C3

Sloane Everhart held a diamond-ringed hand against Keaton Waverly’s tailored lapel, her manicured nail digging into the dark wool. Maribel “Belle” Westbrook stared at the sparkling three-carat canary stone, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“You did not tell me you were engaged, Keaton,” Belle whispered, the air catching in her lungs.

Keaton’s icy blue eyes flicked from Sloane’s triumph to Belle’s pale face, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “It is an equity arrangement, Belle. It was finalized by the board while I was restructuring the international portfolios.”

“An equity arrangement?” Sloane laughed, a sharp, metallic sound that echoed down the concrete service corridor. “It is a binding corporate merger, darling. The Waverly Global assets merge with the Sterling Group Properties the moment we sign the Silvercrest agreements.”

Sloane stepped closer, her expensive designer perfume swamping the narrow hall, heavy and suffocating. She turned her cold gaze directly onto Belle, her eyes lingering on the grey, plastic-coated intern badge pinned to Belle’s fitted white shirt.

“You are looking at an unranked recruit, Keaton,” Sloane said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy purr. “She breached a restricted security level during a executive acquisition meeting. She does not even carry a preliminary investment portfolio.”

“She is not just an unranked recruit,” Keaton growled, his voice low and threatening as he stepped sideways, putting his shoulder between Sloane and Belle. “She is a legacy descendant of the Westbrook estate.”

“A dead estate,” Sloane corrected smoothly, tracing the edge of her massive diamond ring. “Her father absconded with four hundred million in uncollateralized loans from the Sterling Group. She is not an heir anymore, Keaton. She is an administrative liability.”

Belle swallowed back the hot rise of shame in her throat, her palms sweating against her skirt. “I am not a liability. I came here to fulfill my contract and clear what I can.”

Sloane sneered, taking a step toward Belle until their shoes almost touched. “You breached executive protocol on your first hour on campus. In this institution, low-tier recruits who disrupt board proceedings are subject to immediate disciplinary reassignment.”

“I do not report to you, Sloane,” Belle said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“You report to the senior executive board,” Sloane snapped. “And as the primary delegate for the Sterling merger, I am ordering your immediate transfer to the Executive Residence Wing. You will handle night-shift administrative filing until your status review.”

“She is not taking night-shift filing,” Keaton cut in, his voice cutting through the corridor like a steel blade.

Sloane turned on her heel, her dark eyes flashing with anger. “Are you countermanding a joint-venture protocol for a girl who holds zero equity in your company, Keaton? The board is watching every move you make. If you show favoritism to an unranked intern with a defaulted family debt, they will question your capacity to lead this merger.”

Keaton’s expression turned into pure, unyielding stone. He looked down at Belle, his gaze intense, possessive, and unreadable.

“She will observe corporate protocol,” Keaton said slowly, his voice dropping an octave as he looked back at Sloane. “If she breached security, she will address me as Senior Executive Waverly every time she speaks to me in public for the next sixty days.”

Belle’s jaw dropped slightly. “What?”

Keaton’s eyes flicked back to Belle, a subtle, razor-thin smirk touching the corner of his lips before disappearing. “That is your administrative penalty, Miss Westbrook. You will address me formally, and you will follow standard corporate hierarchy.”

Sloane narrowed her eyes, clearly sensing the underlying history between them, but she straightened her jacket with a sharp, satisfied huff. “A minor protocol penalty is a start. Make sure she knows her place before the evening reception.”

“Get back into the vault, Sloane,” Keaton commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I will be there in two minutes.”

Sloane glared at Belle one last time, her diamonds catching the harsh fluorescent light, before turning and pushing through the heavy steel doors back into the board room.

The silence in the hallway rushed back, heavy and charged with raw, unspoken tension.

Keaton stepped closer to Belle, trapping her against the cold wall once again. His chest rose and fell sharply, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the corridor.

“You are playing a dangerous game coming down here, Belle,” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating through her chest.

“I did not know you were engaged,” Belle said, her throat tight, her breath hitching as his scent enveloped her. “You left Westbrook Heights three years ago and never called. Now I arrive here, and you are wearing a custom suit, running multi-billion dollar mergers, and marrying Sloane Everhart.”

Keaton reached out, his long fingers brushing against her jawline, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight down her spine. “I had to secure the Waverly board seat, Belle. My father gave me no choice. If I did not agree to the preliminary match with Sterling, they would have liquidated every asset attached to my name.”

“Including my family’s remaining estate?” Belle whispered, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Keaton’s thumb stroked the soft skin beneath her cheekbone, his touch possessive, hot, and heavy. “Especially your family’s estate. Conrad Sterling wanted to seize Westbrook Heights weeks ago. I signed the preliminary acquisition papers myself to keep your mother from being evicted.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. “You bought my father’s debt?”

“I absorbed it into the Waverly holding account,” Keaton said, his dark eyes burning into hers. “Which means you belong to my division now, Belle. Whether you hold a corporate portfolio or not.”

Belle pulled back, slipping out from under his touch before her cheeks could burn any hotter. “I am not an asset for you to manage, Keaton. I am an intern trying to survive this school.”

“You will not survive it alone,” Keaton said, his voice dropping into a low, possessive growl. “The Sterling Group Properties are ruthless. The junior executives will tear you apart the moment they realize your father left you bankrupt.”

“I can take care of myself,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Keaton stepped back, adjusting his silk tie with effortless grace. “We will see about that, Miss Westbrook. Rejoin your guide before security logs your absence.”

Belle turned and hurried up the stone stairs, her breath ragged, her heels clicking fast against the concrete. When she pushed open the heavy brass doors at the top of the stairwell, Maisie Langford was still sitting on the waiting bench, nervously tapping her nails against her leather purse.

Maisie leaped to her feet the second Belle stepped into the lobby. “You are actually still employed! I expected security to throw your luggage into the street.”

“I got off with a formal protocol penalty,” Belle said, trying to catch her breath.

Maisie stared at her in shock. “A protocol penalty from Keaton Waverly? People get expelled for interrupting executive sessions!”

“He was just enforcing hierarchy,” Belle said quietly, her skin still tingling where his fingers had touched her jaw.

“Whatever he did, you got lucky,” Maisie muttered, grabbing her own briefcase. “Come on. Dr. Fairchild wants all unranked recruits transferred out of the main hall before the evening corporate associates arrive.”

They walked out of the administrative tower and headed down the winding stone pathway toward the lower residential perimeter. The afternoon sun beat down on the sprawling glass-and-steel structures of the Sterling Executive Institute.

As they walked, another girl with short dark hair and a bright green lanyard bounced up beside Maisie.

“Did you hear about the new allocation list for the Graduate Intern Wing?” Tessa Whitmore asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

Maisie groaned. “What did the Sterling Group do now, Tessa?”

“They moved our residential wing further down the perimeter, right against the Westbrook Woodland Reserve,” Tessa said, gesturing toward a long, single-story concrete complex situated near the outer fence. “The Management Offices said our tier does not require central campus housing.”

“They are isolating us,” Maisie said bitterly. “They treat unranked recruits like temporary labor until our families pay off their institutional fees.”

Belle looked at the low concrete building stretching along the edge of the forest reserve. Unlike the soaring glass towers of the Sterling Estate or the luxurious private suites of the Senior Executives, the Graduate Intern Wing looked like an operational barracks.

“It is not a palace,” Tessa said with a small shrug, keeping pace with them. “But at least we do not have to deal with Sloane Everhart’s private security detail down here.”

“Sloane runs the senior floor with an iron fist,” Maisie warned Belle, stopping near the front glass doors of the intern building. “If she catches you anywhere near the Waverly Executive Wing again, she will make sure your administrative review fails.”

Belle clutched her grey ID badge in her hand, the plastic cold against her palm. She thought about Keaton’s dark, burning eyes in the basement corridor, his heavy hand resting beside her head, and the massive canary diamond sparkling on Sloane’s finger.

“She already warned me,” Belle said softly.

“Then stay down here,” Maisie said flatly, turning the door handle. “This is our level now.”

Belle stepped into the long, fluorescent-lit corridor of the Graduate Intern Wing. Rows of narrow metal doors stretched out on either side, each leading to a basic twin-bed room meant for entry-level staff.

Tessa pointed down the hall. “Room 104 is yours, Belle. Your luggage was delivered twenty minutes ago.”

Belle walked down the narrow hall, her heels sounding hollow against the linoleum floor. She pushed open the door to Room 104 and stepped inside. A single metal desk, a narrow bed, and a small closet filled the space. On top of the desk lay a thick black leather binder stamped with the official crest of the Sterling Executive Institute.

Belle walked over to the desk and opened the binder. Inside was her official placement file, detailing her daily administrative schedule, her assigned duties in the lower archives, and her mandatory attendance at the evening corporate gala.

Attached to the inside cover was a folded piece of heavy ivory stationery.

Belle unfolded the paper with shaking hands. The message was written in crisp, dark black ink, the handwriting instantly recognizable from her childhood.

Your father’s debt has been transferred into a private escrow account managed by Waverly Global. You report to my private office at 7:50 AM tomorrow for your first administrative assignment. Do not be late, Maribel.

— Keaton Waverly

Before Belle could process the letter, a sharp electronic chime sounded from her phone resting in her skirt pocket. She pulled out the device and tapped the screen.

It was an automated alert from the Sterling Corporate District financial registry, updating her family’s public credit profile.

Belle scrolled to the bottom of the notification, her heart dropping into her stomach as she read the live status update.

Notice of Mandatory Asset Transfer: Westbrook Heights property title successfully transferred to Sterling Group Properties under Order 882. Foreclosure proceedings initiated on primary residence.

Belle’s phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the hard wooden desk as the reality of her new life slammed into her with cold, brutal finality.