The freezing chill of the dark hallway wall rapidly seeped into Clara's bare back.
Richard Sterling completely caged her in. He slammed his massive, muscular forearms against the wall on either side of her head, completely trapping her. His sharp, minty breathlaced with the distinct, terrifying scent of pure danger brushed violently against her terrified face in the pitch-black shadows.
"What exactly did you just hear?" Richard hissed. His baritone voice was incredibly low, but it possessed enough lethal force to physically vibrate against Clara's ribcage.
Clara's brilliant mind calculated her odds at lightning speed.
If she showed even a microscopic fraction of hesitation or guilt, her life would end right here on this expensive carpet. This monster hadn't hesitated to order a brutal hit on her innocent little brother just to secure a corporate signature. He certainly wouldn't hesitate to silence a penniless barista who had absolutely no one in the world to look for her.
Clara immediately let her knees buckle. She allowed her body to heavily slump downward.
But Richard's massive hand shot out instantly, violently grabbing the collar of her thick cotton bathrobe, effortlessly hauling her back onto her feet.
"Water..." Clara gasped, desperately forcing her voice to sound impossibly raspy and completely terrified. She weakly curled her trembling fingers into the crisp fabric of Richard's dress shirt. "My chest... it hurts so badly... the corset from this afternoon... I can't breathe. I just need a glass of water."
Clara squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She allowed a single, agonizing tear of pure desperation to slip down her pale cheek.
It wasn't a fake tear. It was the physical manifestation of her absolute terror and blinding, explosive hatred for the man pinning her to the wall.
Richard stared down at her pale, trembling face. His predatory eagle eyes aggressively dissected every single millimeter of her expression, ruthlessly hunting for even the faintest shadow of a lie. The agonizing silence stretched between them, wrapping around Clara's throat like a hangman's noose.
Slowly, agonizingly, the violent grip on Clara's collar finally loosened.
"The kitchen is located at the absolute opposite end of the hallway," Richard stated sharply, his tone dropping to a freezing sub-zero. He pointed down the dark corridor without breaking his intimidating stare. "Go back to your room. Do not ever let me catch you wandering anywhere near my private study again."
Clara nodded frantically. She kept her head bowed low, practically dragging her trembling legs back to her bedroom without daring to look over her shoulder.
She bolted the heavy door and collapsed onto the floor. She didn't sleep a single second that night. Her blinding thirst for vengeance kept her eyes wide open until the sun finally broke over the city skyline.
The early morning sunlight pierced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, but it offered absolutely no warmth.
Clara stared at her exhausted reflection in the sprawling marble bathroom mirror. Her eyes were slightly swollen, but the gaze staring back was as cold and sharp as shattered ice.
She was wearing a luxurious, peach-colored silk loungewear set that had been pre-stocked in her massive walk-in closet. But to Clara, the incredibly expensive fabric felt exactly like a high-end prison uniform.
She had to walk out there. She had to face the monster at the breakfast table.
Clara's bare feet made virtually no sound as she stepped onto the polished marble floors leading toward the grand dining room. The rich aroma of freshly brewed dark roast espresso and melting butter heavily permeated the air.
Richard was already seated at the head of the impossibly long mahogany dining table. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with no tie, the sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms. He looked devastatingly handsome, incredibly dominant, and absolutely, terrifyingly lethal.
But Clara's gaze immediately snapped toward the stiff, middle-aged woman in a pristine housekeeper's uniform who was currently pouring fresh orange juice into a crystal goblet.
"Good morning, Madam," the woman greeted, offering a smile that was entirely too rigid to be genuine. Her sharp, calculating eyes swept over Clara's appearance with an intensely judgmental gleam. "I am Mrs. Higgins. The head housekeeper of this residence."
Richard slowly set his sleek tablet face-down on the table. He looked up at Clara, and for a fraction of a second, a silent, blazing warning flashed violently in his dark eyes.
Here it is, Clara thought, her heart skipping a beat. Uncle Arthur's corporate bloodhound.
Richard abruptly stood up. The terrifying, murderous predator who had pinned her against the wall in the dark hallway was instantly gone. In his place stood a deeply devoted, loving husband, approaching her with a breathtakingly soft, entirely deceptive smile.
"Good morning, darling," Richard purred, his deep baritone voice suddenly radiating an intoxicating, artificial warmth.
He smoothly pulled out the heavy mahogany chair directly to his right. As Clara sat down, Richard's large hand casually rested on her bare shoulder.
The physical contact made Clara's stomach violently churn with absolute nausea, but she forcefully commanded every single muscle in her body to relax under his touch.
"Did you sleep well?" Richard murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of her head.
Clara completely stopped breathing. The intoxicating scent of his masculine cedarwood cologne instantly violently triggered the horrific memory of his phone call from the night before.
Crush the engine block. Melt the chassis down to slag.
This absolute monster was gently kissing her head mere hours after ordering the complete destruction of the evidence from her little brother's attempted murder.
"I slept incredibly well, my love," Clara replied flawlessly. She tilted her head up, meeting his dark gaze with a perfectly crafted, sickeningly sweet smile. "The mattress was absolutely divine."
Mrs. Higgins stood perfectly still in the corner of the sprawling dining room. She pretended to busy herself by aggressively folding a stack of linen napkins, but her ears were sharply tuned, greedily absorbing every single syllable spoken between them.
Richard sat down in the chair immediately next to Clara, completely abandoning the formal distance that usually separated the heads of the household at such a massive table.
He smoothly sliced a tiny piece of gourmet sausage, elegantly speared it with his heavy gold fork, and held it directly in front of Clara's lips.