Chapter 4: The Forbidden Wing

Elena’s POV

By midnight, the giant mansion is completely quiet. It is the kind of scary silence that makes the air feel heavy and hard to breathe.

I sit on the edge of the green velvet sofa in my suite, wrapped in a dark robe. The fireplace is almost out, leaving only glowing red logs that throw long shadows across the walls. Outside, the London mist turns into a heavy, pouring rain that beats hard against the large glass windows.

But it is not the sound of the storm keeping me awake. It is the steady, heavy sound of boots walking across the courtyard.

The noise comes from the forbidden East Wing.

For two hours, I watch the dark windows across from mine. Every few minutes, a heavy machine makes a low buzzing sound, and then I hear the uneven thud of Alexander Sterling’s boots. He sounds like a trapped animal walking back and forth inside a cage.

“What is he hiding over there?” I whisper to myself.

The question burns in my chest, and my fear cannot stop me. If I am going to stay alive in this house, I must know the truth. Alexander Sterling owns my father’s entire business. That means my grandmother’s survival depends completely on his mercy.

My mind flashes back to the terrifying fifty-thousand-pound medical debt hanging over my head. I have to look into his secrets if I want to find a way to secure her freedom.

I slip off the sofa. My bare feet make no sound against the cold wooden floors. Quietly, I turn the heavy brass handle of my bedroom door and look out into the hallway. The long corridor is pitch black, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning through the high windows.

I step out into the darkness.

My heart beats wildly against my ribs like a trapped bird as I walk through the quiet maze of the mansion. I reach the giant front hall, and the black marble floor feels like ice against the bottom of my feet. I look up the grand staircase. To the right is safety. To the left, the forbidden East Wing waits like a dark cave.

"The greenhouse is your only boundary, Alyssa," Alexander’s scary warning echoes in my ears. "Do not let my staff catch you playing in the mud... Do not make your strange behavior a topic of gossip."

I take a deep breath, picturing my grandmother’s gentle smile in her hospital bed. I must do this for her.

I cross over into the East Wing.

The air feels completely different here. It does not smell like wood and tobacco like the front hall. Instead, it smells sharp and clean, like a hospital room. The walls are totally bare, with no paintings on them at all.

I creep down the long hallway, running my hand along the cold wall until I reach a giant set of dark wooden doors at the very end. The doors are slightly open, and a thin line of dim yellow light spills out onto the dark floor.

Suddenly, the sound of a rough, heavy gasp comes from inside the room.

I hold my breath. I lean my forehead gently against the cold wood of the door and look through the narrow crack.

The room is a massive private study, but it looks like a war zone. Glass bottles lay shattered on the expensive rug, and spilled liquid soaks into the fabric. Books are ripped from the shelves and thrown all over the floor.

In the center of the room, sitting on the edge of a large leather chair, is Alexander Sterling.

My breath stops in my throat. I must slap my hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming out loud.

He unbuttons his dark shirt completely, and the fabric hangs loosely off his massive, broad shoulders. But his mask is gone. The hard black mask lies discarded on the floor, shining coldly under the dim light of a single desk lamp.

For the first time, I see his true face.

Alexander Sterling is breathtakingly handsome. His features are sharp, with a straight nose and a strong, square jaw. His thick, dark hair is wet with sweat, falling over his forehead in wild curls.

But the tragedy on his face is undeniable. A thick, jagged, silver scar tears down the left side of his face. It starts just above his eyebrow, slices through his cheek, and drags down to the edge of his jaw. The skin around it looks discolored. It is a permanent reminder of the terrible accident that ruined his life years ago.

Right now, he is not the ruthless, terrifying CEO who rules a business empire. He looks completely broken by a pain I cannot understand. His hands dig into his hair, his chest moves up and down as he gasps for air, and his teeth are bared in pure agony.

"Get out of my head," he growls, his voice raw and shaking. "Get out."

He reaches for a glass on the side table, but his fingers shake so violently that the crystal slips from his hands, shattering against the floor. He lets out a low groan and leans forward, pressing his forehead against his hands.

My heart aches with a sudden wave of pity. The world fears this man as a beast and a monster who crushes his enemies without mercy. But sitting here in the dark, bleeding from unseen emotional wounds, he is just a human breaking under the weight of his own scars.

Without thinking, my fingers shift against the wooden door.

The wood creaks.

Alexander’s head snaps toward the door. The desk lamp shatters, plunging the study into total darkness.

A violent rush of movement. The double doors explode open.

A massive hand shoots out of the shadows, fingers crushing my arm. He yanks me inside. The doors slam shut like a prison gate.

My back hits the wood hard. His chest heaves against mine, breath scorching my ear.

“You,” he hisses. His grip tightens, fabric tearing under his fingers.

“I give you your boundaries.”

“I give you your garden.”

“And you sneak into my wing to spy?”

My lip trembles. Relief flickers — he doesn’t know I saw his face.

“Alexander, please—” The words slip out, soft, real.

His teeth grind. His wrist pins mine flat against the door.

“You break my contract, Alyssa.”

“And the price for breaking promises in this house—”

His voice drops lower, colder.

“By morning, your father’s company will belong to the banks.”

“Your family name will rot in the dirt.”

The storm pounds against the windows. Shattered glass glitters faintly on the rug. His breath scorches my skin. His grip trembles with fury.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t destroy you.”