Claimed By The Coldhearted Sterling Heir

The Gulfstream G650 was a flying palace. The seats were wider than her bed back in the trailer. The carpet was so thick her toes sank into it.

Elara sat on the edge of a beige leather recliner, gripping the armrests until her fingers ached. She had never been on a plane. Every vibration of the engines sent a spike of adrenaline through her veins.

Julian sat opposite her, a crystal tumbler of scotch in his hand. He was on a satellite phone.

"Yes, Grandfather. We're en route. She's... manageable."

Manageable. Like a unruly dog.

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence. The cabin dropped ten feet in a split second.

Elara yelped, her hands flying up to cover her head.

Julian hung up the phone. He looked at her, unimpressed. "Physics, Miss Vance. We aren't going to fall."

Liam approached with an iPad. "Sir, the wardrobe consult for the season."

Julian took the iPad. He scrolled through images of dresses that cost more than Elara's life savings. He glanced up at her, his eyes raking over her flannel shirt with open disdain.

"Liam, when we land in Boston, go straight to Neiman Marcus. Shut down the third floor."

"Yes, sir."

"Everything goes," Julian said, gesturing to Elara with his glass. "Burn it all. The jeans, the shirt, the underwear. Especially the shoes."

Elara crossed her arms over her chest. "These are my clothes. They're clean."

"They smell like mildew and poverty," Julian said. "You are about to meet Arthur Sterling. If you walk in looking like a refugee, he will eat you alive. You need armor."

"I'm not a doll you can just dress up," Elara snapped.

Julian leaned forward. "Let's be clear about the arrangement. You play the role of the long-lost granddaughter. You look the part, you act the part. In exchange, your tuition is paid, and you receive a monthly stipend of five thousand dollars."

Elara froze. Five thousand dollars. A month.

Her mind raced, but she kept her face blank. She didn't think about spending it. She thought about leverage. Five thousand dollars was a passport. It was a retainer for a lawyer who wouldn't be bought by the Sterlings. It was an offshore account.

She didn't need to look for low-paying cash jobs that would expose her. She needed to hoard this cash, launder it, and prepare.

"Five thousand?" she asked, her voice steadying.

"Cash," Julian said. "Discretionary."

Elara slowly uncrossed her arms. She looked him in the eye. "Fine. But I pick the clothes."

Julian smirked, a cold, humorless twisting of his lips. "Within reason. If I see a single sequin, I'm cutting your allowance."

The plane began its descent. Elara looked out the window at the Boston skyline rising from the harbor like a fortress of glass and steel.

"Ready for your Cinderella moment?" Julian asked, standing up and buttoning his jacket.

"I prefer Mulan," Elara muttered.

Julian paused. He looked at her, and for a second, the ice in his eyes cracked. "Mulan went to war," he said softly. "Make sure you're ready for the casualties."

The plane touched down. Two black sedans were waiting on the tarmac.

"Liam, take her shopping," Julian commanded as he stepped into the wind. "I'll meet you there. I have a meeting with a confidential informant that cannot wait."

He got into the second car, leaving Elara standing in the wind, feeling smaller than she ever had in the trailer park.