VENGEANCE IN HIS BED

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.