Chapter 3: The Mansion home and a Warning

I didn't stop running until I reached my room and the heavy oak door clicked shut.

I leaned my back against the cool wood and finally let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in my lungs forever.

My hands were actually shaking.

I started pacing across the massive rug, feeling like the walls were closing in.

The room was way too quiet. I needed to chill out, and I figured a glass of water might help—or maybe a time machine to take me back to New York.

Since the water was more likely, I snuck out of my room and crept down the dark, scary staircase.

The Sterling estate at night felt less like a home and more like a museum after everyone had gone home.

I wandered through the maze of hallways until I found the kitchen. It was huge, full of shiny silver appliances and cold marble counters.

I grabbed a glass, filled it up, and pressed the cold rim to my forehead to stop my head from spinning.

"Planning your escape?"

I gasped, spinning around so fast water splashed over my hand and onto the floor.

William was standing in the doorway. He’d ditched his suit jacket and ripped off his tie.

The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, and without his "billionaire armor" on, he didn't look any less scary. If anything, he looked wilder. More dangerous.

"Just getting water," I managed to say, putting the glass down on the counter with a loud clink. "I thought you were still busy interrogating my mother."

He walked into the kitchen, his footsteps silent. The only light came from the small lamps over the island, casting dark, dramatic shadows across his face.

He moved like a predator, circling the marble island until he was standing right on my side of it.

"Arthur is easy to trick," William said, his voice a low rumble that echoed off the walls.

"He sees a pretty face and a sad story, and he opens his wallet. But I don't have the same blind spots my father does."

I gripped the edge of the counter behind me. "I don't want his money. And I definitely don't want yours."

"Right." He took a step toward me. Then another. Suddenly, he was so close I had to tilt my head back just to look him in the eye.

He slammed one hand down on the marble counter right next to my hip, basically trapping me between his body and the stone.

"You just happen to be moving into a thirty-million-pound mansion and taking a fancy internship you aren't even qualified for. Total coincidence, right?"

He was freezing cold in his words, but I could feel the heat radiating off him. He smelled like expensive cologne and a long, stressful day. I hated that I noticed.

I hated that my heart was thumping like crazy against my ribs.

"I've worked three jobs since high school," I snapped, refusing to back down. "I earned my grades. I earned my spot in college. And I’m going to earn this internship, whether you like it or not."

William’s gaze dropped to my mouth for a split second. The air between us suddenly felt like it had been sucked out of the room.

"You put on a good show in there," he murmured, leaning in just an inch closer. "The hardworking daughter playing the victim in her cheap little dress."

He raised his free hand. For a second, I thought he was going to touch my neck. Instead, his fingers hooked the floral collar of my dress.

His knuckles brushed against my skin—and it felt like a spark of electricity.

"I meant what I said at dinner, Isabel," he whispered, his thumb brushing the cheap fabric.

"Take this off and burn it. You’re in the big leagues now. If you want to survive my office, you’re going to have to stop acting like a charity case."

I knocked his hand away. Our skin touched for a second, and a jolt went straight up my arm.

"I'll wear whatever I want," I shot back, though my voice sounded way more breathless than I wanted it to.

William’s eyes darkened. He stared at me for a long, intense moment. The silence was so tight it felt like it was going to snap.

He looked like he wanted to tear me apart, and the scariest part was that I wasn't sure I wanted him to stop.

Finally, he stepped back, taking that suffocating heat with him.

"Monday morning. 7:00 AM sharp," he commanded, his voice turning cold and professional again.

He turned to leave, pausing just as he hit the shadows of the hallway. He looked back over his shoulder with a cruel, smirking grin. "Don't be late... sister."

He let the word hang there like a drop of poison before he disappeared into the dark, leaving me shaking and alone in the kitchen.