Chapter 2 2

Lola woke the next morning to the faint smell of coffee drifting under her bedroom door. For a brief, hopeful moment, she thought it might all have been a nightmare-the long flight, the tense breakfast, the icy blue eyes of Devon Holyster accusing her of sins she didn't commit.

But reality settled like a weight in her chest when she opened her eyes to the grand, unfamiliar room.

She showered, dressed in the clothes laid out by the silent, watchful maid, and found herself standing outside the library door once more. Her hand hovered over the polished brass handle. She could almost feel Devon's presence on the other side, dark and heavy as a storm cloud. She took a deep breath and entered.

---

Devon was alone at the massive desk, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms. His head lifted at her entrance, eyes cool and sharp. Papers were spread across the desk like a battlefield-ledgers, contracts, old letters. The air smelled faintly of ink and leather.

"You're late," he said without preamble.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. "By five minutes."

His lips curved into a humorless smile. "Punctuality matters in this house. Sit."

She obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair as he slid a folder toward her. "I had my investigators compile a comprehensive report on your father's last years. His debts, his offshore accounts, his... questionable alliances."

She swallowed hard as she flipped through page after page of dense type, financial charts, copies of emails she had never seen before. Each document felt like a blade slicing into her memories of a father who read her bedtime stories and kissed her scraped knees.

"I don't believe this," she whispered, voice barely audible. "He wouldn't have done these things."

Devon's eyes flicked to hers, unflinching. "Belief doesn't change the truth."

She looked up sharply. "And what truth are you living in, Devon? One where your family is innocent, where everything bad was someone else's fault?"

His jaw tensed. "This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" she shot back. "You can't let go of the past. You're obsessed with punishing someone who's already dead."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Devon stood, his towering figure looming over her as he braced his hands on the desk. "I'm not obsessed," he said in a low voice. "I'm ensuring justice."

She met his gaze squarely. "Justice or vengeance?"

Their eyes locked, the silence vibrating with a heat that frightened and excited her. Neither moved for a long, charged moment.

Then Devon straightened, abruptly cold again. "You'll accompany me to the Holyster board meeting this afternoon," he said briskly. "If you're going to claim your inheritance, the directors must see you're willing to work with me."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't want to work with you."

A flicker of something-amusement?-crossed his eyes. "You don't have a choice."

---

The Holyster corporate tower rose in gleaming steel and glass above Manhattan, its logo a silver H glinting against the sky. Lola's heart hammered in her chest as she stepped from the sleek black car, flanked by Devon and his security detail.

The lobby was a cavern of marble and glass, bustling with men and women in designer suits. Conversations hushed as Devon Holyster strode across the floor with Lola at his side. She could feel the curious, calculating gazes that followed them- some shocked, others openly speculative.

An elevator whisked them to the top floor. The doors opened into a sprawling executive suite where a long conference table gleamed under modern pendant lights. Around it sat a dozen men and women, most middle-aged, all dressed in dark suits. Their faces turned toward Lola with a mixture of surprise and skepticism.

Devon took the head of the table. Lola stood by his side until he gestured for her to sit. "This is Lola Gareth," he announced. "The rightful heir to the Gareth estate and, by the terms of our longstanding contract, a stakeholder in Holyster Industries."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the board. One older man cleared his throat. "Mr. Holyster, you can't be serious. The Gareths nearly ruined this company. Bringing one back into the fold is-"

Devon cut him off with a look sharp enough to silence a room. "What's serious is the law. Her inheritance is tied to our company, and she will be involved-on my terms."

Lola felt heat rise in her cheeks, but she held her head high. "I'm not here to cause trouble," she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "I want what's rightfully mine, but I also want the truth."

A few board members looked surprised by her directness. One woman with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes offered the faintest nod of respect.

Devon's eyes flicked to her, something unreadable in their depths. "Good. Then we're clear."

---

After the meeting, they stepped into Devon's private office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city. The space was spare, masculine-dark wood, black leather, and gleaming chrome. He poured himself a drink, his movements smooth and controlled.

"You handled yourself well in there," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "But don't mistake that for approval."

She lifted her chin. "I don't need your approval."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "No, you don't. But you do need my cooperation."

He moved closer, his scent enveloping her-a heady mix of sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous. She refused to back away, even as her pulse raced.

"What is this really about, Devon?" she asked softly. "You've made your point. You could have kept me out of sight and settled the trust quietly. But you brought me here, into your home, your company... your life."

His eyes darkened, something fierce flickering there. "Because I need to know who you are. If you're lying to me. If you're like him."

"I'm not my father," she whispered.

He reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. "Then prove it."

---

That night, sleep refused to come. Lola paced the darkened halls of the Holyster mansion, drawn to the grand staircase like a moth to flame. The silence of the old house pressed around her, broken only by the faint tick of a distant clock.

She paused on the landing, startled to see Devon standing in the foyer below, head bowed, hands clenched at his sides. The soft glow of a single lamp caught the sharp planes of his face, the vulnerability in his eyes.

For a moment, he looked... lost.

She descended the stairs slowly, the ancient wood creaking under her feet. "Devon?" she called softly.

His head snapped up, his mask of cold composure dropping into place so fast it almost made her flinch. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, voice cool and casual.

She stepped closer. "Neither could you."

His eyes locked with hers, something raw in their depths. "I don't sleep much."

She hesitated, then asked the question she'd been avoiding since she arrived. "What really happened between our families, Devon? Not the headlines, not the rumors. The truth."

He looked away, jaw tight. "The truth is complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it," she pressed.

He took a slow breath. "Your father and my father built this empire together. But your father made risky decisions, gambled with borrowed money. When things went bad, he disappeared. Left my father to clean up the mess. The stress killed him-and it nearly killed my mother, too."

She searched his face. "That's what you believe."

He stepped closer, their bodies almost touching, his eyes intense. "That's what I know."

"But people lie," she said softly, desperate to make him see. "Documents can be forged. Accounts can be framed. What if you're wrong?"

His hands lifted as if to touch her, then fell to his sides. His voice was a low rasp. "And what if I'm right?"

---

The tension snapped like a taut wire. He turned abruptly, pacing away. "Go to bed, Lola."

But she couldn't. "Devon..."

He whirled back to face her, eyes blazing. "Don't you understand? I don't know what to do with you. I want to hate you-but I can't."

Before she could think, he crossed the space between them in two long strides. His hands cupped her face, and his mouth crashed onto hers.

The kiss was wild, desperate, full of anger and heat. Her hands flew to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as if he could anchor himself to her presence.

They broke apart, breathing hard. His forehead pressed against hers. "This is a mistake," he whispered, voice hoarse.

She searched his eyes, heart pounding. "Then why does it feel like the only thing that's real?"

He stepped back, eyes shadowed. "Because it is," he said, voice barely audible. "And that terrifies me."

---

She fled before he could say another word, heart thundering as she raced up the stairs to her room. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, breath ragged.

What had just happened?

She touched her lips, still tingling from the force of his kiss. She knew she should hate him, that she should be planning her escape. But instead, all she could think about was the way his arms had felt around her, the darkness in his eyes that matched her own.

She crawled into bed, pulling the covers tight around her, but sleep still wouldn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Devon-broken, fierce, and entirely too dangerous.

---

Far below, Devon stood in the foyer, staring at the grand staircase she'd just fled up. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He could still taste her on his lips, still feel the softness of her skin. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was the enemy. And yet, he couldn't stop wanting her.

---

Lola lay awake long after the moon reached its zenith, tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and the expensive detergent of a house that wasn't hers. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Devon's hands on her face, his mouth on hers- tender and savage in the same breath.

She tried to tell herself it had meant nothing, that it was a moment of weakness born of anger and exhaustion. But deep down, she knew it had cracked something open between them, something raw and dangerous.

Just after three in the morning, she gave up on sleep entirely. Pulling a thick cardigan over her camisole, she slipped from her room and padded barefoot through the darkened hallways. The silence of the Holyster estate was oppressive, each creak of the floorboards echoing like a gunshot in the stillness.

She found herself in the library, drawn there like a moth to a flame. The fire in the massive hearth had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in a warm, flickering light. Shelves towered around her, stuffed with leather-bound volumes older than her entire family history. A decanter of amber liquid sat on a tray by the window, half empty.

She poured herself a splash of scotch, wincing as the sharp burn slid down her throat. Her eyes fell on the folder Devon had shown her the day before, left carelessly on the desk. She knew she shouldn't. But she couldn't stop herself.

She sank into his chair, flipping through the documents with trembling hands. Each page was worse than the last-evidence of hidden accounts, transactions tied to shell companies, notes written in her father's unmistakable hand. Her breath caught on a line that referenced a transfer to an unknown party just days before everything fell apart.

She set the papers aside, mind spinning. None of this made sense. If her father was planning to steal everything, why hadn't he vanished completely? Why had he stayed with her and her mother until the bitter end?

She was so lost in thought she didn't hear the door until it clicked shut behind her.

"You shouldn't be in here."

She jerked around. Devon stood in the doorway, shadows clinging to the sharp angles of his face. He wore dark lounge pants and a black T-shirt, hair tousled, eyes burning with something she couldn't name.

She rose slowly. "I couldn't sleep."

He stalked forward, each step deliberate, his gaze locked on hers. "So you decided to rifle through my files?"

She met his eyes defiantly. "I needed answers."

He stopped a foot from her, his jaw tight. "And did you find them?"

She lifted the folder in shaking hands. "These documents... they don't add up. If my father was going to betray you, why leave a trail this obvious? Why not run sooner? Why-"

"Because he was arrogant," Devon cut in, voice cold as steel. "He thought he could outsmart everyone."

"Or he was set up," she countered, her voice rising. "And you refuse to see it because you're blinded by your own need for revenge."

He stepped so close she could feel his body heat, smell the faint scent of soap and scotch on his breath. "You think you know me?" he growled. "You think you can waltz in here after all these years and rewrite history?"

She refused to back down. "I think you're afraid," she whispered, eyes locked on his. "Afraid that everything you've built on this hate might crumble if you're wrong."

He grabbed her shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes bored into hers, fury and something deeper swirling in their depths. "Don't test me, Lola."

She searched his face, heart pounding. "Then what, Devon? What do you want from me?"

The air between them felt charged, heavy with words unspoken. His hands slid from her shoulders to cup her face, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. She sucked in a shaky breath, every nerve in her body alight.

"I don't know what I want from you," he admitted hoarsely, voice raw. "And that terrifies me."

Before she could respond, he kissed her again-slower this time, but no less intense. She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as his hands tangled in her hair. His lips tasted of desperation and longing, his tongue coaxing hers until she forgot why they were fighting.

When they finally broke apart, they stood breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

"This is a mistake," she whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Yes," he said, voice ragged. "But I can't stop."

---

They spent the next hour in the library, talking in hushed voices. Lola told him stories of her childhood- of her father teaching her to paint, of nights spent reading by candlelight when they were too poor to pay for electricity. Devon listened silently, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of her hand.

She asked about his mother, and his face darkened. He told her of long nights spent by her hospital bed, of boardrooms full of vultures waiting for the Holysters to fail. Of the crushing pressure to keep the company alive when he was barely twenty.

"I hated your family for years," he said quietly. "It kept me going. Hating you kept me strong."

She squeezed his hand. "And now?"

He looked at her like she was something both precious and dangerous. "Now I don't know what to feel."

---

The grandfather clock struck four. Devon stood abruptly. "You should go back to your room. The staff will be waking soon."

She hesitated. "What about you?"

"I'll stay here," he said, eyes shadowed. "It's better this way."

She wanted to argue, but exhaustion weighed her down. "Goodnight, Devon."

"Goodnight, Lola."

She slipped from the library, glancing back once to see him standing by the fire, staring into the dying embers.

---

She was awoken a few hours later by the sharp rap of a knock. The maid entered, eyes carefully averted. "Mr. Holyster asks you to join him for breakfast in the east solarium."

She dressed quickly in a pale blue blouse and fitted slacks, pinning her hair up to hide how disheveled it still felt from Devon's touch. She found him waiting in a sunlit room filled with potted palms and trailing ivy. He stood by the table, face a careful mask of neutrality.

"Sit," he said. He poured her coffee before filling his own cup.

She sipped it, avoiding his eyes. The intimacy of the night before hovered between them like a ghost.

"I've arranged a meeting this afternoon with our legal team," he said briskly. "They'll go over the inheritance terms and the stipulations for your trust."

She forced herself to look up. "And what happens after that?"

"That depends on you," he said evenly. "If you cooperate, you'll get what you're owed. If you fight me, I'll drag this through court until you beg me to end it."

She bristled. "So it's blackmail."

"It's business," he corrected softly, eyes glinting. "And you should learn that difference if you plan to survive here."

---

After breakfast, Lola wandered the gardens to clear her head. The crisp autumn air bit at her cheeks, the sky a pale, icy blue overhead. She found herself near the old stone fountain at the heart of the estate- a place overgrown with ivy, half-forgotten.

She traced the edge of the basin with her fingers. The wind carried distant sounds of traffic, a faint reminder that the outside world still existed beyond the Holyster gates.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Devon's voice startled her.

She turned to see him standing behind her, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"My mother loved this fountain," he continued, stepping closer. "She said it reminded her of the old country."

"She was Italian?" Lola asked softly.

He nodded, a rare warmth softening his eyes. "She grew up in Tuscany. Always dreamed of going back."

"What stopped her?"

He looked away, jaw tight. "Life."

She reached out on impulse, her fingers brushing his. "I'm sorry."

He captured her hand, his grip gentle but unyielding. "Stop apologizing. None of this is your fault."

She swallowed hard, fighting the swirl of emotions rising inside her. "Then why do you keep treating me like it is?"

His eyes locked with hers, stormy and intense. "Because you're the only piece of this I can still control."

---

A car pulled up the gravel drive, its headlights cutting through the thin morning mist. Devon dropped her hand as two men in tailored suits climbed out, briefcases in hand.

"The lawyers," he said curtly. "Time to find out what your future holds."

---

The meeting took place in the Holyster study, a room dominated by dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows. The lawyers laid out the terms of the Gareth trust, their voices droning as they described the requirements: Lola must remain in New York for ninety days, submit to periodic financial reviews, and cooperate with Holyster Industries' auditors.

Failure to comply meant forfeiting the inheritance entirely.

"And if she agrees?" Devon asked, voice calm but lethal.

"She will inherit the full trust," the senior lawyer said, adjusting his glasses. "And per the original contract between the Gareth and Holyster families, she will also acquire a non-voting stake in Holyster Industries."

The room fell silent.

Devon's eyes flicked to Lola. "Your choice," he said softly. "Do you accept?"

She looked at the stack of papers, the signatures waiting, the gilded pen laid neatly beside them. Signing would mean staying here, tangled in his world. It would mean giving him the power to watch- and possibly manipulate- her every move.

But it would also give her the resources she needed to uncover the truth.

She picked up the pen, heart hammering. "I accept."

Devon's gaze softened almost imperceptibly. "Then let's begin."

---

They signed document after document, the weight of each stroke of ink settling heavy on her shoulders. The lawyers packed up their files and left with brisk goodbyes, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet study.

Lola exhaled shakily. "It's done."

Devon studied her, his eyes hooded. "Yes. Now we find out what happens next."

She met his gaze, feeling the heat of last night's kiss simmer between them. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Maybe both."

---