CHAPTER 3

SASKIA POV

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time the sleek, black town car pulled up to the gates of the Sinclair estate. I stared out the window, my hands gripping my small duffel bag. It was the only thing I had left. When I went back to my apartment after the meeting with Robert, my key didn't work. The landlord told me my stepmother had cleared out the place, claiming the lease was under the family name. Worse, when I checked my banking app, every single dollar of my personal savings was gone. Victoria had used an old joint-account loophole to completely drain me.

I was completely broke. I had no choice but to be here.

The heavy iron gates clicked open, and the car crawled up a long, winding driveway lined with towering oak trees. At the end of the path sat a massive, modern mansion made of dark stone and glass. It looked beautiful, but completely cold and intimidating.

"We are here, Miss Beaumont," the driver said, stepping out to open my door with a large umbrella.

"Thank you," I murmured, stepping into the freezing air.

He led me through a massive set of double doors into a grand foyer. A middle-aged woman in a crisp gray dress uniform was waiting for me. She gave a polite, stiff bow. "Good afternoon, Miss Beaumont. I am Mrs. Gable, the house manager. Mr. Sinclair is expecting you in his study. Please, follow me."

I wiped my wet shoes on the mat and followed her up a wide, floating staircase. The house was dead quiet. There were no family photos on the walls, no colorful decorations. It felt like a museum.

Mrs. Gable stopped in front of a pair of frosted glass doors at the end of the second-floor hallway. She knocked twice.

"Come in," a deep, quiet voice called out from inside.

My heart stopped.

That voice. It was a low, smooth baritone that sent a sudden, violent jolt of electricity straight down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, forcing myself to breathe. *No, it’s just a coincidence. You’re just stressed,* I told myself.

Mrs. Gable opened the door and gestured for me to enter. "Miss Beaumont has arrived, sir."

The study was spacious, lined with walls of dark books and a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the rainy gardens. Sitting behind a large, minimalist desk was a man. He was writing something on a document, his head down. He wore a crisp, tailored charcoal suit, his white shirt buttoned all the way up to his throat this time.

"Sit down, Saskia. I’ll be with you in a moment," he said, not looking up.

I couldn't move. My boots felt like they were glued to the floor. The scent in the room hit me next—expensive leather, faint woodsmoke, and a hint of dark bourbon.

The man finally capped his fountain pen, set it down, and slowly raised his head.

The air completely left my lungs.

It was him. The sharp, stubbled jawline. The wide, commanding shoulders. And those intensely dark, fierce eyes that had watched me melt under his touch just twelve hours ago. The only difference was that the matte black mask was gone, revealing a face that was strikingly handsome, but carved from stone.

Evander Sinclair was my midnight stranger.

He stared at me, his face completely blank. His dark eyes swept down to my wet hair, my cheap jacket, and the duffel bag in my hand, before returning to my face. He didn't blink. He didn't look shocked. He just sat there, watching me freeze.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to take a seat?" Evander asked, his tone completely flat, as if he were talking to a stranger.

"You," I choked out, my voice cracking. I took a step toward the desk, my hands trembling. "It was you. Last night."

Evander didn't move a muscle. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't lie to me!" I snapped, slamming my duffel bag onto one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. "The Vault. The VIP room. The silver mask. You know exactly what happened!"

Evander looked at the bag on his chair, then back up at me. His expression was cold enough to freeze water. "Miss Beaumont, let’s get one thing clear. I am a very busy man. I do not frequent underground clubs, and I certainly do not play games with masks. You are here because of your father's will, not to project your wild night life onto me."

I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. The sheer gaslighting was making my head spin. "You're seriously going to sit there and pretend you didn't touch me? You didn't—"

"Saskia," Evander interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, warning register. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "I suggest you watch your mouth. Mrs. Gable is right outside that door. If you want to start your six months here by spreading baseless, embarrassing rumors about your legal guardian, I can easily call Robert and tell him you are violating the clause regarding behavioral stability. Do you want to lose your father’s company today?"

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. I looked at his hands—the long, elegant fingers resting on the mahogany wood. Those were the exact same fingers that had gripped my waist, that had torn the strap of my dress. He knew it. I knew it. But his eyes were a wall of ice.

"My stepmother took everything," I whispered, the anger turning into a sudden, heavy wave of exhaustion. "My apartment, my money. I have nowhere else to go."

"I am aware of Mrs. Beaumont's actions," Evander said calmly, his tone shifting back to business. "I have already instructed my legal team to look into the account transfers. But until then, you are under my roof, which means you abide by my rules."

"And what are your rules?" I asked, gripping the back of the chair.

Evander stood up. He was even taller than I remembered, towering over me as he walked around the desk. He stopped just a foot away from me. The proximity made my chest tighten, my skin prickling with the exact same heat from the club.

"Rule number one," Evander said, looking down at me, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "You do not leave this house after 8:00 PM without my permission. Rule number two, you do not invite guests over. And rule number three..." He stepped an inch closer, his dark gaze dropping to my lips for a split second before locking back onto my eyes. "...you will treat me with the respect a guardian deserves. Is that understood?"

I looked up at him, my breath hitching in my throat. The professional mask he was wearing was perfect, but there was a faint, dark fire burning deep in his eyes that told me he hadn't forgotten a single second of last night.

"Understood, Mr. Sinclair," I said, spitting his name out like an insult.

Evander smirked, a tiny, ruthless movement of his lips. He turned toward the door and raised his voice. "Mrs. Gable, please show Miss Beaumont to her room."