Chapter 4

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, the screen’s harsh glare cutting through the darkness like a blade. 5:14 AM.

I let out a long, shaky breath, knowing sleep was a lost cause. My skin still felt sensitized, the phantom weight of Ethan’s hands from the dream making the silk of my nightgown feel like sandpaper.

I began to scroll aimlessly, the blue light reflecting in my eyes. My contact list was a graveyard, so I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. After Sarah died, I had systematically cauterized my social life, cutting off anyone who reminded me of the girl I used to be before I became a woman fueled by ranger and consumed by anger. Depression had made me a ghost, and I’d let the world forget me. Only Emerald, my closest friend remained. 

I stared at her name in my recent messages. She’d sent three texts yesterday, all variations of “Where the hell are you?” and “Call me, Claire, I’m worried.” I didn't reply, not that I could. Emerald was loud, bright, and dangerously perceptive. If I let her in, she’d see the mess I was making of my soul, and I couldn't risk her getting caught in the crossfire of the Vale family’s secrets.

I kept scrolling through old photos and meaningless news until the first grey light of morning began to bleed into the room.

The routine of the house took over with a mechanical, cold precision. A knock at the door at 8:00 AM signaled the arrival of breakfast, poached eggs, pancakes, nuts, a bottle of yoghurt and fresh fruit which I shared with Leo. He seemed quieter than usual, his movements sluggish, but I was too buried in my own head to see the warning signs.

By 9:00 AM, I was back at my desk to begin work.  An email from Ethan was already waiting, its tone as clinical as a surgical strike.

FROM: E. VALE

SUBJECT: 1890 LAND GRANTS VERIFICATION

Collins,

Review the 1890 land grant ledgers for the northern coastal properties. There are discrepancies in the original signatures. I need a full cross-reference by 6:00 PM.

Do not leave the sub-level unless summoned!

It was another ancient work, he was keeping me buried in the past so I wouldn't have time to look at his present. I worked until my eyes ached, the dust from the old ledgers making my throat feel tight. I submitted the collected data afterwards and got no reply from him, I guess there were no errors. 

Lunch came and Leo and I ate, enjoying every bit of it. At least there was one good thing about this house, the food. The rest of the day went by and soon it was evening, shifting the atmosphere of the room. 

Leo didn't want his dinner, he literally pushed away the roasted chicken, his small face flushed a deep, worrying crimson.

"Mommy? My throat hurts," he whispered, his voice sounding like it was being pulled over broken glass.

I touched his forehead and was nearly recoiled by the way he was burning.

"Oh, baby," I breathed, panic rising in my chest like a cold tide. I checked my small travel bag, nothing but a few Band-Aids and some expired aspirin. No child’s fever reducer, absolutely nothing for the rasping cough that was starting to shake his small frame.

“Oh my god!” I muttered as frustration sets it. “What am I supposed to do right now.” I paced around, hitting the floor hard with my feet before walking to the bathroom and soaking a small towel with cold water. 

“Come baby.” I said as I walked up to Leo who just laid down, quietly watching me. I rested the towel on his forehead and hugged him to my bossom tightly, perhaps the heat from my body would be of help. But nothing. 

I looked at the door, I was supposed to stay in the room. But I couldn't sit here and watch him bake from the inside out. Soon he was dozing off to sleep and I decided to wait a bit to see if the fever reduces. 

I waited until 2:00 AM, hoping the house would be dead. He was still burning and I needed ice to bring his temperature down and, if I was lucky, maybe a first-aid kit from the kitchen. I slipped out of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The house was a labyrinth of shadows. I made it to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the cold tiles. I reached for the industrial freezer, my hands shaking as I fumbled for an ice pack.

"And what do you think you’re doing?” 

I jumped, nearly dropping the ice. Mrs. Holloway was standing in the doorway, her robe cinched tight, her face a mask of disapproval.

"He has a high fever," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just need ice."

"Illness is a liability, Miss Collins," she said, her voice a low hiss. "If the child is a health risk, Mr. Vale will not tolerate his presence. You were hired to work, not to run a nursery for a sickly brat. If he isn't better by morning, I will have to inform Mr Vale that you are unable to fulfill your duties."

"He’s a child!" I snapped, my fear turning into a jagged, defensive anger.

"He is a distraction," she countered. "Get your ice and go back to your hole."

She disappeared into the shadows, leaving me trembling with rage. I turned back to the freezer, my vision blurring with tears of frustration. I couldn't lose this job. At least not now. 

I grabbed a bowl of ice cubes, my knuckles white.

"Ice won't break a high fever."

The voice came from behind me, but it wasn't Holloway’s. It was deeper, richer, and it sent a familiar, terrifying jolt through my body.

I turned around to see Ethan standing by the large island, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing a jacket, his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair messy in a way that made him look inhuman and dangerously approachable. Or maybe a titan or a man deprived of sleep.

"He's burning up," I whispered, the fight suddenly draining out of me. I felt small, exhausted, and desperately out of my depth.

He set his glass down and walked toward me. He didn't stop until he was standing in my space, his heat radiating off him. He reached out, his hand hovering near mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to touch me.

Instead, he took the bowl of ice from my shaking hands.

"Go back to your room, Claire," he said, his voice firm. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"What? No, you can't."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion," he said, the billionaire mask sliding back into place, but his eyes were fixed on mine with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "Go. Now!"

I fled back to the sub-level, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. Five minutes later, the door opened and Ethan walked in, carrying a small medical bag and a basin of cool water.

He didn't say a word to me, he just walked straight to the bed where Leo was whimpering. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and I watched, frozen, as the monster of my nightmares gently pressed a cool cloth to Leo’s forehead.

Ethan’s large hand looked massive against Leo’s small shoulder, but his movements were precise, almost tender. He administered a dose of liquid medicine, his eyes focused entirely on the boy.

"His breathing is shallow," he murmured, more to himself than to me.

"I didn't know who else to ask," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He stood up, turning to face me. The room felt tiny with him in it. The tension from the dream, the tension from the library, it all came rushing back, colliding with the raw vulnerability of the moment.

"You should have asked for help immediately," he said, stepping closer. He looked down at me, his gaze tracing the tired lines of my face, the mess of my hair. 

"Because I don't trust you," I said, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.

He let out a low, dark chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear on my cheek I didn't even know had fallen. The touch burning hotter than Leo’s fever.

"Smart girl," he whispered, his face dipping toward mine. "Don't ever stop being afraid of me, Claire. It's the only thing keeping you safe."

He was so close I could taste the bourbon on his breath. My heart was a frantic drum, and for a heartbeat, I wanted him to close the distance between us, forgetting why I was here in the first place. 

But then, Leo let out a small, soft sigh in his sleep, his fever finally beginning to break.

Ethan pulled back, his expression snapping shut like a vault. He picked up his medical bag and placed it on the dresser before moving toward the door.

"Stay with him," he said, his hand on the handle. "You're off duty tomorrow. Don't let me see you outside this room until he’s recovered."

He left without looking back, leaving me alone in the dark with my sick nephew and a realization that terrified me more than any threat.

Maybe I didn't just want Ethan Vale’s ruin, I wanted him too. 

The heavy oak door clicked shut with a finality that made the room feel suddenly, chillingly empty.

I slumped into the chair beside Leo’s bed, my bones feeling like they were made of lead. I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the medicine finally doing its work. My mind was a battlefield, replaying the way Ethan’s thumb had brushed my skin, the warning in his voice, and the terrifying realization that my hatred was being swallowed by a much more dangerous hunger.

I set a timer on my phone for an hour, his instructions was for me to give Leo the liquid again after sixty minutes. He had left the small black medical bag sitting on the edge of the dresser, a silent reminder of …

“Of nothing Claire. Focus!” I scolded myself and hit my head. 

The hour crawled by, every creak of the old estate felt like a footstep, every shadow seemed to move. When the timer finally vibrated in my palm, I stood up, my legs trembling with exhaustion. 

I reached for the medical bag, unzipping the main compartment and looking for the bottle of child-strength aspirin Ethan had pointed out. But as I pulled the bottle out, my fingers brushed against a crinkling square of foil. I pulled it out, and the air left my lungs for an entirely different reason.

It was a condom. The sleek, gold packaging of an expensive brand caught the dim light of the bedside lamp, mocking me. My stomach did a violent, nauseating flip. I stared at it, the plastic edges digging into my palm, as a wave of pure, concentrated disgust washed over me.

Images I didn’t want to see flooded my brain. Ethan in that same black silk robe, his large, powerful hands pinned against the headboard of a different bed, his dark eyes hooded with the same predatory hunger he’d directed at me, but focused on someone else. How many women had been discarded once he’d had his fill of their bodies?

Are you actually jealous, Claire? a small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of my mind.

"No," I hissed under my breath, shoving the foil packet back into the mesh pocket as if it had burned me. I wasn't jealous, maybe I was repulsed. I was a hunter, and he was the target but it shouldn't matter who else he was bleeding dry. 

But then a new, darker thought took root in my mind. What if he put the condom there as a deliberate and calculated act to get me?