Chapter 8 Found Asleep

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ronan sat behind his desk, his posture relaxed, his expression sharp as the man across from him flipped through the financial projections. Whitmore Group was hanging by a thread.

"Liquidity is their biggest issue," the man said, pointing at a column highlighted in red. "They've taken on too much short-term debt. If one more investor pulls out, they won't be able to service it."

Ronan leaned forward slightly. "And that's exactly where we step in."

"We acquire shares quietly," the man continued. "Shell companies. Proxies. No direct trail back to you. Once we cross twenty-five percent, we start influencing board decisions."

Ronan nodded once. "And when panic sets in?"

"They'll start looking for a white knight," the man said. "A bailout. Someone with enough capital to stabilize them."

Ronan's eyes darkened. "Which I'll provide, on my terms."

The man hesitated. "Mrs Whitmore won't agree easily.

"She won't have a choice," Ronan replied calmly. "By the time she realizes what's happening, her beloved husbands company will already be bleeding from the inside."

The office door opened abruptly. Camilla walked in without hesitation.

The secretary rushed in behind her, clearly distressed. "Sir, I tried to stop her. I told her you were in a meeting, but she insisted". Ronan turned his head slowly.

"You," he said to the secretary, his tone clipped. "Get out."

The secretary froze for a second, then nodded quickly. "Yes, sir." She turned and left at once, closing the door behind her.

Ronan didn't look at Camilla again immediately. Instead, he turned back to the man across from him.

"That will be all for now," he said evenly. "Proceed with phase one. I want weekly updates."

The man stood, gathering his documents. "Understood."

He nodded once and exited the office, leaving the room steeped in silence. After the man left, the silence in the office thickened. Camilla didn't waste it.

She walked toward Ronan slowly, deliberately, heels clicking softly against the floor until she stood between him and the desk. He remained seated, watching her with calm awareness, he already knew what she intended to do. Her hand slid to his chest, fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt in a familiar, possessive way. Ronan didn't stop her. He only leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on her face, unreadable.

"I shouldn't have raised my voice the other day," Camilla said softly, her tone carefully measured. "I crossed a line. Questioned your authority." She paused, her thumb tracing a slow line. "I was only curious... about why you kept her so close."

Ronan's hand came up then. He caught her wrist mid-motion, firm but unhurried, halting her touch completely. His grip was not rough, just firm.

"Need I tell you again?" he said coolly. "She's a slave. Nothing more."

Camilla searched his face.

"A Whitmore," Ronan continued, his voice hardening. "And a family I've sworn to destroy."

Something flickered in her eyes, relief, perhaps. Or satisfaction. She lowered her gaze, letting her shoulders soften, wearing apology like a carefully chosen garment.

"I understand," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

She stepped closer again, this time not touching him. "I will go with you tonight," she added. "To your apartment."

Ronan released her wrist. He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, not a smile, but something close enough to unsettle her. Camilla took that smirk as consent. And Ronan leaned back in his chair, already thinking of something else entirely.

Mrs. Margareta was waiting when they entered.

"Good evening, sir," she said, inclining her head respectfully.

Camilla barely spared her a glance. When she did, it was sharp, annoyed, dismissive, before she turned away and tightened her grip around Ronan's arm, pulling him along with her. Ronan was already angling toward the corridor that led to his room when Camilla stopped him.

"Not yet," she said softly, lips curving. "Let's go to the study first." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "We can... spice things up."

Ronan studied her for a moment. Then he smirked. Without a word, he changed direction.

The study door opened quietly. The light was still on. Adaline lay asleep on the chair beside his desk, curled slightly on her side, a book resting loosely against her chest. One strand of hair had fallen free from her ponytail, brushing softly across her cheek. Her breathing was slow, steady, untroubled.

Ronan stopped.

He noticed the small things, the rise and fall of her chest, the way sleep softened the fear usually etched into her face, how peaceful she looked in a place she wasn't meant to rest.

For a fleeting second, the room felt... still.

Then.....,Smack. The sound cut through the silence like a blade. Adaline jolted awake with a sharp gasp, the book slipping from her grasp as pain flared across her cheek. She cried out softly, confusion flooding her eyes before terror took over.

Camilla's eyes blazed as she stepped closer to Adaline, her voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet of the study.

"Why are you sleeping here?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "This isn't your place! You weren't meant to touch anything, let alone sit or lie down where you shouldn't!"

Adaline flinched, stumbling back slightly, her voice trembling. "I....I was just tired, ma'am... I didn't mean"

Camilla cut her off with a sharp laugh, venom in her tone. "You didn't mean? You think excuses can justify your overstepping? Do you have any idea what you're doing? You could be stealing, spying... or worse!"

She turned abruptly toward Ronan, her tone rising. "You should punish her! She has overstepped her boundaries! She might have been secretly looking for something. How do we know she hasn't?"

Ronan didn't move. He didn't speak. His eyes were unreadable, cold as ice, fixed on the small figure trembling before them. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by Camilla's sharp, rising anger.

"Servants!" Camilla shouted suddenly, her voice echoing against the walls. "Search her! Make sure she hasn't stolen anything!"

Adaline's eyes widened in panic. Her legs trembled beneath her as she tried to back away, hands clasped in front of her chest.

Before anyone could move, Mrs. Margareta rushed into the room, her expression tight with worry. "Please, sir! Don't listen....,she hasn't done anything wrong!"

Camilla whirled on her, voice like fire. "Why are you defending a mere servant?

Mrs. Margareta opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say more, Ronan raised a single hand, calm but commanding.

"Enough," he said, his voice cold and absolute.

The room froze. Even Camilla, flames still in her eyes, faltered. She opened her mouth to argue, to press further, but the weight of his gaze pinned her words in place.

Ronan leaned back slightly, expression still unreadable, and waited. The silence stretched, heavy and sharp, filled with fear and tension.

Adaline stayed frozen, barely breathing, sensing the invisible line between obedience and punishment had never felt so real.

Camilla's hands clenched at her sides, her fury restrained only by the unyielding calm of the man she could never challenge.

After what felt like hours, Ronan finally dismissed everyone.

Camilla lingered for a moment, mouth opening as if to argue, but the sharp, icy weight of his gaze pinned her in place. She faltered, clenched her fists, and left without another word.

The study fell silent. Adaline stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest. The fear that had been building all day now felt suffocating, pressing against her skin, making every breath shallow. She barely dared to look at him. Ronan took a step forward. Then another. Soon, he was close, his presence overwhelming, the cold authority in his eyes leaving no room for escape.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low but commanding.

"I... I was cleaning, sir," Adaline stammered. "Then I....I fell asleep. I didn't mean to..."

He didn't respond. His expression stayed unreadable, yet it was heavy, judging, questioning.

Ronan shook his head slowly. "I don't believe you," he said, voice firm. "Strip off your clothes."

Adaline froze. Her throat tightened. Tears sprang to her eyes immediately, hot and desperate. "Please... I didn't..." she began, voice trembling. Her hands shook as she fumbled at the hem of her dress, almost pleading for him to stop.

It felt useless. He didn't move. He didn't speak. The command hung in the air, absolute.

Her fingers pulled at the fabric until it reached her shoulders. Her chest heaved with sobs.

Ronan's eyes didn't flinch, but then, after a moment, he finally spoke.

"Stop," he said, cold and deliberate. "Get out.". Relief, confusion, and lingering terror crashed over her all at once. She didn't hesitate. She straightened quickly, bowing her head, and fled the study, hands clutching at the fabric, tears streaming freely. Ronan watched her go, his expression still unreadable, the room settling into silence once more.