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The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a neon, unforgiving green: 2:14 AM.
Gia turned over on the plush guest bed, the high-thread-count sheets of the Vance estate doing nothing to soothe the panic clawing at her chest. She was supposed to be asleep. Her best friend, Chloe, had been knocked out cold hours ago in the master bedroom down the hall. But Gia remained wide awake, her throat parched, her mind racing.
Tomorrow morning, the Vance Foundation Board would finalize her elite academic scholarship. For a middle-class girl from the outside, that scholarship wasn't just a piece of paper—it was her single ticket out of a life of crushing debt. One wrong move, one bad grade, or one slip in reputation, and the wealthy board members would strip it away without a second thought.
Giving up on sleep, Gia slipped out from under the duvet to get a glass of water, navigating the dark, minimalist concrete corridors of the luxury penthouse by memory.
She reached the top of the floating spiral staircase, intending to head down to the kitchen, when the heavy thud of the front entrance echoing from the foyer stopped her cold.
Gia froze in the deep shadows of the upper gallery, her hand gripping the cold steel railing.
Down below, the ambient security lights illuminated two figures stepping into the foyer. Even from the dark, Gia recognized him instantly.
Leo Vance.
Chloe’s older brother. At twenty-four, Leo didn’t just walk into a room; he commanded it. He possessed a devastating, sharp-jawed, dark-haired beauty paired with a calculated, ruthless arrogance that made him a lethal playboy. He was the golden heir to the Vance empire, and the exact kind of wealthy distraction Gia had sworn to avoid.
Tonight, a gorgeous woman in a micro-mini dress was clinging to his arm, her giggles muffled against his expensive tailored suit jacket. Leo’s tie was already loosened, his dark hair artfully disheveled.
"Leo, seriously, you're moving too fast," the woman purred, leaning into his chest.
Leo didn't laugh. He simply offered a slow, devastating smirk. "Then tell me to stop," he murmured, his deep, gravelly baritone vibrating right through the quiet penthouse.
From her perch in the dark, Gia felt a sharp spike of pure disdain. She despised everything he stood for. He treated people like temporary amusements. Yet, as she watched him gently guide the woman toward the eastern wing, his hand resting possessively on the small of the woman's back, Gia found herself completely paralyzed. A dangerous, intoxicating heat coiled deep in her belly. She couldn't look away.
Just before turning the corner, Leo paused.
Slowly, casually, his dark, piercing eyes drifted upward, sweeping over the dark gallery where Gia stood hidden behind the concrete pillars.
Gia stopped breathing, pulling herself back into the gloom. There was no way he could see her. She was shrouded in complete darkness. But for one terrifying, breathless moment, she felt entirely exposed under his gaze.
With a faint, knowing curve of his lips, Leo turned away, disappearing into his private quarters.
Gia slumped against the railing, her heart hammering against her ribs. She loathed him. She hated how he made her feel. Shaken to her core, she abandoned her quest for water and fled back to the safety of the guest room.
The next morning, the bright California sun poured through the kitchen windows, but it did nothing to ease Gia's nerves.
She sat at the marble island, trying desperately to focus on her digital textbook. Chloe sat next to her, animatedly scrolling through her phone. "I'm telling you, Gia, we have to go to the Alpha Chi party tonight. Everyone is going to be there."
"I don't know, Chloe. The scholarship board meets on Monday. I should study."
"Oh, please. Live a little," a smooth, mocking voice interrupted.
Gia’s spine went rigid.
Leo walked into the kitchen, wearing nothing but dark grey sweatpants. His chest was bare, showcasing lean, toned muscles. He carried the scent of expensive sandalwood soap and fresh espresso. There was no sign of the woman from last night.
"Listen to your friend, Gia," Leo said, his voice laced with a lazy, patronizing amusement as he walked behind the island. His eyes fixed entirely on her. "A little party might do you some good. Pull you out of those books."
Gia forced her gaze to remain steady, refusing to let his bare chest affect her. She channeled her anxiety into a cold smile. "Some of us actually have to work for our degrees, Leo. We don't all have futures handed to us on a silver platter."
Chloe gasped softly, looking between them.
Leo didn't snap. Instead, he let out a low, dark chuckle. He leaned over the marble counter, bringing his face dangerously close to hers, invading her personal space entirely. Up close, she could see the amber flecks in his dark eyes.
"Always so sharp," Leo murmured, his eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second. He reached out, his long fingers casually flicking a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. The brief touch felt like an electric shock. "Be careful, little girl. Play with fire, and you might just get burned."
He treated her like a child. A minor annoyance. Gia swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm not a little girl, Leo."
"Could've fooled me," he teased, straightening up and grabbing his espresso shot. He cast one final, unreadable look at her before walking out.
An hour later, Chloe left the penthouse to run a quick errand, leaving Gia alone. Unable to sit still, Gia walked down to the penthouse library to find a reference book for her presentation.
The library was quiet, lined with dark mahogany shelves. She found the book she needed on a high shelf, stretching on her tiptoes to reach it.
"Need some help?"
Gia spun around, her back hitting the bookshelf.
Leo was standing right behind her. He had changed into a black t-shirt, his massive frame completely blocking her exit. In his hand, he wasn't holding a drink or his phone.
He was holding a glossy folder. The official logo of the Vance Foundation Academic Board was stamped across the front in gold foil.
"What is that?" Gia asked, her breath catching.
Leo stepped closer, trapping her against the shelf. He slowly opened the folder, revealing her scholarship application, her transcripts, and her financial aid details. At the bottom of the page, a signature line was left completely blank.
"My father passed the board chair responsibilities to me this morning," Leo murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly, dangerous whisper as he leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Which means your entire future, your scholarship, and your ride at this university... requires my signature."
Gia's heart dropped into a bottomless pit of terror.
Leo reached out, his thumb firmly pressing against her bottom lip, tilting her face up to meet his dark, ruthless stare. "So tell me, Gia... are you still going to ignore me tonight?"
The three-quarter-inch steel leveling bolt on the north support frame of the soapstone heat-sink bench seized against its threaded iron socket with a dry, harsh clack that vibrated through the floorboards.Leo stayed braced on his knees in the narrow gravel aisle of the propagation greenhouse, his shoulder wedged beneath the three-hundred-pound slab of green Vermont soapstone. The March air inside the unheated glass structure was thirty-four degrees, smelling of damp potting soil, turned earth, and cold stone. Outside the glass panes, a raw spring drizzle was turning the gravel paths to thick mud. Sweat ran down the side of his neck under his unbuttoned grey flannel shirt, his dark beard wet with condensation, his forearms corded as he held the slab half an inch off its mortar bed."The leveling screw isn't cross-threaded, Leo!" Gia calle
The four-inch brass draw-off valve seized two threads short of the copper pan flange with a dry, metallic screech that echoed inside the unheated sugar-house.Leo stayed braced on his knees in the narrow gravel pit beside the brick evaporator arch, his shoulder wedged under the heavy maple-sap boiling pan to hold eighty pounds of copper off the firebrick lining. The February air inside the timber building was eighteen degrees, thick with the sharp smell of cold wood ash, wet pine kindling, and the sweet, crisp scent of raw maple sap stored in the oak barrels outside. Sweat ran cold down his ribs under his grey wool henley, his dark beard frosted white around his mouth, his forearms corded as he held the pan immobile."Don't force the brass collar, Leo!" Gia called out from the upper deck of the sugar arch.She crouched over the pan rim, holding a four-inch spanner wrench in her gloved right hand and a tin of graphite lead-sealant in her left. She wore her dark fleece-lined oilskin coa
The three-inch cast-iron V-roller on the mill carriage bound against the guide rail with a high, metallic shrieking sound that cut through the frozen air of the open timber shed.Leo held his stance on the frozen sawdust floorboards, both hands braced against the five-foot steel advance lever of the band sawmill. His heavy leather work boots were wedged against a frozen oak log to keep his feet from slipping on the icy floor. The January wind was howling out of the north at twenty miles an hour, driving fine, dry snow dust through the wall slats and coating his broad shoulders in white powder. Sweat had dried cold along his temples beneath his wool cap, his faded indigo work shirt dark with salt stains across his chest, his dark beard frosted white around his mouth."Stop the feed, Leo!" Gia called out from the head-block assembly.She stood three feet away on the steel carriage frame, holding a brass dial indicator in her gloved hand and a six-inch steel feeler gauge in the other. Sh
The three-eighths-inch galvanized turnbuckle on the solar kiln’s upper exhaust vent seized against its threaded rod with a dry, metallic shrieking sound that cut through the howling winter wind.Leo stayed wedged on his knees on the narrow pine staging plank inside the unheated timber frame of the drying kiln. His broad back was pressed against the double-pane polycarbonate roof panel, where half an inch of frozen sleet was already gathering. The air inside the chamber was fourteen degrees, smelling sharply of wet oak tannin, fresh pine resin, and cold iron. His grey wool henley was damp under his unbuttoned canvas work coat, his dark beard dusted white with wind-blown frost, his forearms corded with tension as he held an eighty-pound insulated cedar shutter panel suspended against the ceiling frame using a heavy iron prop-rod."The turnbuckle isn't thread-stripped, Leo!" Gia called up from the floorboards six feet below.She stood at the foot of the pine staging ladder, holding a fiv
The three-quarter-inch galvanized union nut bind-seized against the brass nipple with a dry, metallic shrieking sound that resonated up the copper coil.Leo stayed on his knees inside the tight timber shed behind the smokehouse, his right boot wedged into the gravel drain ditch to keep from sliding into the mud. The cold November wind was howling out of the north at thirty miles an hour, driving a freezing mixture of sleet and wet river silt straight through the open doorway. Sweat was drying sticky along his neck, his grey wool work shirt stained black with soot and lard grease around the elbows, his forearms corded with strain as he held a sixteen-inch pipe wrench on the lower manifold coupling."Don't force the thread, Leo!" Gia called out, crouching beside the cold-smoke generator box.She wore her dark canvas oilskin jacket over a maroon flannel shirt, her
The ten-inch cast-iron cleanout door dropped against the soot-caked granite frame with a short, metallic clink.Gia stayed on her knees inside the narrow ash pit beneath the primary evaporator arch, a heavy steel scraper wedged three inches deep into a hardened crust of creosote and oak ash. The air inside the unheated masonry cider-house was thirty-eight degrees, smelling of cold iron, damp slate, and sour apple pomace. Her dark blue wool work shirt was dusted grey across the sleeves, her canvas trousers caked with damp mortar dust at the knees, her leather work gloves stiffened by the frost blowing down from the ridge."The draft on the lower flue isn't drawing because the liner tiles shifted," Gia called up through the brick archway.Her voice sounded thin, echoed by the narrow stone chimney stack. She







