As I entered my room and closed the door, a soft, electronic beep echoed from Levi's locked study directly across the hall. It was a mocking reminder; even though I was moments away from meeting his mother, I still didn't know what lay behind a single, unassuming door in his own house. A fucking door!

I wished I could simply halt the relentless churn of thoughts that made me feel so profoundly insignificant, so utterly devoid of agency. With a sigh that tasted of metallic frustration, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the cascade of hot water momentarily wash away the mental static.

Just as I emerged, wrapped in a plush towel, my phone vibrated with an incoming text. It was from Holden, Levi's secretary. Of course. By the time I had finished my shower, Levi had already vanished from the house. The message, as expected, was formal, devoid of any personal touch:

'Mr. Blake desires your wearing of the garments arrayed before your chamber door. A felicitous day to you.'

Is that what he meant by "conversing through his secretary"? Could he not have simply, casually, said, 'Hey, Raphael, can you wear this?' Why, for God's sake, must I jump through elaborate, unspoken hoops every single time he makes a decision that impacts my existence? Why can't he take just a tiny step closer to me, to a semblance of normal human interaction? Usually, when I found myself trapped in such a suffocating mental loop, I smoked. Which made me realize, with a jolt, that I hadn't lit a single cigarette since entering this pristine, air-purified fortress.

I strode to the window, throwing it open with a defiant click. A breath of cool, pine-scented air rushed in. You could barely see the urban sprawl from here; the house was swallowed by a dense, almost primeval forest, a verdant wall that seemed to press in on all sides. The closest neighboring house was also far away, a lonely speck of light beyond the trees. It made me feel like a princess, or perhaps a prisoner, in a castle isolated from the world.

I took a long, deep drag, the smoke burning its familiar path down my throat. Since it had been a while, that first inhale made my head swim, a sudden, pleasant dizziness washing over me. This dizziness, I knew, was probably a sign of control slipping away, a welcome surrender, and it was precisely the only reason I indulged in the self-destructive habit of smoking.

The clothes Levi had chosen were laid out neatly on my bed: a pristine white tuxedo. It was strikingly similar to the one he had made me wear during our absurd wedding photo shoot. He really was leaning into the 'angelic' persona for me, wasn’t he? Perhaps a part of him, a deeply buried, unspoken part, genuinely wanted me to be some form of guidance for him, a moral compass in his bewildering world. I was also consumed by a sudden, intense curiosity about what he would choose to wear for this momentous introduction to his exiled mother.

Just as I finished dolling myself up, ensuring every button was fastened, and every crease smoothed, I heard the distinct sound of the main door opening and closing. His footsteps, precise and unhurried, echoed in the grand hall.

"Raphael, if you are prepared, I bid you descend," he called out towards my room. Wow, he can raise his voice. I did as he said, walking out and down the sweeping staircase. He stood at the bottom, already dressed, a striking figure in a dark navy tuxedo, complemented by a lustrous golden tie. My jaw almost dropped. I had seriously, unequivocally thought he would be wearing black. He allowed his gaze to linger on me for a moment, a rare, unhurried assessment, before a faint curve touched his lips.

"Your appearance in white is, I must concede, quite commendable, Raphael."

I felt a tiny, unexpected flutter deep in my chest at his compliment, a brief, almost embarrassing surge of pleasure. Yet, my cynical brain interjected immediately, 'He chose the suit, idiot. Of course he’s going to like it.'

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“I… I thought you’d wear black,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could censure them. Before replying, he was rummaging through a sleek, black leather bag he held. "Kindly accept my apologies for not conforming precisely to your expectations." As he finished his sentence, his hand, cool and firm, extended a pair of bulky, sound-canceling headphones. "The rotary-wing aircraft will arrive in approximately three minutes. I instruct you to cover your ears. Furthermore, if you possess the capability to ascend a rope ladder, the aircraft will not necessitate a full landing, thus expediting our transit considerably."

Okay. I had seen actors climb those rope ladders before, usually on sets where you were secured by hidden safety strings, and even if you somehow fell, you landed on giant, inflatable pads. Even I, with my well-honed sense of self-preservation, felt a tremor of fear, a spark of genuine adrenaline at the thought of ascending it. I thought about how utterly impossible it would have been for me to climb a chopper on my own, completely unassisted, if I had never met him. This body of mine, however, despite my fear, loved the surge of adrenaline, the electric thrill that coursed through my veins.

Every evening with Levi, it seemed, was destined to be a grandiose.

Levi, already wearing his own pair of large, noise-canceling headphones, then reached for mine. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic. As he carefully positioned the bulky earcups over my ears, his fingers grazed my hair, then lingered, sifting through the strands just above my temples. I couldn't tear my gaze from his face, searching desperately for any flicker of emotion, any discernible sign of what might be churning behind those deep blue, slanted eyes. I was a tiny bit startled by the prolonged contact. I knew this sounded utterly absurd coming from me, a man who had initiated sex with him not so long ago, but in that moment of unexpected intimacy, I had been braced for a kiss, for something more overtly affectionate.

Not surprisingly, he didn't kiss me. Instead, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. "Everything... okay?" I managed to articulate, my voice barely a whisper against the sudden quiet of his focused attention. When he was finished meticulously smoothing a section of my hair, his touch finally withdrawing, he replied, his voice calm and utterly casual, "Your hair is uneven, that is all."

Once again, I felt that familiar, jarring internal conflict. I liked, truly liked, that he was paying such minute attention to me, that his hands were in my hair. But I was simultaneously, profoundly disappointed that the very minimal emotion he displayed. He must have noticed the intricate gears audibly turning in my brain.

"Your facial expressions, Raphael, are remarkably demonstrative. I find it somewhat reassuring to readily discern your thoughts." he stated, his gaze fixed on mine with that unsettling, clinical clarity. Once again, I was in awe of his brutally straightforward manner of speaking to me, a directness I rarely encountered. My brows furrowed instinctively, my mouth opening, poised to declare, "You are a piece of-" when the sudden, thunderous roar of the chopper's massive rotor blades outside interrupted me, shaking the very foundations of the house.

As Levi registered the approaching aircraft, he turned sharply, flung open the heavy door to the outside, and extended his hand towards me in a sharp, imperious flick, gesturing 'come'. What was I supposed to do, not obey? Of course not. This was a private helicopter, arriving to whisk me away to an island mansion for dinner. There was no way I was missing this.

I stepped out with a lively bounce in my stride. The powerful wind from the descending blades immediately whipped around me, threatening to tear at my meticulously styled hair. The chopper descended steadily, its shadow growing larger on the manicured lawn, and Levi, seemingly unfazed by the roaring tempest of air, positioned the rope ladder closer to the ground, poised for my ascent. Fear, cold and sharp, still lingered in the back of my mind, a subtle tremor beneath the adrenaline.

Then Levi's voice, amplified yet somehow cutting through the cacophony of the rotor, pierced the air, sharp and challenging. "If you have any apprehension, simply articulate it!"

There was no way I would ever admit defeat to him, not in a million years. Never.

I took the first step onto the rope ladder, the flexible rung feeling surprisingly solid beneath my polished shoe, then the second. But with my third, a sudden, unexpected jolt of raw fear gripped me. The ladder swayed slightly, and the dizzying height, combined with the rushing wind, stole my breath. I hesitated, my hand gripping the rope fiercely, utterly unsure of my next move. Levi's voice, firm and unwavering, cut through the wind once more, "It is quite alright. Merely take another step."

And, despite every fiber of my being screaming in protest, I did as he commanded.