Chapter 7

The master bedroom was swallowed in shadows. A single floor lamp cast a weak, yellow glow near the bed. The smell of bitter medicine was so thick it coated the back of Frieda's throat.

In the center of the room sat a massive, black four-poster bed. A man leaned against the headboard.

He was looking down at a tablet. The blue light from the screen illuminated his face. His skin was pale, almost translucent, stretching over a sharp, aggressive jawline.

Frieda took a step forward. Her bare feet made no sound on the thick rug. She squinted, trying to see her new husband's face clearly.

The man sighed in annoyance. He tossed the tablet onto the blankets and slowly turned his head toward the door.

Frieda's heart stopped.

She stared into his dark, violent eyes. She saw the faint, jagged scar running along his jaw.

The scent of sharp cedar cut through the smell of medicine.

Her blood turned to ice. It was him. The man from room 801.

Panic exploded in her chest. She spun around and slammed her hands against the heavy wooden door. She grabbed the brass handle and yanked it down with all her body weight.

It didn't move. She clawed at the wood, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps.

Burke watched her from the bed. A cruel, mocking sneer twisted his lips.

He picked up a heavy glass of water from his nightstand and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the floor inches from Frieda's feet.

The glass exploded. Shards flew against her ankles.

Frieda screamed and pressed her back flat against the door. She stared at him, her chest heaving.

Burke's voice was a low, gravelly rasp. "You took their money to be here. Don't act like a terrified virgin now."

Frieda's brain misfired. She blinked.

He didn't recognize her.

She realized it instantly. Last night, the room had been pitch black. Today, her hair was plastered to her face from the rain, and she wore no makeup. He thought she was just the greedy Dillard daughter.

Frieda forced her breathing to slow. She dropped her chin, letting her wet hair fall forward to hide the side of her face and the mole behind her ear.

She swallowed hard. "I'm just... not used to this place." Her voice shook, but she kept it quiet.

Burke scoffed. The sound was full of disgust. "Save the act. I know exactly what you are."

He threw the blankets off. He stepped out of bed, his bare feet landing dangerously close to the broken glass. He walked toward her. His massive frame blocked out the light.

Frieda bit the inside of her cheek. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she forced her feet to stay planted. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

Burke stopped two feet away. He looked down at her. "You are a product bought and paid for to save a bankrupt company."

The insult burned, but Frieda swallowed the anger. She needed him to hate the 'Dillard bride' so he wouldn't look closer at her.

Burke reached out. His cold fingers clamped around her chin. He jerked her face up.

Frieda kept her eyes cast down, staring at his chest.

He studied her pale face for a second. His gaze flickered past her ear, and a faint, petal-shaped mark on her earlobe snagged his attention for a fraction of a second. He frowned. It was just like hers. The girl from the dark room. But he immediately dismissed the thought. The greedy, scheming daughter of the Dillard family couldn't possibly be her. The idea was a repulsive insult to his memory.

He released her with a shove, wiping his hand on his pants like she was diseased.

"The old man forced this marriage," Burke said coldly. "But I decide how long it lasts. You have three months. A trial period. If you are useless, I throw you out."

Frieda's pulse jumped. Three months. That was enough time. Enough time to find the original Deepfake file. Enough time to escape.

She lifted her eyes and looked directly into his violent stare. Her voice was steady.

"Deal."