Chapter 2 No One Dared Provoke

Grayson's memory traveled back to that cicada-filled summer day three years ago.

The shy look in Cathryn's eyes and the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to her temples blended seamlessly with the memory of that afternoon.

For three years, she had invaded his dreams every night, leaving him restless, burning with desire.

Grayson ran his fingers over the spot where Cathryn had touched him, feeling a heat spread through him, and even the air around them seemed charged with tension.

But he quickly turned away, keeping his expression cold and distant. "Go inside," he said, his voice steady.

Cathryn exhaled in relief and hurried away.

She didn't see the way Grayson's eyes, hungry and predatory, followed her every move.

Once inside the mansion, Cathryn realized it wasn't just the family gathered there-Grayson's old acquaintances, those from the upper echelons of society, had also arrived.

Each of them commanded respect, but it was Grayson who stood out as the most formidable of them all.

Cathryn had witnessed their absurd antics more than once and braced herself to avoid them at all costs.

But Jenna, who carried herself like the lady of the house, was not about to let her off so easily.

"I'm busy. Take these drinks to Grayson and his friends."

Cathryn had no choice but to comply, reluctantly stepping into the room where Grayson waited.

Inside, the air was thick with opulence and laughter.

In her light blue dress, Cathryn stood at the doorway, feeling like prey among a pack of predators, all eyes turning to her.

Even in the dim light, her smooth hair and red lips stood out, exuding an effortless allure that drew attention.

Her delicate skin, glowing in the soft lighting, made her seem ethereal.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, someone let out a mocking laugh.

"Grayson, your new family member has certainly grown up. She's looking rather captivating."

Grayson hadn't expected Cathryn to walk in either. His brow furrowed slightly as he swirled his wine, his eyes cold and unreadable.

"She's been living with my family for a few years. Not my family member exactly."

His voice was so detached, as if he were discussing the weather, coldly severing any connection with Cathryn and distancing her from the family.

Cathryn's heart sank, her fingers tightening around the tray as if it could anchor her.

Grayson, as always, knew exactly how to wound her with his words.

She refused to meet his gaze.

Even though she stood while he sat, she felt as if he were looking down on her, stripping away any sense of dignity she had left.

Under the weight of the scrutinizing and disdainful stares, Cathryn placed the drinks on the table. "Here are your drinks."

Grayson's eyes drifted down her slender legs, and a slight, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes followed. His voice, cold as ice, cut through the room. "Who let you in? Get out."

The room's occupants watched Cathryn closely, anticipation in their eyes, eager for the spectacle to unfold.

Cathryn felt exposed, as if every inch of her was being torn apart by their gaze.

She bit her lip until it nearly bled, quickly retreating outside after setting the tray down.

Behind her, laughter and cruel comments followed.

"Why so heartless? She's quite the beauty, don't you think? A little tenderness wouldn't hurt."

"Let her stay for a drink. We don't have any girls to keep us company anyway."

Cathryn's fingertips trembled with the realization. To Grayson and his group, she was nothing more than a bar girl to be discarded.

She didn't wait to hear more, swiftly turning and leaving the room.

Inside, Grayson paused, his fingers lightly gripping his wine glass, a faint, knowing smile curling at the edges of his lips. "If you're looking for women, this isn't the place for it. The bar's your best bet-plenty to choose from there."

The man, oblivious to the rising tension, continued, "She's not even part of your family. Having her drink with us is a step up for her. Nice legs, straight and slender. I bet they'd look even better wrapped around my waist."

Grayson chuckled, though the sound was void of humor, and he said nothing.

But the ice in his gaze deepened, a flicker of hostility seeping through.

In one swift movement, he stood, grabbed a wine bottle from the table, and brought it crashing down on the man's head.

The bottle shattered against the man's skull, red wine mixing with blood as it spilled onto the floor in a gruesome pool.

Silence filled the room, everyone frozen in shock.

Moments later, someone hesitantly stood, their voice shaky. "Grayson, you..."

Grayson casually adjusted his collar, his tone oddly calm. "Such good wine, and it still couldn't keep him quiet. Disappointing."

His voice was as unruffled as if he were commenting on the weather, completely detached from the violence that had just unfolded.

"But, he came to celebrate your return. Why would you..."

Grayson took a napkin, carefully wiping his fingers one by one. His face remained impassive, but the coldness in his eyes made the air heavy with dread.

"On my family's territory, not even an ant can be disrespected."

His gaze sliced through the man, sharp and unforgiving. "Get out."

The man, dazed and bleeding, stood frozen, unable to lift his gaze, blood trickling down his face.

Though they were all part of the elite social circle, Grayson was their pinnacle-someone no one dared provoke.

The man didn't even attempt to wipe the blood from his eyes, trembling as he stammered, "I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Grayson tossed the napkin aside and left the room, his silence hanging heavily in the air.

The chill radiating off him was far more menacing than the violence he had just displayed.

Someone helped the injured man to his feet, murmuring quietly, "Just go out the back door. Don't make his mood worse today."

Cathryn lay on the bed in her small room for a while, planning to leave.

But as soon as she stepped out, she froze, her eyes locking with Grayson's as he descended slowly from the top of the staircase.

Her heart skipped, and she instinctively wanted to retreat back into her room, but it was too late-Grayson had already noticed her.

She gripped the door handle with one hand, her other clutching her purse tightly, unsure of whether to move forward or retreat. She hesitated, leaning against the door awkwardly, and greeted Grayson softly.

Grayson's gaze landed on her cowlick, his steps deliberate and measured as he made his way toward her.

Cathryn felt a sudden urge to step back, but his eyes held her in place-cold, distant, as though he were looking right through her.

The weight of his gaze made her feel small, unworthy.

In that instant, time seemed to rewind, carrying her back ten years.

It was another sweltering summer when Jenna had brought Cathryn into the living room of this mansion.

Jenna's stepchildren, Jerald Wheeler and Dina Wheeler, their sneers sharp and cruel, had pointed at Cathryn, calling her a little enchantress before unceremoniously tossing her luggage out the door.

Jenna's sobs echoed in Cathryn's ears as she stood there, her dress hem clutched tightly in her hands, feeling utterly abandoned.

Then a clear, cold voice cut through the chaos, freezing everything in its path.

"Jerald, Dina, is this how your etiquette teacher taught you to treat guests?"

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Cathryn lifted her gaze, and the moment became etched in her memory forever.

At the end of the spiral staircase, bathed in soft light, stood a young man, dressed in crisp white and black, radiating an undeniable air of nobility. His face, strikingly handsome, seemed to belong to another world.

With each graceful step down the staircase, he seemed to become more of a vision, as if stepping out of a painting-an ethereal presence that stunned Cathryn's young, impoverished heart.

Jenna tugged at Cathryn's sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is Andres' brother, Grayson. Go greet him."

Cathryn lowered her gaze, too nervous to meet his eyes. Her chest trembled with anxiety as she fought to steady herself. After a long, tense silence, she whispered, "Nice to meet you."

Grayson gave a nonchalant nod, brushing past her without a second glance. As he walked toward the door, he added, "From now on, treat this place like your home. If you need anything, speak to Brodie Ford, the butler."

His voice, calm and pleasant, lingered in the air, leaving Cathryn frozen in place, lost in the sound of it.

It wasn't until the rumbling growl of a Harley motorcycle reached her ears from outside that she realized Grayson had already gone.

For a long time, Cathryn had convinced herself that Grayson was a good man, until the day she found herself kneeling before him, desperate and pleading, while his eyes remained cold, unreadable.

In that moment, the truth hit her-Grayson had never shown her kindness.

He was no savior; he thrived in the shadows, his power drawn from chaos and cruelty, manipulating situations to his advantage without hesitation.

How foolish she had been to believe in his kindness?

Grayson's shadow loomed over Cathryn now, his deep eyes fixed on her. "So, you've moved out?" he asked, his voice as cold as ever.