Chapter 2 The Stranger in the Guestroom

Ella barely slept that night.

She kept returning to the east wing like a moth to flame, peeking into the guestroom where the injured man rested. Her heart thudded every time she saw him breathing. His presence pulsed like a secret inside the house-one she had to protect with her life.

She didn't know who he was.

But something deep inside her whispered that he wasn't just anyone.

At dawn, she brought him a warm towel and a clean shirt-one of her father's old tailored pieces she'd kept hidden in the attic. He was already awake, shirtless, standing by the dusty window with his back to her.

She froze in the doorway.

He was sculpted like a marble statue-broad shoulders, taut muscles, lean waist. The bruises on his ribs only made him look more dangerous, more real.

"You came back," he said, voice low and gravelly.

Ella swallowed. "I thought you might need... breakfast. Or something warm."

He turned slowly, and her breath caught.

No one had ever looked at her like that before. Not as a servant. Not as trash. But as... something more.

"I never asked your name," he said.

"I never gave it," she replied.

He smirked, and despite the bruises on his face, he was devastatingly handsome. Dangerous. Calm. Confident.

"Should I call you angel, then?" he teased.

Ella's cheeks flamed. "You're not exactly in the best condition to flirt, sir."

"I nearly bled to death on your floor. I think I deserve a little fun."

She set the tray down, trying not to smile. "Fine. Call me Angel. But only until you leave."

He stepped closer, gaze serious now. "And you won't tell anyone about this?"

She shook her head. "They'd never believe me anyway."

He studied her. "Why do you live like this?"

Ella looked away. "Because I have nowhere else to go."

---

Meanwhile, downstairs...

Vivian Hart swirled her champagne and narrowed her eyes at the empty guest seat across the dining table.

"He cancelled," she said through gritted teeth. "The Blackwell assistant said he missed his flight. Nonsense."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Why does it matter? There are dozens of billionaires in the city."

Vivian slammed her glass down. "Not like Liam Blackwell. He's worth forty billion. If one of you marries him, our lives change forever. No more hiding from creditors. No more broken-down cars. We become Manhattan royalty."

Ivy smirked. "Then maybe it's time one of us tracked him down."

Vivian's eyes lit up.

---

Back in the east wing, Liam finished eating and pulled on the clean shirt Ella had brought.

"Why are you helping me, Angel?"

Ella folded her arms. "Because I know what it feels like to be alone. Hurt. Forgotten."

He looked at her for a long moment.

"I owe you," he said. "I don't forget my debts."

She laughed bitterly. "I don't need anything from you."

"That's the problem," he said softly. "You should."

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a black card, and placed it on the table.

"If you ever need anything-money, safety, a new life-call this number. Tell them you saved Liam Blackwell."

Ella stared. "Liam... Blackwell?"

He smirked, eyes glinting. "Surprised?"

Her lips parted in shock.

The man she had hidden in her home...

The one her stepmother was desperate to seduce...

Was the very billionaire prince they'd all been waiting for.