I shower and put on the yellow dress. I can do this. All I need to do is clean, keep my head down, and get through the next three years. Piece of cake. Shit. Groaning, I rub my face. Doesn't matter if it's hard, I just need to put one foot in front of the other and get through it. And maybe not think too much. Determined, I square my shoulders and open the door, walking out into the hall. It's quiet. Creeping forward cautiously, I make my way to the supply closet, the place eerily silent.

Maybe he isn't home?

I stay still listening. Nothing. Relaxing a little as the silence remains unbroken, I get to cleaning. Dusting, sweeping, mopping. There's a lot of space here and so a lot that needs to be done. I work steadily for a good hour before my mind starts to really wander. There's just so much to look at. I stop in front of the window, looking out at the city below for a while. So many people and so much going on but I'm trapped in this silent place; alone, completely separated from the real world.

Moving on, I trail my fingertips over the smooth tops of antique tables and modern decor. I look in one of the open bedrooms and find another nicely furnished room. Nothing surprising in here. Though I don't know why Prince Adir needs so many rooms when it's just him living here. But I guess money buys you the luxury of unnecessary space. Maybe he just likes to walk through it and gloat.

Returning to the dining room, I take a seat in one of the plush, wingback chairs. It's not as comfortable as it looks. Getting up again, I look inside the refrigerator out of curiosity. Just food. I'm kind of disappointed. Though I don't know what I really expected to find inside. He's just a person after all. The Singarti eat what we eat.

As I continue drifting through the penthouse, I make my way inexorably to the wooden door Prince Adir had such a strong reaction to earlier. I really shouldn't go in there. The last thing I need to do right now is further alienate him. I shouldn't even be looking at it. I turn away, focusing my attention instead on a sculpture set in a recessed alcove. It's quite pretty with curved lines, the suggestion of something feminine without being overtly sexual. After going through the place, I'm starting to get the niggling idea that there aren’t really a lot of fake or faux things here, which means all of the natural materials might actually be natural and not man-made. And worth a fortune.

But even as I stare at the sculpture and think about the amount of money Prince Adir spent to furnish and decorate, my attention is still on the door behind me. What could he possibly be hiding in there? I glance back at it over my shoulder. It looks just like a door. A beautiful door. But just a door.

I bite my lip, turning away again. It's a terrible idea. My curiosity is not a good enough reason to be an idiot. I force myself to walk away but then I stop. Maybe he has someone else trapped in there. I mean, it would be my duty as a socially conscious person to make sure he isn't holding someone against his or her will, right? Right. I turn back towards the door. Even as I walk up to it, I know he isn't keeping anyone trapped there. Why would he? He can get people to agree to what he wants easily enough. Just look at me. Must be nice to have that kind of power. But despite acknowledging how ridiculous my excuse is, I don't stop until I'm standing in front of the door. I stare at it for a few seconds. I'll just try... I reach for the doorknob and attempt to turn it.

Locked. I shake my head. Of course it's locked. Now what? I laugh at myself. All this build up over nothing. Did I think it was just going to be open and waiting for me to stick my nose into? After the fuss he made about it? I push at the door a little with one palm, turning away and shaking my head at my own idiocy.

It gives a little under my hand. No. I freeze, my heart beat picking up. Turning around slowly, the door is open about a third of the way. That slight push was enough to open it; it must not have latched properly when he closed it last. I stare at the partially open door. Nobody's home. He won't even know I was in there. I'll make sure to leave everything exactly how I find it. When else am I going to get an opportunity like this? Knowing I'm probably making a mistake, I push open the door the rest of the way and step inside.

"Oh..." I breathe as I take it in.

Oh wow. This is...this is not at all what I expected. I take another step inside, trying to look at everything at once. Books. All the way up to the high ceiling, rows and rows, shelves and shelves of books. An old fashioned ladder on a railing system hangs on one side of a narrow balcony about halfway up with a safety metal fence to peruse the higher shelves. I walk over to them, my fingers trailing along the spines, noting the dust. I wonder if he ever lets anyone in here to clean. Judging by how much more dust is in here than in the rest of the apartment, I'm going to guess no. My fingers itch to clean in here, but I know I can't. I can't do anything that he'll notice, including touching the layer of dust.

I look up. God, there are so many books. I walk along, reading titles. History books, books on science, popular fiction. He even has first edition classics. 1984, Don Quixote, The Great Gatsby, War and Peace. The list goes on and on. Books I've never even seen before. My fingers linger on a particular one, a history book from when the Singarti first arrived on Earth. Told from a human perspective. I pull it out, staring at the cover in disbelief. The Singarti Arrive. There are rumors about this book, but I've never laid eyes on it. Whispers are that the Singarti made sure to burn every copy they could find. It isn't supposed to be a flattering account of what happened. Understandable considering the fact that there's no denying Earth was invaded by an alien race.

I crack it open, skim a few pages but I need time to read it, time I don't have right now, and I can't risk Adir finding it out of place. I carefully push it back, wanting so badly to hold on to it. Maybe I'll get another chance but I want to look at what else is here while I can. I turn to the center of the room. Right in the middle, situated front and center, is an impressive desk and large chair. Frowning, I walk over, looking over the books stacked neatly on top. There's one large, leather bound book sitting open on the desk. I don't even know where he'd find leather. It must have been recycled from another binding. My eyes fall on the pages, curious what he would choose to read. The words are clearly hand written. Unusual. Maybe it's a journal? Something of historical value?

I angle my head to read the elegant script, admiring the almost calligraphy-like quality of it even as the words seep in. It's a poem. A poem about desire, longing, frustration. Fear. A poem about a woman. I can feel the writer's anguish, the conflicting emotions boiling up inside. Who wrote this? It isn't anyone I'm familiar with. I pick up the book and insert my finger to mark the page while I examine the cover and the spine but they're both bare. There isn't even a title. Same with the first page of the book when I flip to it. Stranger still.

I look over at the desk again, looking for some kind of clue, and find a pen. With an odd surge of emotion, I pick it up, running the smooth shaft thoughtfully between my fingers. No. That can't be...is it possible... did Prince Adir write this? I stare at the book, still holding the pen. The poem, it's so sensitive. So thoughtful and heartfelt. I touch the page, considering the tumultuous emotions in the words and in the man himself. Complicated, passionate. He definitely feels. He isn't stoic and cold. And the way he looks at me.

I look at the poem again, biting my lip. It's ridiculous, but... is this about me? Taking the book, I walk over to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Flipping through the book, there’s page after page of work in the same writing. Poems, essays, some portions where thoughts and emotions are just written out. There's so much here. I look up, out the open door to the rest of the place. It's still quiet. I should have time. Settling in, I start from the beginning. And I'm glad I do, the writer is talented. Beyond talented. The words hold my attention, transporting me somewhere else, making me feel anger, pain, sorrow. I run through the gamut of emotions and can't help but think about the man who may have written this.

Is this who Prince Adir really is inside? This artist, this person who feels everything so keenly, so much that he keeps this part of himself completely locked away, protected. As I delve deeper and deeper into the pages, I make the mistake of completely losing track of time. A very stupid mistake. As I turn another page, entirely engrossed, I freeze, my heart stopping as the door slams open. My breath catches in a silent gasp.

Caught. With my hand still in the cookie jar. Too afraid to look up, I stay in the chair, my eyes on the page.

"What are you doing?" Adir's deep, growling voice fills the room, sinking into me, taking up all the air around me.

I swallow, my throat clicking dryly as I consider my utter lack of options.

Shit.