Nobody Knows You're Here

I clutch the spare keys until they bite into my palm. The legal papers lie spread across the table under the morning light, but Robert's steady stare pins me harder than any document. In this narrow foyer he knows I lied, and the knowledge sits between us like a lit fuse.
He gives orders with that unflinching precision, each one pulling at the obedience I cannot quite hide. I flash defiance even as my body softens under his gaze, craving the rules that would force the truth out and the protection I have never known. Yet I still pretend I do not need any of it.
His hand settles at the base of my spine while I hold the keys, the air thickening between us. How long can I keep lying when he already knows?