the chair, the cool air around her suddenly feeling stifling. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead focused on the plate being placed in front of her by the housekeeper.

Lamb chops, perfectly seared. Gravy poured over it like a fine, expensive sauce. Steamed asparagus, with a delicate drizzle of olive oil. Soft, golden potatoes, perfectly roasted. It looked like a five-star meal. Too pristine. Too much.

For a moment, the emptiness in her stomach tightened in protest. But her parents’ silence was louder. It demanded a response.

Elena picked up the fork and stabbed the lamb. She chewed without tasting it, the flavors lost in the whirlwind of her thoughts.

Her mother’s gaze never left her. "Would you like something else?" she asked, an edge to her voice, a hint of disdain creeping in.

“No, this is fine,” Elena muttered, cutting another piece of meat with more effort than necessary. “Now, can you please just tell me why I’m really here?”

Vivian looked at her over the rim of her glass, eyes cold, cutting through the air. “We know about your... little project. About the criminal you're interviewing.”

Elena’s grip on her fork tightened. She looked up from her plate, meeting her mother’s gaze. “What about it?”

“He murdered someone, Elena,” her mother said, her voice cool but heavy. “That’s the person you want to study?

“He's near the end of his sentence,” Elena replied, swallowing hard. “It's part of my research, my thesis.”

Vivian’s lips thinned. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still a murderer. A dangerous one.”

Elena’s eyes flashed with irritation, but she held her tongue. “He’s not just a murderer,” she said quietly. “His sister was raped. And you should know that no one is just their worst mistake. I want to understand the mind of someone who’s been through what he has. He’s more than just his crime.”

Her mother’s sharp eyes held hers for a long moment, and Elena felt the weight of her disapproval pressing down on her. “No one is forcing you to do this, Elena,” Vivian said in a low voice, leaning forward just slightly, the tension thickening. “But if you choose to continue, there will be consequences. This obsession with criminals, it’s unbecoming. It makes us look weak. The press will eat it up. The Hart name will be dragged through the mud.”

“I don’t care about the press,” Elena replied, her voice hardening. “This isn’t about what the press thinks. This is about me. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something for me.”

Her mother’s eyes darkened, but before she could say anything, Harold’s voice cut through the tension.

“We’ve tried to protect you, Elena,” he said, his tone unexpectedly serious. “To shelter you from these kinds of... things. Your name matters. Our legacy matters. You’re a Hart, not just some student working in a prison with a murderer.”

“Stop,” Elena snapped, standing up from the table, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. “I’m not some project. I’m not some damn trophy to parade around for the media. I’m a person, too. You don’t own me.”

For a moment, the air between them was thick with silence. Vivian’s gaze was as cold as ever, but there was something in her posture, something subtle, that made Elena feel as if she were a child again, standing up to her mother’s overwhelming authority.

“You will not finish that internship,” Vivian ordered, her voice even and clipped. “You’ll graduate, and after that, you’ll come back to us. We’ll discuss your future. Preferably in a respectable field. Your education here has to lead to something that enhances this family.”

Elena fought to keep her composure, but she felt her temper boiling beneath the surface. “I’m not doing what you want. Not anymore.”

“Sit down,” Vivian said, her voice like a whip.

Elena didn’t move. She stood there, her fists clenched by her sides. Her mother’s imperious command had never been so suffocating.

“Sit down,” Vivian repeated, her tone darkening. “You’ll eat, and we’ll discuss this more calmly.”

Reluctantly, Elena sat back down. The housekeeper placed the silver tray of food back in front of her as if nothing had happened, as though their power struggle meant nothing in the grand scheme of this pristine, perfectly managed world.

Elena stared at the food, but her stomach was a twisted knot. The weight of her mother’s words lingered, even as the food sat untouched in front of her. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed in this house.

Her mother’s voice cut through the quiet again. “When you finish your meal,” she said, her tone frosty, “we’ll talk about what comes next.”

Elena’s jaw tightened, and she picked up her fork again, stabbing the food with more force than necessary. Her mother’s quiet control suffocated her, but she refused to be cowed. She would finish this dinner. And after that? She would do what she wanted with her life.

Her parents, with all their wealth and authority, could no longer control her.

Not when her heart was already set on something.