CH. 1

"Well, well. Another private meeting with Mr. Sutherland. That's what, the third one this week?"

I kept walking, clenching the heavy folder my supervisor had given me. Every step sent a sharp jolt through my ribs… a fresh injury I was desperately trying to hide.

Two grueling weeks had passed since I was banished to the base-level archives.

My days had become a monotonous blur of windowless room and the suffocating smell of decaying paper.

I had buried myself in sorting decades-old files, desperate to make the basement my sanctuary.

But the isolation wasn't absolute. Three times this week, the twenty-seventh floor had requested specific archival deliveries.

Though I barely lingered in the Chairman’s office during those drop-offs, the mere fact that I was summoned upstairs had been enough to ignite the vicious rumor mill on the ground floor.

"I'm talking to you, Verity." Paige's hand grabbed my arm, spinning me around.

She stood there with two other junior associates, Amanda and Jessica, all three wearing identical expressions of smug superiority.

"Let go of me."

"Or what?" Paige's smile was all teeth. "You'll run crying to Mr. Sutherland? Oh wait, you already spend enough time in his office."

Something inside me snapped. I spent the last two weeks enduring whispers and judgment. I had spent twenty years enduring my father's fists. And I was done.

"You want to know the truth?" I yanked my arm free with sudden force that made Paige stumble back. "I earned this position. I have a 3.9 GPA. But you can't imagine someone earning their spot through merit, can you?"

"You're a nobody—"

"And you're so desperate to get into Mr. Sutherland's bed that you can't see past your own jealousy!" My voice was ice-cold. "So maybe instead of obsessing over who I'm supposedly sleeping with, you should focus on why Evelyn had to rewrite your last three briefs."

Paige's face went white, then mottled red. "You bitch—"

"No. I'm just done." I turned and walked away, my heart pounding in my bruised ribs.

"You're going to regret this!" Paige yelled down the corridor.

Maybe. But it felt incredibly good to finally fight back.

I grabbed my backpack from my locker and headed deep into the basement archives. My refuge.

My phone buzzed just then.

I pulled it out, and my stomach plummeted. There were three missed calls and four texts from Edwin, my father.

Dad: Where are you

Dad: Answer your phone

Dad: You better not be at that job

Dad: When you get home we're going to have a talk

A "talk" meant a beating. His heavy fists. His leather belt. His large hands wrapping around my throat.

The knife threat from two weeks ago had bought me exactly four days of peace.

For four days, Edwin kept his distance. But the alcohol eventually overrode his fear.

He had caught me sleeping, dragging me out of bed by my hair. He had found the cash hidden in my mattress, taken every last cent, and beaten me mercilessly for daring to hide it from him.

I couldn't go home. Maybe not ever.

I turned off my phone, shoved it deep into my bag, and lost myself in sorting the endless boxes of files.

This job was supposed to be my sanctuary. More than that, it was the culmination of two years of desperate, quiet longing.

Two years ago, our chairman, Adrian Sutherland, had walked onto my college campus to announce a corporate sponsorship program, and I was one of the few students he selected.

From the moment I was handed that certificate, I had been hopelessly infatuated.

I had poured every ounce of my energy into my studies, maintaining that flawless GPA, clawing my way into this internship just for the chance to be near him.

He was the one beautiful, untouchable thing in my otherwise bleak existence. The one thing I clung to yet knew was entirely out of my reach.

Hours passed in the dusty silence. Soon, the massive building grew quiet.

It was 9:07 PM. But I kept working.

Then, I heard footsteps.

Slow. Moving through the outer archive room toward me until they stopped just outside the open door.

Adrian Sutherland stood in the doorway, and the sight of him stole the breath from my lungs.

He had stripped away the last of his professional armor. Without his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt sleeves were pushed to his elbows, revealing the corded strength in his forearms.

His tie sat askew, and several buttons at his collar were undone.

He looked less polished. And infinitely more dangerous.

At thirty-six, Adrian commanded attention without effort. His mixed heritage gave him striking features: walnut-toned skin, raven-black hair mussed from running his hands through it, and dark stubble shadowing his sharp jaw.

His eyes were almost black, framed by long lashes and thick brows. They pinned me in place with terrifying intensity.

He was tall, at least six-five, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. The kind of build that came from ruthless discipline, not vanity.

The harsh fluorescent lights cast deep shadows across his face, emphasizing sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and the cruel beauty of his mouth.

My mouth went dry.

He didn't speak as he simply watched me.

"Mr. Sutherland," I pressed a trembling hand to my chest. "You scared me."

"I noticed." He set his jacket on top of a filing cabinet and moved close, with his dark eyes never leaving mine.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"M-Mr. Sutherland. I didn't know anyone was still here." My voice came out breathless and frail.

He kept coming, and I instinctively backed up until my spine hit the cold metal of the filing cabinet.

I winced as the metal pressed against my bruised back.

Adrian's eyes narrowed, catching the expression of pain.

He closed the remaining distance in one fluid motion, planting his large hands on the metal cabinet on either side of my head, caging me in completely.

His body was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. I could smell him, something dark, expensive, and intoxicating that made my head spin.

I flinched, but he leaned in closer.

"It's nine o'clock on a Friday night. Why are you still here?" His voice was a low, vibrating hum.

"The archives project. I wanted to—"

"Bullshit!" His hand shot out, gripping my jaw hard and forcing my head back.

His thumb brushed the heavy layer of concealer on my cheekbone, wiping it away to reveal the dark, ugly purple of a fresh bruise.

The air in the room plummeted ten degrees.

"He hit you again." He stated matter-of-factly.

I swallowed hard, a tear spilling over my lashes then nodded.

Adrian's jaw locked. "I gave you money. On two separate occasions in the last two weeks, Verity. I threw two thousand dollars at you on your first day, and I handed you another thick envelope when you delivered those files to my office on Tuesday. That is more than enough cash to pack a bag, rent a room, and secure a comfortable life away from him."

He leaned in closer, his dark eyes burning with furious rage. "Are you actually more stupid than I thought? Did you just hand the cash over to your deadbeat father and stay to be his punching bag?"

"No!" I cried out. "I didn't give it to him! I fought back. I put a knife to his throat, and it worked for a few days. But he's twice my size. He caught me while I was sleeping. He overpowered me, he tore my mattress apart to find the cash, and he drank it away!"

My voice cracked. "I have nothing. I have nowhere else to go."

For a long moment, Adrian stared at me. The anger in his eyes shifted, redirecting from my perceived foolishness to a dark, violent hatred.

His hand slid from my jaw to my throat and his long fingers wrapped around my neck, pressing directly against my pulse, feeling it race.

Then his other hand moved, gripping my hip and pulling me forward.

The metal behind me was freezing, but his body was burning hot.

His eyes traveled slowly down my body. Down my throat. Over the curve of my breasts and then back up to my tear-streaked face.

"You're coming with me."

My breath caught. "What?"

"Get your things."

"Mr. Sutherland, I can't."

His hand on my throat tightened, cutting off my protest.

"Wrong answer." He leaned in until his lips almost brushed the shell of my ear. "Try again."

His hand slid from my hip up my ribs, pressing deliberately at the fresh bruises hidden beneath my blouse.

I gasped in pain.

He noticed them immediately. His jaw tightened, and something darkened in his gaze.

The touch continued its slow path upward until a thumb brushed the underside of my breast.

"He did this."

I nodded.

"Where else?"

"M-My back. My stomach."

The pressure shifted to my lower back, fingers tracing along my spine.

A sharp breath caught in my throat when they found more bruises.

Then I heard a low sound rumbling from him, somewhere between a growl and a curse as the touch drifted lower, stopping just above my ass, his fingers spanning the small of my back.

At my throat, a thumb continued to follow the frantic beat of my pulse. Moments later, his fingers slid into my hair, gripping firmly and tipping my head back.

"Look at me!" He growled low and dangerous.

I obeyed, trembling as his dark eyes locked onto mine. Possessive. Unyielding.

A wicked, satisfied triumph flashed across his face as his fingers traced a slow path up my spine through the thin fabric of my blouse, then back down again.

My breathing quickened.

The touch returned to my front… his broad palm settling against my stomach before sliding higher.

Adrian’s fingers spread across my ribs and I felt his thumb brush beneath my breast once more.

Then a firm hand closed over them through the fabric.

The strokes across my nipple made my back arch. A squeeze that drew a helpless whimper from my throat.

"Mr. Sutherland—" I moaned involuntarily.

Something in his expression sharpened. The pressure on my breast vanished, only to return to my throat.

When he pulled back, his gaze never left mine. "Choose. Come with me. Or go back to him."

I remained pinned to the cabinet, one hand at my throat, the other gripping my hip.

Every point of contact felt inescapably present, burning through my clothes.

"I'll come with you," I whispered.

Adrian's expression demanded more.

"I'll come with you, Mr. Sutherland."

The dark triumph returned to his eyes.

He stepped away, the sudden loss of his heat leaving me shivering. "Get your things."

My legs barely felt steady as I gathered my backpack. Every nerve in my body seemed entirely tuned to him.

When I reached his side, he didn't take my hand. Instead, his heavy grip settled at the back of my neck.

The simple touch sent a violent shiver through me. It was possessive. As though he already knew I would follow him anywhere.

The elevator doors slid open in the lobby, and without a word, he guided me inside.

The doors closed behind us with a soft hiss.