Chapter 4

CLARA

"Let's see how long you survive."

Gabriel’s parting words rang in my ears like a death sentence as two guards rushed to assist him from the car. I stepped out onto the slick marble of the grand portico, the icy mountain rain spraying across my face, soaking the hem of Evelyn’s wedding gown.

The Vance estate was less of a mansion and more of a fortress. Built high on the jagged coastal cliffs, its massive black-stone walls towered over the roaring ocean below. Dark glass windows reflected the flashes of distant lightning. It looked cold, impenetrable, and completely detached from the rest of the world.

A heavy oak door swung open, revealing a towering foyer with high ceilings, grand chandeliers that cast long shadows, and a massive double staircase. Dozens of servants stood lined up in two rigid rows, their heads bowed low. The air inside smelled of expensive polish, old paper, and the sharp scent of cedar.

Gabriel’s motorized wheelchair hummed smoothly as he rolled straight past the servants. He didn't offer them a glance.

"Take her to the East Wing," Gabriel commanded without looking back at me. His gravelly voice echoed off the high marble walls. "The third-floor suite."

An older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight, severe bun stepped out of line and bowed respectfully. "Right away, Mr. Vance. Shall I prepare dinner for her?"

"No," Gabriel answered coldly, his chair slowing near the private glass elevator at the back of the foyer. "She can rest. We will see if she is still conscious by morning."

The elevator doors slid shut behind him, leaving me standing in the center of the vast hall.

The silver-haired woman turned toward me. Her sharp blue eyes swept over my wet hair, the ripped lace of my wedding dress, and the angry purple bruise on my cheek. I braced myself for the contempt I was used to receiving from my parents' staff.

Instead, her strict expression softened just a fraction.

"I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper," she said, her voice crisp and formal. "Follow me, child."

I kept my head down, clutching the oversized dress as I walked up the grand staircase behind her. We traversed long, dimly lit corridors carpeted in deep crimson. Heavy oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors glared down at me from the mahogany walls.

"Mrs. Gable?" I asked quietly, my voice raspy from exhaustion. "What did Mr. Vance mean by... seeing if I survive until morning?"

Mrs. Gable stopped in front of a heavy double door at the end of the East Wing. She turned to look at me, her eyes unreadable.

"The last young lady who was brought here as his fiancée tried to poison his tea on her second night," Mrs. Gable said smoothly. "The one before her tried to photograph his confidential corporate documents to sell to his rivals. Neither of them left this estate on their own two feet."

A sharp coldness washed through my stomach. "And what happened to them?"

"They were handed over to Mr. Vance’s security detail," she replied simply, taking a gold key from her apron and unlocking the door. "This estate is monitored by hundreds of hidden cameras and armed guards, Mrs. Vance. If you have any foolish thoughts of betrayal, I suggest you bury them deep. Mr. Vance does not give third chances."

She pushed the door open, stepping aside. "Your room."

I stepped inside and caught my breath.

The suite was bigger than the entire floor of my parents’ house. A grand four-poster bed made of dark mahogany dominated the room, draped in heavy emerald velvet. A roaring fireplace crackled in the corner, spreading a comforting warmth throughout the space. There was a private balcony overlooking the raging sea, a plush silk couch, and a door leading to a massive marble bathroom.

Compared to the damp, moldy storage cellar where I had spent the last three days, this place was a palace.

"There are clean clothes in the wardrobe," Mrs. Gable said. "Bath oils are in the cabinet. Do not leave this wing tonight. If the guards spot you wandering, they are authorized to shoot first."

Without another word, she stepped back out into the hallway and pulled the heavy doors shut. The sharp click of the lock turning from the outside echoed through the room.

I was locked in again. But this time, the cage was made of gold.

I stripped out of the wet, heavy wedding dress, letting it pool onto the plush floor. I walked into the bathroom, turning on the gold taps of the clawfoot tub. Hot steam billowed into the air, filling the room with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus.

As I washed away the dirt of the cellar, the stinging pain in my cheek reminded me of reality. I was married to a ruthless, paralyzed billionaire who viewed me as a spy or an inconvenience. My family was ruined, but my father’s final glare told me he wouldn't let this go without a fight.

After drying off, I found a simple silk nightgown in the wardrobe. It was oversized, but soft against my raw skin. Exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. I sank into the massive velvet bed, pulling the warm blankets up to my chin. For the first time in my life, there was no one yelling at me, no one striking me, no chores waiting for me at dawn.

Despite the looming danger, my eyes, heavy with exhaustion, finally closed.

---

THUD.

A heavy noise shattered the silence of the night.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart instantly rocketing into my throat. The bedroom was pitch black, save for the dying red embers of the fireplace.

CLANG.

It sounded like metal crashing against marble, coming from the adjoining hallway right outside my door.

I scrambled out of bed, my feet silent on the thick carpet. Fear clutched at my throat. Was it my father’s men? Had they come to finish me off for ruining the deal? Or was it one of Gabriel’s rivals?

I crept toward the heavy wooden door and pressed my ear against the panel.

Gasping, harsh breaths echoed down the hall, accompanied by the sound of something heavy dragging against the floor.

"Damn it..." a low, rasping voice growled.

Gabriel.

I hesitated. Mrs. Gable had warned me not to leave the room. She had warned me that the guards would shoot. But the sound of genuine agony in Gabriel’s voice pulled at something deep inside me.

Slowly, carefully, I turned the brass door handle. To my surprise, the lock wasn't engaged. Mrs. Gable had unlocked it from the outside while I was asleep.

I cracked the door open an inch and peered into the dim corridor.

A few feet away, the massive leather wheelchair sat overturned on its side.

And lying on the cold marble floor was Gabriel Vance.

He was wearing only black trousers, his broad, bare back glistening with sweat under the dim wall sconces. Scars crisscrossed his muscular shoulders—stark, white lines from the accident that had shattered his life.

He was trying to push himself up using his massive arms, his teeth grit in a violent, desperate snarling grimace. But his paralyzed legs were completely useless, dead weight pulling him down. His arms buckled, and he collapsed back onto the cold floor with a choked grunt of pure frustration and pain.

He slammed his fist against the marble, a sound of absolute, agonizing helplessness breaking from his throat.

I froze in the doorway, my breath catching in my chest.

The ruthless tyrant, the terrifying billionaire who ruled the city from the shadows... was entirely alone, lying broken on the floor, bleeding from a fresh scrape on his elbow.

Gabriel raised his head, his storm-grey eyes wild with rage and frustration—and locked directly onto me standing in the doorway.

"Get out!" he roared, his voice trembling with raw, lethal fury. "Get back in your room, Clara! Look away!"