Chapter Nine

Ava’s POV

I woke to the sound of distant voices and the low rumble of cars on the gravel driveway.

For a moment I lay still, staring at the ceiling of the large bedroom, feeling the faint, pleasant ache between my thighs that reminded me exactly what had happened in his study the night before. The memory of Corren’s voice, his hands, the way he had fucked me over the desk while making me call him Daddy, settled over me like a second sheet. My body responded instantly—warmth low in my belly, a slow pulse of need—even though I was still half-asleep.

A soft knock interrupted the thought. The same young maid from the previous morning entered with a tray and another small envelope. This time the note was longer.

Breakfast is in the small dining room. Wear the black dress. We have company. — Daddy

Company.

I sat up slowly. The black dress waiting on the chair was simpler than the green one—clean lines, soft fabric that fell just above the knee, elegant without being flashy. I showered quickly, pulled my hair into a loose twist, and slipped into the clothes he had chosen. Every time I put on something he had picked for me, it felt like another quiet claim.

When I reached the smaller dining room on the ground floor, Corren was already there. He stood near the window in a charcoal suit, speaking in a low voice to a man I had never seen before. The stranger was younger than Corren, perhaps in his mid-thirties, tall and lean, with sharp eyes and a tablet under one arm. He looked like someone who lived inside schedules and numbers.

Corren turned as I entered. His gaze moved over me once, approving, before he spoke.

“Ava. This is Marcus Hale, my executive assistant. Marcus, this is Ava. She is living here now.”

Marcus nodded politely, though his eyes flicked between us with careful neutrality. “Miss Ava.”

“Marcus handles most of my day-to-day business,” Corren continued. “If you need anything while I’m in meetings, you can go through him.”

I murmured a greeting and took the seat Corren indicated—again at his right. Almost immediately his hand found my thigh under the table, the same warm, possessive weight as the day before. The touch was hidden from Marcus by the long tablecloth, but I felt it all the way to my core. My pulse jumped.

Breakfast was already laid out. Corren and Marcus began discussing numbers as if I weren’t there—shipping delays, a contract in Dubai, a board member who was becoming difficult. I kept my eyes on my plate and tried to follow the conversation. The scale of it was staggering. Corren spoke of millions the way other people spoke of grocery lists. At one point Marcus mentioned an estate in Italy that needed attention, and Corren simply said, “Handle it. I don’t want to think about it this week.”

The casual power in his voice made something low in my stomach tighten.

Halfway through the meal another man entered the room without knocking. He was older, broad, with a weathered face and the quiet confidence of someone who had worked for Corren for years. He stopped a respectful distance from the table.

“Mr. Corren. The security team finished the new perimeter checks. Everything is clean. Also, the contractors for the east wing renovation are waiting for your final approval on the materials.”

“Thank you, Raymond,” Corren said. “Tell them to use the darker marble. And increase the night patrols for the next two weeks.”

Raymond nodded once and left. I realized he must be the head of estate security. Another person who moved through this house with silent efficiency, another reminder of how carefully controlled Corren’s world was.

Marcus cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing. Daniel Crowe has been asking for a meeting. He’s pushing hard on the waterfront development. He’s… persistent.”

Corren’s fingers tightened slightly on my thigh. The name clearly meant something.

“Crowe can wait,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to be polite to men who think they can pressure me.”

Marcus gave a small nod, made a note on his tablet, and stood. “I’ll push him to next month. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be in the east office.”

When he left, the dining room fell quiet. Corren’s hand remained on my leg, thumb stroking once in a slow, absent movement that made my breath catch.

“You have questions,” he said.

I looked at him. “How many people work for you?”

“In the company? Several thousand. On this estate? Forty-three, including security and household staff.” He turned his head and studied my face. “You’re part of this household now, Ava. People will see you. They will make assumptions. I expect you to carry yourself accordingly.”

The weight of that settled over me. I was no longer just the orphaned niece who received quiet monthly transfers. I was living in the center of his world—his wealth, his staff, his power—and everyone under this roof would notice.

Corren glanced at his watch. “I have a video call in twenty minutes with investors in Singapore. You’ll come with me.”

I blinked. “To a business call?”

“You’ll sit quietly and listen. I want you to start understanding the shape of my life.” His eyes darkened slightly. “And I want you near me.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

He stood, offered his hand, and waited. I placed my fingers in his. The simple contact sent a familiar heat up my arm. As he led me out of the dining room and toward the wing that held his private offices, I caught our reflection in a hallway mirror—his tall, controlled figure in the dark suit, me in the black dress he had chosen, walking half a step behind him.

It looked like a picture of power and possession.

And the most unsettling part was how natural it was beginning to feel.

Inside the office, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the formal gardens. A large screen was already glowing on the far wall. Corren guided me to a chair slightly behind and to the side of his desk—close enough that I could see the screen, close enough that his hand could reach my knee if he wanted. He did not remove his hand from the small of my back until I was seated.

As the call connected and several serious-faced men in different time zones appeared on the screen, Corren’s voice shifted into something colder, more precise. He discussed figures and timelines with quiet authority. Every so often his eyes would flick to me, checking that I was still watching, still present.

I sat quietly, legs pressed together, the ghost of last night’s encounter still alive between my thighs, and began to understand something important.

Corren didn’t just own an estate.

He owned a world.

And somehow, without fully realizing when it had happened, I was being pulled into the center of it.