My eyes fluttered open, lashes sticky with sleep, blinking against the morning light that pierced through the windows. For a moment, I was elsewhere, on my worn, lumpy mattress on the floor, and any minute from now Miss Anders would storm in, hiss about why I wasn't in the kitchen already. But from the softness of the pillow against my cheek,
I was bullshitting myself.
My eyes flew open. I wasn't in the servants' quarters of the Francisco mansion.
I was here.
In his room. In Malcolm's bed.
A low groan escaped my lips as I pushed myself up, every muscle in my back screaming in protest. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the floor cold against my feet. I pressed my palms against my eyelids, trying to rub away the fog.
It felt like I got run over.
My gaze flickered to the corner of the room.
Malcolm.
Still in his chair. Papers scattered across the table, his large, calloused hand still loosely gripped a pen. Even in his sleep, deep worry lines marked his forehead. What could he possibly be thinking about?
He was Francisco's opposite in every way. Francisco, who slept until noon, eating at every single second.
And I meant every single second.
Sometimes I wondered why people even followed him; he was an incompetent pig who spent more time with whores than running his empire. Then there was Malcolm, who looked like he barely had an ounce of sleep. He stood at the front line, ensuring his empire thrived.
A sudden tightness filled my chest. I shouldn't...
I recoiled from the feeling, mentally slapping it away.
He is a murderer. A monster. He deserves nothing from me. Nothing. The mantra was a cold splash of water. Whatever was going on with him... I swallowed hard.
Wasn't any of my business.
Then why did the sight of his bent neck, the slope of his shoulders, cause a flutter of guilt in the pit of my stomach? Why did this stupid, painful ache not leave my chest? I drew a heavy, shuddering breath, trying to regain my control.
Before I did something stupid.
Again.
My pulse began to hammer against my ribs. For God's sake, I was just going to wake the guy up, yet my body reacted like it was preparing for war. I took a step forward. Okay, I'm doing this. I'm definitely doing this. What the hell am I doing? A voice screamed in my head, but my body moved on its own accord. My heartbeat raced against my chest, my feet thudding against the floor like firecrackers across the quiet room.
I halted behind his chair, my bottom lip caught between my teeth. No way was I doing this. No freaking way.
I reached out, my hand trembling slightly. Before my fingers could even graze the wool of his jacket, his eyes, those stormy, grey ones—snapped open. I jerked my hand back, but it was too late.
His reaction was a strike. His hand shot out, a blur of motion, his fingers enclosing around my wrist. A choked yelp escaped my lips as he wrenched me forward, my muscles going numb with shock. My back slammed against the solid wall of his chest, the air knocked out from my lungs. He held me there, trapped, my body pinned against his. I could feel the pounding beat of his heart through our clothes, my breaths shaky as I tried to comprehend what the hell was going on.
Tilting my head back, my wide, terrified gaze met his. He blinked slowly, his sharp gaze softening, replaced by a flicker of recognition as if he'd realized I wasn't a threat but the annoying woman he married. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if gathering his control.
When his eyes opened again, the fog of sleep was gone. The familiar, cold expression slid back into place. He scowled down at me, brows furrowed.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"
I stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say, because in all honesty, what was I doing?
His gaze narrowed further. "Well?"
"I… I was just…" I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice barely audible.
He released my wrist so abruptly I stumbled back a step, my skin tingling with the ghost of his touch. I clutched my hand to my chest. He let out a sigh, the sound dripping with annoyance, before turning his back and striding towards the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and a moment later, the rush of the shower began. I sucked in a heavy breath, my knees feeling weak.
Shit, that was close.
All I'd wanted was to wake him, and he'd reacted like I tried to attack him. I scoffed quietly, directing a glare at the closed bathroom door.
A knock on the door shattered the silence. I froze, the hairs on my neck rising.
Who could that be? Kaden? My pulse quickened.
Or Ace?
My throat went dry. Hopefully not him.
After the stunt I pulled yesterday, I swallowed hard. He'll probably storm in threatening me again about how I jeopardized their reputation.
I couldn't just stand here like a statue as whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again, so hard it hammered over the sound of the running shower. Swallowing a lump of anxiety, I forced my jelly-like legs to carry me to the door. My fingers trembled as they closed around the cold knob. I twisted it and pulled the door open.
Isabella stood there. A coldness, entirely separate from fear, settled in my chest. I took an involuntary step back. Her gaze was a physical blow, hardening in an instant—it was the same look she had worn when she carved a knife down my back because Jeremy asked me out instead of her. I could still feel the sting against my skin.
Now, her lips were stretched into a smile so wide and fake. She stepped past me without invitation, holding a silver tray bearing a single cup of tea.
"Pardon the interruption, Miss," she said, using the title with enough poison to drop a horse. "I've brought the Don his tea. All black. Just as he prefers." Her eyes swept over me, a sneer twisting her beautiful features, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I stood there like a complete idiot. What does one even do in this situation.
"Move," she snapped, breaking my internal struggle.
I scurried out of her way, feeling like a ghost in the corner. She glided toward Malcolm's desk, setting the tray down with a soft clink. Her finger trailed slowly across the wood of his desk, her eyes darting around, hungry, as if she wanted to devour the room whole. Then her gaze fixed on the bed, lips stretching into a radiant smile as she drifted towards it. She lowered herself onto the edge, her hand stroking the duvet in a slow caress, her eyes gleaming.
My brows furrowed as I watched her, trying to understand what was happening.
Had she lost it or something?
"This was all supposed to be mine," she muttered, her voice low, gaze distant. Then her eyes snapped to mine, slicing through me with so much hate that I nearly stumbled back. "You. You took everything from me."
I froze. Took everything away from her? Disbelief marred my features.
You've got to be kidding me. She literally ran away from her own wedding! And now it's my fault? I took a step back, my expression blanching. If for once she had actually thought…
Her father might still be alive. I would still be in the kitchens, going about my day. This room, this bed, would be hers.
Not mine.
My jaw tightened. But no. It always had to be about her.
The bathroom door swung open, shattering the silence. Isabella shot up from the bed as if electrocuted, her head bowing, her hands clasping behind her back—putting on a show of submission.
What the hell...
I was expecting maybe a glare, anything that made sense, since he literally murdered her father and took away everything from them. "Guess it wasn't that serious," I scoffed to myself, my voice barely a whisper. When it came to beneficial gain, she was capable of doing anything.
Malcolm stepped out, nearly fully dressed, his damp hair dark against his forehead. His long fingers were working the buttons of his crisp white shirt. He barely acknowledged anyone; it's like we weren't even there, his gaze focused on the task until her voice cut through.
"Allow me with that?" she purred.
Like fucking purred.
He didn't even glance at her. He simply turned, grabbing his tie from the back of a chair. "It is your job," he stated, the sarcasm so dry I cringed.
Ouch.
But that didn't seem to faze Isabella. She took it as a win, a smug smile playing on her lips as she stepped forward. She reached for his wrist, her eyes flicking to me to gauge my reaction as her fingers fastened the buttons on his sleeves. From the cocky smirk on her face, she liked whatever she saw. A burning sensation tightened in my stomach.
Why didn't I like her touching him?
It had never mattered before. The dress, the ribbon, the fleeting attention of a boy—anything I liked, wanted, she took, but it never made me feel whatever this was...
This feeling was an urge to cross the room and shove her away from him.
No, no, no. He would always remain a stranger to me. Nothing will ever change, ever. I swallowed hard.
They can have each other.
His eyes finally dropped to her, his gaze utterly blank, as if he were analyzing an insect on his sleeve. It was kind of funny, actually. I held back the laugh that bubbled up my chest, my lips stretching into a smile. I doubted anything could pique the guy's interest, with the stoic expression he seemed to carry all the time; chances were her act had zero impact. She might have a better chance with a statue. I scoffed.
Malcolm's gaze snapped to mine, pinning me in place. My eyes dropped immediately, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of Kaden's shirt. I really need to get out of these. I took a quiet, sharp breath.
"Out,"
The single word, a command that cut through the room. I flinched, the confusing ache in my chest returning. Automatically, I took a small step toward the door.
"Not you,"
I froze, my feet staying rooted to the floor. I peeked up. His attention had returned to Isabella, one eyebrow raised, his gaze fixed pointedly on her hand, which still rested on his forearm. Realizing her mistake, she snatched it back as if his skin had burned her, her cheeks reddening. She tucked a strand of perfect blonde hair behind her ear.
"Yes, Sir," she drawled. I furrowed my eyebrows. She was really taking this submissive act seriously, wasn't she.
She stared at him for a second too long before finally turning, her hips swaying with every step, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was watching.
Malcolm gave her nothing. Not a glance. Her smile finally cracked, her features tightening, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at her sides. As she strode past me, her gaze narrowed, intense as she strode past me; the hairs on the nape of my neck rose.
Geez, it wasn't my fault.
"Close the door."
His command was a low rumble that vibrated in the suddenly too-small room. A shiver ran down my spine. I froze, my back still to him. I had already gotten myself in enough trouble; disobeying him wasn't something I wanted to add to the list. I bit the inside of my cheek, pushing the heavy door shut. The soft bang echoed across the room. I turned back to him slowly.
Malcolm moved through the room, his strides feeling like a physical weight against my chest. I wanted him to get done with whatever he was doing and leave so I could finally breathe.
He collected his coat from a chair, shrugging it onto his broad shoulders with a single motion. He picked up a bottle of cologne from the dresser, dark glass, unlabeled. He sprayed it on his wrist, then tilted his head, applying it to the column of his neck, where the black lines of his tattoos disappeared beneath his collar.
The scent hit the air, leather, smoke, and something else, something clean—and it was suddenly everywhere, flooding my senses.
He began to move toward me. I stood there, my gaze dropping to the floor. My heart was beating wildly against my ribs. His steps were slow, each one bringing him closer, until the polished black shoes came into my line of sight, larger compared to my own, making me feel as if he could crush me without breaking a sweat.
His hand came up, rough fingers grasping my chin. His touch was warm and firm, forcing my head up. A tremor ran through me, my hands shaking at my sides. I fought to keep my eyes down, focusing on the sharp line of his jaw.
Didn't work
My eyes flickered up to meet his against any ounce of control I had. For the first time, I actually looked at him. His grey eyes had darkened, not blank as before. They stared down, drinking in every detail of my face. His gaze felt like a physical touch, trailing from my eyes, down the bridge of my nose, before locking onto my lips. My breath hitched. He had been my first kiss, and a part of me I hated ached for the feeling again.
He leaned in, and this time, his mouth captured mine not with brutality. This time, knowing how to move my lips against his a little, thanks to Kaden who seemed to kiss me out of the blue. My lips parted, and his tongue swept in, the rich, dark taste of coffee lingering there. A helpless whimper escaped me. His large hand came up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, angling me to take the kiss deeper. He broke away, spinning me around in one motion. I was left breathless, my front pressed against the wall. Then I felt it—the hard ridge of his erection against the small of my back. A shaky breath shuddered out of me. I shuddered, a flush of warmth spreading through me, moisture gathering between my thighs. My cheeks burned with shame. What was he doing?
His lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, his teeth nibbling, his mouth sucking, branding me. I whimpered, arching my back against him instinctively. I didn't understand this desperate, clawing need, I only knew I needed more…
My core throbbed in time with my racing heart. He groaned in response, a low, rough sound, his fingers skimming my side before clenching in the fabric of Kaden's shirt, as if he wanted to rip it from my body and take me right there, against the wall.
"Fuck," he muttered against my damp skin, his voice thick. He pulled back slightly, his breath hot in my ear. "Let me not find you in his shirt when I get back." His hand gripped my waist, a firm, possessive hold. "Understood?"
"Yes," I murmured, the word breathless.
Then he was gone, the warmth of his body replaced by a sudden cold. Tingles erupted over my skin. I turned, leaning my weight against the wall for support, my breaths coming in heavy gasps. I watched him stride to the door, not a single backward glance. The door clicked shut.
Leaving me alone in the room. My trembling hand moved to my swollen lips.
What the hell was that?
*****
So that came out of nowhere🫣
I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I will update with the next one on Wednesday. For anyone who can't wait, you can get early access by joining me on Patreon—the link is in my bio!