Seduced by Silence

When I took the job as a private librarian for the reclusive billionaire, Mr. Alistair Finch, I was told he was eccentric. I wasn't told he was a mute. He communicates only through handwritten notes on exquisite stationery, his commands precise, his observations unnervingly astute. Our days are spent in the cavernous, silent library of his gothic mansion. The silence is a canvas, and he paints on it with his intense, burning gaze and the brief, electric touch of his fingers as he passes me a note. He is slowly, methodically seducing me without a single word, drawing me into his world of quiet control. I find myself desperate for his approval, for the spidery script that has become my obsession. I don't know the sound of his voice, but I'm beginning to think I'd do anything he asked to hear it.