Dinner was quieter than usual.
The dining room lights were dimmer in the evenings, softened to avoid glare. The table was set with the same precision as always—plates aligned, cutlery parallel, glasses filled but untouched. The staff moved in and out with practiced silence, leaving only the sound of utensils and the faint hum of the house settling into night.
Mia barely tasted her food.
Theon noticed.
He didn't comment on her portions. He didn't ask if something was wrong. He watched the way her fingers hovered over the edge of her plate, how her eyes lingered on nothing in particular, how her posture shifted between restraint and hesitation.
"You're distracted," he said eventually.
She looked up too quickly. "No."
He didn't press. Instead, he set his fork down, folding his hands loosely in front of him.
"If there's something you want to say, say it."
Her fingers tightened around her spoon.
"I don't know if I should," she admitted.
He tilted his head slightly. "Why not?"
"I don't know where the line is."
"There are lines," he said. "But questions aren't one of them."
She hesitated, then looked directly at him. "And if I cross it?"
He met her gaze without flinching. "I won't get angry because you asked something."
That surprised her more than reassurance would have.
She stared at him for a moment, weighing whether this was another calculated allowance.
Then she spoke.
"I'm here as repayment," she said quietly. "So… what do you actually want from me?"
The words came out more restrained than the storm behind them.
Theon did not look away.
He did not soften his expression.
"If I wanted to use you as repayment in the way most people would interpret that term," he said, "you'd already know."
Her stomach tightened.
"That would mean treating you as a toy," he continued, voice even. "Ownership without pretense. No discussions. No permissions."
He said it without cruelty, without relish. Just fact.
Mia's hand trembled slightly on the table.
He watched her reaction without comment.
"I don't plan to do that," he added.
The sentence was simple. Final.
She didn't know how to respond to that.
He didn't elaborate. He didn't justify himself. He didn't explain his ethics. He simply moved forward.
"What skills do you have?"
The shift was abrupt.
She blinked. "What?"
"You asked what I want from you," he said. "If I'm not using you as a repayment in that sense, you'll need a role here. So tell me what you can do."
She hesitated, then answered.
"I can cook. Clean. I'm good at math. Computers. I did some coding in college.
He nodded once, absorbing the information.
"You'll be trained for a few days," he said. "By my employees. After that, you'll take an evaluation. Your position will be decided based on that."
"Position," she repeated.
"Yes. You'll be compensated accordingly."
Her chest tightened.
"So I'll be working for you."
"You'll be working here," he corrected.
She didn't argue.
Silence settled again, but this time it was heavier.
She stared at her plate, then back at him, as if something else was pressing at her throat.
"There's one more thing," she said.
He waited.
She inhaled. "Privacy."
He didn't react.
"At least for bathing and changing," she added. "I don't know what kind of surveillance you have here, but I—"
"I understand," he said, cutting her off gently.
She froze.
He leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Your room has cameras," he said, plainly. "The bathroom doesn't."
Her breath caught.
She had expected denial. Bargaining. Conditions.
He continued, "You can leave your phone on the desk and enter the bathroom. That will be considered private space."
She stared at him, unsure what to feel.
"You're telling me this?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He considered her for a moment.
"Because you asked."
That was all.
She swallowed.
The conversation felt too straightforward, too unguarded.
He wasn't hiding control.
He wasn't disguising power.
He was just… stating reality.
That unsettled her more than secrecy would have.
"So," she said slowly, "you're not planning to use me. You're planning to make me work. You're planning to train me. And you're giving me privacy."
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She stared at him, trying to find the trap.
Her mind kept circling back to the same thought:
He's waiting. He's just waiting.
"You know how this looks," she said quietly.
"I know how it looks," he agreed.
He didn't add anything else.
She pushed her chair back slightly, then steadied it.
"I'll do the training."
He nodded.
"Good."
He stood, signaling the end of the conversation.
But Mia remained seated, staring at her untouched dessert.
She felt like she had stepped to the edge of something she didn't fully understand.
And Theon, walking out of the dining room, did not slow his steps. He did not revisit the conversation. He did not reconsider his decisions.
To him, the terms had been clear. Boundaries stated. Expectations aligned.
To her, the ambiguity had only deepened.
She had asked what he wanted from her.
He had told her what he wouldn't do.
She didn't know which answer frightened her more.