CHAPTER 9: I AM DEAD!

ETHAN’S POV

The room seemed to tilt. Before my eyes, she staggered backward, stumbling as if all the strength had suddenly been drained from her legs.

I shook my head slowly, staring at her. She perfectly matched the file Dan had handed me that morning. Elena Stewart. The first daughter of the Stewart family. The report described her as calm, kind, selfless, and fragile—a girl who lived hidden from society, working as a farm laborer under the blistering sun. She had a boyfriend named Ken, a man who allegedly had to show up and protect her every time she was bullied because she was too weak to stand up for herself.

To the rest of the world, that report was gospel.

To me?

It was a blatant lie.

She could be all of those things, but she was not weak. Only a highly trained and skilled fighter could have executed the technical leverage she used on me last night.

She was hiding. She was operating under a carefully maintained facade so no one would notice her real skills.

The question was, who was she working for?

Was she a corporate spy sent by her family? Or was she working with her boyfriend? If she had a serious lover who protected her, why on earth would she volunteer to be a billionaire's surrogate?

I knew she was definitely here for a mission, so whatever Elena Stewart was hiding, I intended to uncover every piece of it.

“You... you really are awake?” she breathed, the words escaping her lips like a stunned exclamation. “So it wasn't a dream?!”

I rolled my eyes, leveling a lazy, piercing glare at her.

This girl had to be suffering from a severe sleeping disorder. How could she have zero memory of what had transpired last night? She actually thought it was an illusion.

What a joke.

“You thought it was a dream?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm, as if we were discussing the morning weather.

“You thought running your fingers through my hair and stealing a kiss from me was just a figment of your imagination?”

Elena bit her lip, her face instantly flashing a fierce, burning crimson. She looked down, completely paralyzed by guilt and embarrassment.

“No... not those parts,” she mumbled, her head hanging low.

I forced my aching body up, resting my back against the headboard. A sharp wave of agony shot through my fractured ribs, but I forced my expression to remain an impenetrable mask of stone.

I refused to let her see my weakness.

“You mean the part where you pinned me down, or the part where your hand brushed my dick?” I demanded, my voice cold and raw.

Her eyes flew open, her fingers frantically twisting the fabric of her velvet gown.

“No! Not that!” she gasped, the words flying out far too quickly.

She stared at me, her lips pressing into a panicked pout.

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to touch your... my hand...”

“Slipped?”

“Yes!” She nodded frantically. “But now that I know you're awake... let me go get the doctor.”

She spun on her heel, preparing to bolt for the double doors like a flash of lightning.

“Stop.”

A single, quiet command from my throat froze her in her tracks.

She turned around slowly, her shoulders rigid.

“I don't want a single soul knowing I am awake,” I stated flatly. “Not my parents. Not the staff. No one.”

“But... you don't look well...”

“If even a whisper of my recovery leaks outside these walls, I will make the person responsible pay with whatever is dearest to her.”

I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto hers.

“Do you know why I said her, Elena? Because it's you. I will make you pay with your life. And it won't be an easy death. I will personally ensure your body is sliced into tiny pieces and fed to the hounds.”

I reinforced the threat with a slow, invisible slicing motion of my hand, making sure every syllable sounded like a lethal promise.

Elena let out a faint, dry swallow. Pure terror flickered in her wide eyes.

“And do you know what I do to people who touch my hair without my explicit permission?”

I furrowed my brows, watching her tremble.

She shook her head, her breath catching.

I gestured with a sharp tilt of my chin for her to step closer. She dragged her feet across the marble like a prisoner walking to the gallows.

I leaned in toward her ear, noting how her entire frame went stiff.

“I personally chop off their fingers,” I whispered against her skin. “And I add them to my collection over there.”

I pointed a finger toward the far wall, where a shadow cut across a row of decorative, hook-like iron fixtures.

Elena's face went completely pale, entirely drained of color.

“I'm still waiting for the last piece to complete the set,” I murmured, locking eyes with her. “It might just belong to you.”

She let out a small, muffled shriek, violently shoving both of her hands behind her back to hide them.

“I trust my little explanation was perfectly clear?” I demanded.

She shook her head in panic, then quickly caught herself and nodded frantically.

“Good girl,” I muttered, closing my eyes and dismissing her.

---

ELENA’S POV

The moment he let me go, I didn't dare step anywhere near the bed.

I retreated to the absolute furthest corner of the room, pressing my back against the freezing marble wall and trying desperately to force air into my lungs.

My chest felt tight.

What I had brushed off as a vivid nightmare was a terrifying reality.

I had pinned the ruthless Vance heir to his pillows, violated the house rules, and touched his...

Oh, God.

Thank goodness he hadn't executed me on the spot.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I had just conversed with the devil himself.

What kind of human being collects the severed fingers of people who touch his hair?

I stood perfectly still in the shadows, observing him. His eyes were closed again, his face a flawless mask, but his threats continued to hammer against my skull.

I spent the rest of the day avoiding him as much as possible.

And when night fell, I didn't dare approach the mattress.

I gathered a spare blanket, made a crude little makeshift bed on the cold floorboards, and lay down.

But the chill of the marble seeped straight through the fabric. I tossed and turned, shifting from side to side, unable to find a single pocket of comfort.

“Get up.”

His raspy, deep voice boomed from the darkness beside the bed.

I tilted my head up, my eyes straining through the gloom.

“Sleep on the bed,” he commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. “If the maids or my parents walk in unexpectedly and find the chosen surrogate sleeping on the floor like a dog, they will know something is wrong. They will suspect a trap.”

I swallowed my pride and nodded.

Standing up, I neatly pushed the spare blankets into the corner and dragged my exhausted feet back to the massive mattress.

I climbed onto the mattress, keeping my weight entirely to myself. I lay at the absolute edge of the bed, ensuring a massive, safe distance remained between us.

I refused to let my body subconsciously wrap itself around him again.

---

NEXT MORNING

Through the haze of deep sleep, the blurry images of two men slowly materialized in the room.

One was dressed in a pristine, sharp black suit; the other wore a white lab coat over a dark shirt and jeans.

They were walking directly toward the bedside.

Panicked realization slammed into my brain, and my eyes flew wide open.

My breath caught, fleeing straight down into my stomach the exact moment I realized my current position.

The safety distance was gone.

I was completely, utterly wrapped around Ethan.

My head was resting squarely on his bare, solid chest. My legs were thrown carelessly over his lap.

But the absolute worst, most terrifying part?

My right hand was buried deep inside his thick, dark curls.

I had a literal, massive handful of his forbidden hair gripped tightly between my fingers.

Slowly, I raised my eyes to his face.

Ethan was fully awake.

His expression was completely blank, carrying an indifferent, unreadable look. His dark eyes dropped briefly to the hand tangled in his hair before returning to mine.

There was no need for a digital ledger to read the situation.

I was dead.