VENGEANCE IN HIS BED

THE DEVILS DOORSTEP

The rain wasn't just falling, it was trying to drown me. It lashed against my cracked windshield, and my wipers let out a pathetic, rhythmic wheeze as they struggled to clear the blur. Every few miles, the engine made a hollow coughing sound that sent a jolt of pure ice through my chest.

Not now, I prayed, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles began to turn white. Just five more miles. Don't you dare die on me now.

I glanced at the rearview mirror. In the backseat, tucked under a faded wool blanket, four-year-old Leo was fast asleep. His head was tilted to the side, his small mouth slightly open. Even in the dim light of the dashboard, I could see the damp curls plastered to his forehead. He reminded me so much about my sister, they looked so much alike. But the sharpness in his jaw, his grey eyes and hairy body, that didn't come from our side of the family.

It was the reason I was driving into the mouth of the beast and willing to risk it all.

The GPS chirped, its cold, digital voice cutting through the silence of the car. "In five hundred yards, your destination is on the right."

I slowed down as the massive iron gates of the Vale estate loomed out of the fog. They weren't just gates, but a clear and concise warning. Ornate black iron topped with sharp spikes, guarded by stone pillars that looked like they had been there for centuries. A small intercom stood to the left, glowing with a faint, predatory blue light.

I rolled down my window, and the freezing rain immediately soaked my sleeve as I reached out and pressed the button.

"Yes?" A woman's voice came through. It was clipped, sharp, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Claire Collins," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I'm the new archival assistant. I was told to arrive before eight."

There was a long, agonizing silence. I held my breath, wondering if the anonymous contact who had set this up had lied to me. If this was all a cruel joke, I was dead. I had eighty-four dollars in my bank account and a half-tank of gas, there was no back home to go to.

Then, with a heavy, mechanical groan, the gates began to swing inward.

I drove up the winding path, my headlights cutting through the dark woods that lined the driveway. And then, the house appeared.

Wow!

It was a fortress of glass and dark stone, perched on the edge of a cliff like a vulture waiting for something to die. I pulled into the circular drive, killed the engine, and sat in the sudden, ringing silence. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat. I looked up at the house again, every window was dark except for one on the top floor, glowing like a watchful eye.

I should have looked away or pressed the intercom and focused on why I was here. But my feet felt rooted to the gravel. Behind that single pane of amber light, a shadow moved. It was the silhouette of a man, tall and impossibly broad, his shoulders spanning the width of the frame. As he stepped closer to the glass, the light caught the rugged planes of a powerful chest and elongated cock.

"Holy shit!" He was entirely, unapologetically naked.

My breath hitched and my throat felt like it had been swallowed by sand as I watched him. Even as a mere outline against the glow, he was magnificent, a predator in his private den. I doubt he could see me, or perhaps he didn't care. He threw his head back, a sharp, masculine line of his jaw visible in profile, and reached down.

I let out a shaky, silent gasp as his hand closed around his cock that looked monstrous even from this distance, heavy, thick, and pulsing with a life of its own. I watched, mesmerized and mortified, as he began to stroke himself. His movements were slow at first, deliberate and punishing, his massive frame tensing with every upward slide of his fist. I could almost feel the heat radiating from that room, the raw, carnal energy of a man taking exactly what he wanted.

He picked up the pace, his body arching slightly and my own heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I found myself leaning forward, my eyes wide, my mouth drying as I watched the rhythmic, blurred motion of his hand. Then, with a sudden, violent shudder that shook his entire frame, he stiffened. I watched the arc of his release spray upward against the glass, the shadow of it trailing down like dark rain.

A small, traitorous moan escaped my lips, vibrating in the cold night air.

"Miss? What are you waiting for?" The woman's voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and mechanical. I jumped, my skin burning with a sudden, scorching heat.

I managed to comport myself as I turned to Leo. "We're here, Leo," I whispered, though he didn't stir.

I got out of the car, the wind nearly ripping the door from my hand. I scrambled to the back seat, unbuckling Leo and pulling him into my arms. He groaned, shifting his weight against my shoulder, his small hands clutching my jacket. He was getting heavy, but I didn't mind. He was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

I hiked my heavy bag over my shoulder, the one containing our few clothes and the secret file I'd spent years building and walked toward the massive front doors.

Before I could even knock, the door swung open.

A woman stood there, dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that was as stiff as her expression. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful.

"You're late," she said, checking a watch on her wrist. "Mr. Vale does not like to be kept waiting. I am Mrs. Holloway, the house manager."

"The weather was..."

"Reasons are just excuses, Miss Collins." Mrs. Holloway's eyes flicked down to Leo. Her lip curled just a fraction of an inch. "And is this a child? You were told the living quarters are small and we do not have a nursery."

"He stays with me," I said, my voice hardening. I didn't care if I sounded defensive. "That was the deal. I work, he stays with me. He won't be a problem."

"We shall see." She stepped aside, gesturing into the foyer.

The inside of the house was even colder than the outside. It smelled of expensive wax, old books, and something sharp and metallic. The floors were polished black marble, reflecting the dim light like a dark, bottomless lake. It was absolutely rich and beautiful, but it felt dead.

"The archives are in the north wing, sub-level," Mrs. Holloway explained as she led me through the echoing halls. "You will begin your cataloging at 9:00 AM sharp every morning. Your meals will be sent to your quarters. You are not to wander the main house after dark. And you are strictly forbidden from entering the West Wing. Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear!" I murmured, adjusting Leo's weight.

We reached a small, hidden elevator at the end of a long corridor and we descended in silence. When the doors opened, my breath hitched. It was a library that stretched for what felt like miles, filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves and rolling ladders. Thousands of secrets, all waiting to be filed away.

"Your room is through that door," she pointed to a plain wooden door tucked behind a row of law books. "Get some sleep. Mr. Vale will likely want to inspect your progress tomorrow evening. Do not disappoint him."

Without another word, she turned and disappeared back into the elevator.

I walked into the small room. It was tiny with just a bed, a dresser, and a single window that looked out into the black rain. But at least, it was clean. I laid Leo down on the bed, peeling off his damp shoes and tucking the covers around him. He didn't even wake up.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my head in my hands. I was in. I was finally inside the house of the man I hated more than anything in the world.

I tried to focus on the mission, on the letters hidden in my bag, but my mind was a traitor. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that golden window. I saw the way his muscles had rippled, the way that massive weight had looked in his hand. I felt a low, thrumming ache start between my thighs, a pulse that matched the hasty beating of my heart.

I moved to the wardrobe to find something warm to change into, I picked out a simple old gown and began to undress from my wet clothes. But as my fingers brushed my naked body, they strayed. My hand drifted to my own breast, squeezing the soft flesh through my shirt. I closed my eyes, imagining those large hands replacing mine. I imagined the huge, heavy cock I'd seen in the shadow sliding into me, filling the emptiness that was currently screaming for attention.

A whimper broke from my throat and I reached down, my fingers trembling as they found the seam of my jeans, slipping inside to find the slick heat of my clit. I rubbed slowly at first, then faster, my breath coming in heavy hitches. God, he was so big and looked strong. I knew he would definitely ruin me. I grabbed both my breasts, pulling at the nipples as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in my gut.

Knock. Knock.

I froze. My hand flew out of my pants as if I'd been burned.

"Miss Claire? It's Holloway. Would you be needing dinner, or perhaps some tea?"

"No!" I answered, my voice an octave too high. I scrambled into my pajamas, my face purple with shame. I hurried to the door and cracked it open just an inch. "No, thank you. Leo is asleep, and we ate before we arrived."

She gave a single nod and left while I shut the door and leaned my forehead against the wood, my chest heaving. I couldn't stop. I needed a release or I was going to lose my mind tonight. I rushed to my bag, dumping the contents onto the bed, searching for the familiar weight of my vibrator.

"Where is it? Where is it?" I hissed, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. It wasn't there. I must have forgotten it in the rush to leave.

I sat back on my heels, looking at the mess of my life scattered on the bed. The reality of the cold, dark house crashed back into me. My sister was dead, my nephew needed me. But here I was, rubbing myself raw over a stranger in a window.

I raised my hand and slapped my own forehead, the sting sharp and grounding.

"Get a grip of yourself, you sex deprived bitch," I whispered into the dark. "You're here for blood, not a climax."

The rising sun made the grey stone look colder in the vale estate.

I woke up at 7:00 AM, my heart already racing before my eyes even opened. For a split second, I forgot where I was. Then, the smell hit me, expensive floor wax and the faint, bitter scent of old paper. I wasn't in our cramped, one-bedroom apartment with the leaky faucet anymore. I was in the sub-level of a fortress.

Beside me, Leo was still dead to the world, his small arm flung over his head. I reached out and brushed a stray curl from his forehead. A lump forming in my throat, he looked so much like Sarah when he slept. Every time I felt a flicker of fear, I just thought of him, he was my armor.

"Claire?" Leo's voice was tiny, thick with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking around the small, windowless room with confusion. "Are we staying here now?"

"Just for a little while, baby," I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "Remember the rules? We have to be very, very quiet, like we're playing hide-and-seek. No talking to strangers or running about."

"Is the scary man here?"

My breath hitched. "Which scary man?"

"The one from the window last night," Leo murmured.

I froze. I hadn't told him about any figure and he had been asleep or so I thought. I pulled him close, kissing the top of his head. "No scary man is here and I'll keep you safe. I promise."

I dressed him quickly in his cleanest clothes and made sure he had his favorite toy truck to keep him occupied. I knew I had to find him something to eat before my shift started at nine.

Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door to our room. The library was a cavern of shadows in the early morning light, the towering shelves felt like giants standing in judgment. I led Leo by the hand, creeping toward the hidden elevator. My plan was simple, get to the kitchen, grab some milk and bread, and get back down before the keeper of the House decide to descend.

The elevator climbed with a soft, stomach-flipping hum. When the doors opened into the main hallway, I was greeted by the sight of Mrs. Holloway. She was already perfectly dressed, her hands clasped in front of her.

"You are early, Miss Collins," she said. Her eyes didn't go to my face, they went straight to Leo. She stared at him with an intensity that made me want to shield him with my own body.

"He needs breakfast," I said shortly.

"The help eats in the kitchen, but you should head back to your room with yours. Follow me."

She led us down a hallway lined with portraits of stern-looking men. As we walked, I felt her gaze lingering on the back of Leo's head.

"The boy," she started, her voice sounding like dry leaves. "He looks a bit familiar."

My heart stopped. "He looks like me."

"Does he?" She tilted her head, a small, thin smile touching her lips. "I've been with the Vale family for twenty years, Miss Collins. I have a very good memory for faces."

She pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen. It was a massive, stainless-steel operation. Two cooks were already busy, but they didn't look up. Mrs. Holloway pointed to a small wooden table in the corner. "Sit. Someone will bring the child a bowl of porridge. Do not let him wander. Mr. Vale is having his morning coffee in the conservatory, and he does not tolerate disruptions."

She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and Miss Collins? Mr. Vale expects a full report on the 1920s acquisition files by noon. Don't spend too much time 'mothering', you are here to work."

I watched her walk away, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. There was something off about her. She didn't just seem strict, she just seemed hungry for information.

I sat Leo down and watched him eat, my hand resting on the burner phone in my pocket. Suddenly, it vibrated.

I pulled it out under the table, and checked to see that it was a text from Emerald.

"Hey! Haven't heard from you the past two days, are you good?"

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, and took a deep breath, this wasn't really a time to chitchat about anything.

"Done, Claire," Leo whispered, pushing his bowl away.

"Mom! Not Claire." I whispered in his ears as I grabbed his hands carefully. "Let's go." He wasn't used to it but it was something he would have to learn, it was also important to carry out our mission here.

We descended back into the sub-level. I settled Leo back into our room with his trucks to keep him occupied and gave him a strict look that told him not to move. Then, I turned toward the library, maybe I could get myself familiar with the place since I would be working there often. I was midway in the library when a noticed a massive stone fireplace. It hadn't been used in years, the hearth was cold and filled with grey ash.

I walked over and knelt on the floor, my fingers searching the cold, rough stones on the left side as my heart thundered against my ribs. If I was caught in this position, it might look suspicious and that wasn't what I needed, especially now I hadn't even fulfilled a single task here.

Finally I noticed a brick that didn't sit quite flush with the others, I dug my nails into the mortar and pulled. It gave way with a scraping sound that seemed loud enough to wake the dead.

"Oh shit!"

Behind it was a small, tattered bundle of cloth. I reached in and pulled it out, my breath hitching in my throat. But before I could even unwrap it, a shadow fell over me.

The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, charged with a terrifying electricity.

"Lost something, Miss Collins?"

The voice was deep, smooth, and as cold as a winter grave.

I whirled around, still on my knees, clutching the bundle to my chest.

Ethan Vale was standing there. He wasn't in a suit or any formal attire like I've seen on the tabloids. He was wearing a black silk robe, his chest partially bared, looking like a king who had just stepped off a throne of bones. He looked less like a businessman and more like a fallen deity with his hair slightly disheveled, and his dark eyes, far too intelligent, were locked onto mine.

He wasn't looking at the fireplace but intently at me.

"I... I was just cleaning," I stammered, standing up slowly with my pulse skyrocketing.

He stepped closer, the scent of expensive sandalwood and something dangerous filling my senses as his hand reached out to tilt my chin up. His touch was electric, sending a shiver of pure, unadulterated fear and something else I didn't want to name straight down my spine.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, and for the first time, I saw his eyes. They were the color of a storm at sea, piercing, icy, and swirling with a depth that felt like it could swallow me whole. My breath hitched at the realization that I knew those eyes. I saw them every morning when I woke up. I saw them every time Leo laughed or looked at me with a question.

"You're a very poor liar, Claire," he whispered, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. "But a very interesting one."

He flicked his gaze to the bundle in my hand, then back to my eyes. For a heartbeat, something flared in those dark depths, a flash of recognition, or perhaps a warning and then, it was gone. His expression shifted, smoothing out into a mask of unreadable, polished stone.

"Good you're finding your way around," he said, his voice dropping the predatory edge and returning to a professional, chilling calm. He stepped back, giving me air I didn't know I needed. "I'm sure Mrs. Holloway informed you properly on your duties."

I scrambled to my feet, surreptitiously shoving the bundle behind my back, my knees still trembling. "Yes, sir. I'll be done with the research by noon."

"Good," he replied without a single smile on his face and simply turned on his heel, his silk robe billowing slightly behind him as he moved toward the elevator.

I thought I was safe and air was finally returning to my lungs. But he stopped in his tracks just before the doors opened, his back still turned to me.

"One more thing, Miss Collins," he said, his voice echoing off the thousands of books. "Mrs Holloway informed me you're with a child. We generally don't allow the children of staff to reside on the property, because it's a total distraction this estate cannot afford."

I felt my blood run cold and opened my mouth to defend my situation, or probably beg, but Ethan continued before I could speak.

"However, for certain reasons, I will make an exception for you. See that he stays within your quarters." He finished and without waiting for a response, he stepped into the elevator and was gone.

I stood there for a long time, the silence of the library feeling heavier than the noise of a city street. For certain reasons? What did that mean? Did he know? I didn't have time to dwell on it as I hurried back to the room where Leo was playing and sat down, my hands shaking as I finally unwrapped the bundle I'd pulled from the wall.

It wasn't a diary but a hand-drawn map. The paper was yellowed, the edges frayed, but the ink was unmistakable. It was a handwriting I recognized, could this be Sarah's? My breath hitched as I smoothed the paper out on the floor. "Why would you leave a map, Sarah?" I whispered.

I traced the lines with my finger. It was a layout of the Vale estate, detailed and precise. She had mapped out the library, the servants' quarters, and the sprawling gardens. But as my finger moved toward the North-West corner of the paper, I froze.

There was a corridor in the West Wing, the very place Mrs. Holloway had warned me was strictly out of my reach. Sarah had drawn a heavy, ink-stained circle around a room at the very end of that hall. And inside the circle, she had drawn a heart. A love symbol. Tiny, perfect, and devastating.

A cold shiver crawled up my spine. Why would she leave a heart in the one place I wasn't allowed to go? Was this where they met? Was this where the affair that ruined her took place? Or was it something else? Or could this even be a trap to lure me into danger?

I looked at the heart, and for a second, the letter in my heart felt heavier. My truth was starting to feel like a puzzle with missing pieces.

I shoved the map into the hidden lining of my bag, my pulse finally slowing down.

"I'll be right back, Leo." I said and patted his hair. He looked up at me and nodded slowly.

I headed to the library with my laptop to start the research Ethan had demanded, but as my laptop screen flickered to life, the webcam light turned a steady, predatory red. My own face stared back at me on the screen and there was text overlaid across my forehead in a jagged, digital font. ACCESS GRANTED. SUBJECT: CLAIRE COLLINS. STATUS: UNDER OBSERVATION.

"What the hell!" He was cloning my computer to his. Was this even part of the job?

I was still cursing in my head when a text popped in from him asking that I send a professional head shot to his email immediately. I stared at the message and didn't bother to protest because he left no room for any, I searched through the files containing my photos and sent him one before locking up all the other files I had stored with a passcode. There were other important documents in my laptop and him prying on me wasn't part of this job offer.

I closed my laptop and proceeded to pick up the files with the 1920s acquisition and head back to my room, but just as I passed by the smallest shelf in the library, a file caught my attention and the title intensified my curiosity.

It was boldly written, "MINE."

I caught my breath and practically sprinted back to our quarters in the sub-level, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. As soon as the door clicked shut, I dove for the dresser. I grabbed the file I had stolen, shoving it to the very bottom of the drawer, and heaped a mountain of my sweaters and jeans over it. It wasn't the most sophisticated hiding spot, but it would have to do. I would take my time to review it when I'm less busy.

"Mommy? Are you okay?"

My head snapped toward Leo, who was sitting on the rug with his trucks. My stomach stung with sudden, happy butterflies. Mommy! He was finally saying it naturally. I'd spent so long being just "Claire" or "Auntie" to him in the shadows, but here, in this house of ghosts, he was getting used to it and claiming me. He is definitely a smart kid, no doubt.

"I'm okay, baby," I whispered, kneeling to kiss his forehead. "Just a little tired."

I forced myself to sit at the desk and worked for what felt like an eternity, my fingers flying over the keys as I cataloged the 1920s acquisition files. The names of long-dead companies and old money estates blurred before my eyes, convincing me more of how evil the Vales were.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Leo said again, his voice small.

I checked the corner of my laptop screen and it was 12:30 PM. I had been working for three straight hours, and my own stomach was starting to cramp. I had been told to stay in the room that meals would be brought to us but no one had come. It felt like a test, or perhaps just cold indifference.

"Wait here, Leo. Don't open the door for anyone but me," I instructed. "I'm going to find us some lunch."

I navigated the silent corridors, my nerves on edge. But as I passed the entrance to the West Wing, a magnetic pull I couldn't resist drew me back toward that room, the room with the heart and I forgot why I was out in the first place.

The door was ajar.

I stepped inside, my eyes immediately falling on the single chair and the pile of withered rose flowers. I was so focused on getting and seeing everything clear that I didn't hear the floorboards creak or anyone enter.

Suddenly, a solid, warm weight was flush against my back. I gasped, my body jolting, and as I tried to turn, the curve of my backside grazed the unmistakable, hard heat of his cock. The contact sent a flush of pure electricity straight to every core of my body.

"Shit!"

"You have a habit of wandering where you don't belong, Claire," Ethan's voice vibrated against the nape of my neck, pinning me between the cold air of the room and the suffocating heat of his body. He was so close I could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. My breath hitched, and for a second, I forgot exactly why I hated him. I forgot everything but the way his presence seemed to swallow the room whole.

"The withered rose," I managed to say, my voice trembling as I pointed to a single, drooping stem near the chair. "What do they even mean?"

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear. "It's a reminder. That is all you need to know." He whispered in a low husky tone. I tried to nod, signaling that I understood but his grip on me was firm and maybe too tight. Slowly, he traced my body with his finger tips, from my shoulders to my hips.

Are you a thief, Claire? Is that why you're here?" He asked sharply.

"I'm an archivist," I hissed, trying to find my spine.

"Liar," he murmured.

He pulled back just enough to turn me around and make me look into his eyes. His gaze flicked down my body, making me appear small and naked in my head. "You appear to me to be very familiar." He whispered calmly.

I said nothing but watched his features and prayed in my heart he hadn't recognized me. Then for a second, his expression softened, just a fraction before hardening into ice again.

"Mrs. Holloway is looking for you. If she finds you here, I won't be able to protect you."

"Protect me?" I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You're the one I need protection from."

One side of his mouth tilted up in a dark, cruel smirk. "You have no idea how right you are about that." And with that, his hand came up, hovering just inches from my waist, but he didn't touch me again. The tension already between us was a physical thing, thick enough to choke on.

"Go to the kitchen," he commanded softly. "Before I decide to keep you here."

I fled immediately , my skin feeling like it was on fire.

I made it to the kitchen, but I didn't get five feet inside before Mrs. Holloway intercepted me. Her eyes were like chips of flint.

"I told you to wait in your room, Miss Collins," she snapped. "Meals are served on a schedule. Breakfast at 8:00, lunch at 1:00, dinner at 5:00, and dessert at 7:00. You are to be in your quarters unless Mr. Vale sends for you or you are submitting work. Is that clear?"

"My son was hungry," I said, matching her coldness. "We haven't eaten."

She huffed, turning to a tray on the counter. "Fine. Take this. But do not make a habit of roaming."

She handed me a tray laden with a proper meal, some roasted chicken with rosemary, a side of garlic mashed potatoes, bread and sautéed green beans. There was even a small dish of sliced apples for Leo.

I hurried back to my room and fed Leo who ate like he'd never seen food before, I also ate a few bites myself. I carefully saved a portion of the chicken and bread on the plate, placing it back into the tray in case Leo got hungry before the 5:00 PM dinner.

I spent the next hour finishing the report, my mind still reeling from the encounter in the West Wing. I hit send on the final file, submitting it to Ethan's private server.

Five minutes later, an internal notification popped up, "To my study. Now!"

My legs felt like jelly as I walked to his private study. When I entered, he was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal muscular, tanned forearms.

"Sit," he said without looking up.

"The 1920s files were incomplete in the ledger," he began, his voice professional but underscored by that same dark velvet tone. "Explain why you categorized the offshore holdings under 'Personal' rather than 'Corporate'. And what is your assessment of the Julian Vale trusts from that era?"

I tried to answer, I really did. I started to explain the tax loopholes I'd discovered, but as he spoke, his hand moved to adjust his tie, and I found myself tracing the line of his throat and the way it moved.

No doubt, he was devastatingly beautiful. In the afternoon light, his features looked like they had been carved from marble. I looked at the way his hair caught the light, the slight shadow of stubble on his jaw, and the sheer, raw power radiating from him. I became lost in the movement of his lips, the words becoming a dull hum in the background.

"...Collins? Claire?"

I blinked, snapping back to reality. "Fucking shit!" I muttered under my breath.

He was watching me, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, as if he knew exactly where my mind had gone.

"I asked about the trust discrepancies," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"I... I think they were diverted," I stammered, my face heating up. "I'll need to cross-reference the bank records."

"See that you do," he said, his gaze lingering on my lips for a second too long. "You're dismissed. Try to stay in your room this time, Claire. The house isn't as empty as it looks."

I nodded and took on my heels, practically tripping over my own feet as I left the room, the heat of his gaze following me all the way to the door. I made it back to my room and slumped against the door, my heart racing.

I was supposed to be his executioner, but now it feels like I was the one being led to the slaughter.

"Focus Claire, focus!" I scolded myself as I headed back to my desk.

I spent the next hour with my head down, obsessively cross-referencing the trust discrepancies until every digit was perfect. I hit 'resend' with a sharp click of the mouse, my chest tight. I waited for the chime of a new message, an interrogation, or even another cold summons to his study.

Nothing.

The silence from his end of the house was louder than any shout. I stayed in my room, the walls feeling smaller with every passing hour. To keep my mind from drifting back and forth to naughty things, I focused entirely on Leo. We sat on the bed, and I listened to him tell me about the castle we were living in, his imagination turning the cold stone into a fairy tale. I held him a little tighter than usual, the warmth of his small body the only thing keeping me grounded.

Before I knew it, the shadows in the room deepened into a bruised purple, signaling it was evening. A tray was left outside the door for us at five, herb-crusted salmon, creamy pasta, cakes and a small chocolate tart for dessert. We ate in a strange, peaceful bubble, then played a few rounds of a simplified strategy game on my laptop until Leo's eyelids began to flutter.

By 9:00 PM, the house was a tomb. Exhaustion, thick and heavy, finally pulled me under and I gave in.

My sleep was deep, but it didn't stay peaceful for long. It started off with the scent of sandalwood and rain but I wasn't in the sub-level anymore, I was in his chambers. The room was bathed in the amber glow of a dying fire, the walls draped in shadows. Ethan was there, standing by the window, but as I approached, he turned, his gaze locking onto mine with a hunger that made my knees weak.

He didn't say a word as he moved toward me with a predator's grace, his hand reaching out to cup the back of my neck. His skin was searingly hot against my cool flesh. When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't a question but more like an absolute claim. It was a deep, bruising kiss that tasted of wine and ancient secrets. My hands found the silk of his shirt, bunching the fabric as I pulled him closer, desperate for the friction and more.

His mouth left mine, trailing a path of fire down my throat to the sensitive dip of my collarbone. I let out a low, broken moan, my head falling back as his teeth grazed my skin. His hands were everywhere, mapping the curve of my waist, sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against the hard, demanding length of him.

The air was thick and felt electric. He lifted me effortlessly, pinning me against the cool mahogany of his door. His touches grew bolder, more frantic, his tongue tangling with mine in a dance of pure, carnal possession. Every nerve ending I owned was screaming, reaching for the edge of a cliff I was terrified to fall from.

He began to fumble with the buttons of my blouse, his breath ragged against my skin, and I reached for the belt of his trousers, my heart thrashing against my ribs. Soon we were both standing naked and facing each other with heavy breathing. He bent slowly and covered my right nipple with his mouth, sucking hard, while he fondled my other breast with his hand. I let out a low moan and dug my fingers into his hair, and just then, I heard a cough.

The sound was small, dry, but it cut through the haze like a blade.

I jolted upright in bed, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. The room was pitch black. The fire in my blood was still roaring, the phantom sensation of his hands still ghosting over my skin.

Beside me, Leo stirred, letting out another small, raspy cough in his sleep, bringing me fully back to reality.

"Shit!" It was a dream.