Chapter 4: The Woman Is Finally Mine

Just as Isla leaned forward to catch a glimpse of who'd gotten out of the car, she saw the shoe retreat, the door swing shut, and the Bentley pull away.

Isla: ...?

The butler had clearly recognized the second young master of the family, but he said nothing about it. "Please don't take offense, Madam. The household staff sometimes have urgent matters. They'd never intend disrespect."

Isla nodded, not thinking much of it, and continued up the stairs.

"Was your young master unwell just now?" she asked, voice soft and sweet.

"Yes, ma'am, but there's no need to worry." The butler followed a respectful step behind her.

Isla's eyes widened slightly. "Oh my goodness, so it's really true then..."

Excellent.

The longer his treatment took, the longer she'd avoid the supposedly monstrous man everyone whispered about. Her face arranged itself into polite concern, but underneath, she was thrilled.

She was so busy celebrating internally that she missed a step and nearly went tumbling down the staircase barely catching the rail in time.

Isla wanted to die of embarrassment on the spot.

"Careful, Madam. Are you worried for the young master?"

"Yes. I do hope Mr. Vale recovers quickly and comes home soon," Isla said, steadying herself, brow furrowed with what looked like genuine concern.

She let out a soft sigh. Anyone watching would've assumed they were witnessing star-crossed devotion.

From the angle the butler couldn't see, her mouth was fighting a full grin, her eyes bright as a kid who'd just gotten away with something.

"Don't worry too much, Madam. The young master made it clear he won't restrict your freedom. Outside of the marriage itself, your life continues exactly as it was. Whatever you need, just ask he's instructed us to accommodate you."

Isla blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

If she still got to keep her own life, that changed everything. If the timing worked out, she could even get her grandmother out of the Bennetts' reach for good...

"Can I keep going to school? Keep working?" She turned her bright eyes on the butler.

"Of course. Though the young master would need to sign off on it."

"Mm." Isla bit her lip, a flicker of something sly slipping through her otherwise clear, wide-eyed expression.

"This way, please, Madam." The butler pushed open a bedroom door on the second floor, and Isla stopped short at the sight of the massive bed done up entirely in blood-red silk.

The rest of the room was minimalist, cool-toned, almost clinical which made the garish red wedding coverlet look completely out of place.

"Rest well, Madam. Ring if you need anything." The butler bowed and shut the door behind him, then headed downstairs to call Grayson.

The second young master's orders had been clear: anything involving the new Mrs. Vale gets reported immediately.

Isla stood alone in the unfamiliar bridal suite, feeling suddenly, strangely lost. She wandered toward the bed, half hoping to find a photo, some clue about the man she'd apparently just married but without so much as a signed marriage certificate yet, there was nothing here that told her anything at all.

What is he actually like?

A flicker of curiosity stirred quickly stomped out by simple self-preservation.

Someone with that much money, that much power, and apparently zero women willing to marry him voluntarily? That alone should terrify her.

She thought about the rumors again and shuddered. Thank God she didn't have to face him tonight. Who knew what might've happened otherwise.

She kept her distance from the bed, pulled off the meter-long veil and the crown pinning her hair, rolled her stiff neck, and dropped onto the sofa instead.

If the butler was telling the truth about being allowed to work what if she found a job that kept her out of state constantly? Would Grayson actually sign off on that?

What job requires nonstop travel but still sounds believable?

Mining out in Nevada? Volunteering at some big cat sanctuary in Africa?

Her imagination spiraled fast and collapsed just as fast she had zero upper body strength for mining, and if the jaguar she was supposedly "raising" ended up eating someone, that was a whole different nightmare.

Also he'd probably never approve either idea anyway.

She shook the ridiculous fantasy out of her head. She'd figure out something smarter. Or, failing that, she'd simply curse Grayson Vale to never set foot back in this house again.

That option's looking pretty good, actually.

Isla pressed her palms together and launched into her first heartfelt curse of the evening.

Nothing too extreme. Just keep him weak. Keep him stuck in some hospital somewhere, safe, alive, but far away from me. Please. Amen.

Late that night, dew settled heavy over the hills.

A black Rolls-Royce eased up the drive to the estate, headlights off, folded into the dark like it belonged there.

The car stopped.

A tall figure in a sharp black suit stepped out, cutting through the mist and shadow, carrying an aura so cold it seemed to lower the temperature around him.

Power radiated off him like it was simply part of his bone structure.

The butler heard the car and hurried out to meet him.

"Sir you're back?" he asked, surprised. The second young master had never once left his brother's bedside early. Not once. Why tonight?

"Where is she," Grayson said flatly, already striding past him into the house.

"Madam went to sleep hours ago, sir. Door's locked from the inside. She skipped dinner, and she's not answering when we knock."

"The key."

The butler produced it and handed it over without a word.

Grayson took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, expression unreadable.

Click.

The key turned. The door swung open onto a room lit only by pale moonlight through the window.

The silence in the room was so complete that even the smallest sound would have carried.

Isla didn't stir.

Grayson stepped inside tall, severe, cut in sharp relief against the dark, like something painted rather than born.

He crossed the room toward her, his presence somehow making the whole space feel colder.

He stopped beside the sofa, looked down.

This morning he'd fled his own bed before sunrise. The next time he saw his new wife, she'd been standing at the top of a staircase in a wedding gown.

Now she was curled up on the sofa cushions, hugging a throw pillow, breathing slow and even. Peaceful. Harmless.

Nothing at all like the reckless, photo-snapping menace from the night before.

Grayson's eyes went dark, temper simmering just under the surface as he thought back to that morning the ten-dollar bill, folded so casually on his hundred-thousand-dollar carpet like a tip.

She's finally within reach.

He reached down and pinched her soft cheek. Hard.

Call it payback.

"Ow!" Isla jolted awake mid-dream, the sharp pinch dragging her straight out of sleep.

She rubbed her eyes blearily and then, in the dim light, a figure loomed directly over her.

Her eyes went wide. Pure horror flooded her face.

"AAAH!" Isla screamed.

"A GHOST!"

She threw her hands over her eyes, curling backward into the cushions, shaking head to toe.

Grayson had not, in fact, expected that pinching someone awake would result in this.