Top floor. Six thousand square feet of silence, steel, and shadow. Accessible only in two ways—my thumbprint or a stairwell so well-hidden it may as well not exist. Less than five people even know it’s here.
The doors open, and I walk barefoot onto the dark hardwood floors. The hallway is moody, long, lined with abstract Russian oil paintings and blackout windows that turn daylight into something untrustworthy. You can hear your own heartbeat up here, especially if you’re walking it alone at night.
Which I usually am.
I cross toward my room, unhurried. Shirt slung over my shoulder, muscles still pulsing with the after-burn of steel and violence. This is the hour I normally spend in silence, staring into the fire or out toward the sea. It’s a routine that keeps my demons organized.
But tonight?
The door to my bedroom is open.
I stop walking.
I don’t leave it open. Ever.
I step forward, quiet, not tense—just aware.
And then—
She’s there.
Inmy room.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, facing the ocean like she’s watching for something only she can see.
She’s barefoot. Wearing one of the ivory robes I had placed in her closet. Hair damp. A single drop of water trails down her neck before disappearing into the collar.
Her back is to me.
And I just—stop.
Because I don’t know how she got past security. I don’t know which maid sent her up. I don’t know why she’s here or what she’s doing or how the hell she looks so goddamn—
She turns.
Her eyes find mine.
“Oh,” she says, startled—but not apologetic. “This isn’t my room, is it?”
My mouth opens. Shuts. For once, my mind goescompletely blank.
“You— How the hell did you get in here?”
She glances behind her. “Anya told me third door on the left. Unless she meant her left. In which case, oops.”
I stare at her. “Who?”
She blinks. “Anya. One of the housemaids? Blonde, super smiley, smells like citrus floor cleaner and emotional support?”
I say nothing.
Because I didn’t hire an Anya.
Which means someone else did. Without telling me.
Bella must register the shift in my expression because she hesitates.
“Okay,” she says slowly, “based on the way you just turned into a statue, I’m guessing she’s… new?”
