chapter 7

Sierra's POV

The air in the bathroom went still.

I felt him before I saw him—a shift in the steam, a warmth at my back that had nothing to do with the water. My heart stopped, then slammed against my ribs. Every muscle in my body is locked. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. If I turned, this would become real. If I turned, the last fragile boundary between us would dissolve.

The water beat down on my shoulders, but I felt cold. Exposed. My skin prickled with awareness. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that if I leaned back just an inch, I would be against his chest.

I held my breath.

Five years ago, I had let this man see every part of me. I had given him my body in a hotel room washed in a red light, thinking it was just one night. Thinking I could walk away and never look back. But here he was, in my bathroom, while I stood naked and trembling under the spray, my mind still tangled in memories of his hands on my skin.

My fingers curled against the tile. “Louis?” I whispered, the name feeling dangerous on my tongue.

No answer.

Slowly, forcing myself to move through the thickness of my own fear, I turned.

The bathroom was empty.

Just steam and silence and the relentless drum of water against porcelain.

I was alone.

A shaky breath tore out of me. I pressed a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. My knees felt weak. I leaned heavily against the wall, letting the water run over my face, trying to wash away the hallucination, the longing, the sheer stupidity of my own mind.

But it hadn’t felt like imagination. It felt real. The presence felt real.

“Get it together, Sierra,” I muttered, my voice trembling.

I shut off the water and stepped out onto the mat, wrapping a towel around myself tightly, as if it could hold me together. My reflection in the fogged mirror was a ghost of a woman with wide eyes and a racing heart. The woman who had slept with a stranger and ran before dawn. The woman who had raised his child in silence. The woman who was now living under his roof, pretending she was just the help.

A soft knock at the bathroom door made me jump.

“Sierra?” His voice came through, calm, low. “Breakfast is ready when you are.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Take your time.”

I heard his footsteps retreat.

He’d been outside the door. Not in the bathroom. Not watching me. But close. Close enough to knock. Close enough to remind me that he was everywhere in this house, in my head, in the space between every breath I took.

I dressed quickly in the simple black trousers and white blouse that had been left for me. The clothes fit perfectly, as though someone had measured me in my sleep. The thought made my skin crawl and my stomach flip at the same time. I braided my damp hair over one shoulder and avoided looking at myself in the mirror again.

When I stepped into the kitchen, he was at the island, scrolling through a tablet, a cup of coffee steaming beside him. He looked up, and his gaze swept over me, swift and assessing. There was no hint of the intensity from last night, no trace of the man who had handed me lingerie with a knowing smile. This was Louis Trevane, the billionaire. Composed. Untouchable.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

“Sit. Eat.”

On the counter was a plate of eggs, avocado toast, and fresh fruit. I hadn’t made it. He had.

I slid onto a stool, keeping a careful distance. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I wanted to.”

Silence settled between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. I picked up my fork, my appetite gone, but I forced myself to eat. The eggs were perfect. Fluffy, seasoned just right. Of course he could cook. Of course he was good at it.

“You’re quiet today,” he observed, his eyes still on his tablet.

“Just tired.”

“Bad dreams?”

My head snapped up. He was watching me now, his expression unreadable.

“Why would you ask that?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You called out in your sleep last night.”

Ice shot through my veins. “What did I say?”

“My name.”

The two words hung in the air between us, sharp and undeniable.

I put my fork down slowly. “It was just a dream.”

“Was it?” He set the tablet aside and leaned forward, elbows on the counter. The movement brought him closer. I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw. “Because the way you looked at me in the kitchen last night… that didn’t feel like just a dream, Sierra.”

My throat tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” His voice dropped, a low vibration that moved through me like a current. “You looked at me like you knew me. Like you remembered something.”

Panic clawed up my throat. He was probing, searching for cracks in my story. I dropped my gaze to my plate. “You’re my employer. I was nervous. That’s all.”

He didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, his tone had shifted, back to cool professionalism. “Your duties will start today. I have dinner tonight. Business associates. Six guests. I’ll need a four-course meal prepared. The pantry is fully stocked. If you need anything, let me know.”

I nodded, clinging to the normality of the task. “Of course. Any dietary restrictions?”

“None. Impress them.”

He stood, taking his coffee with him. “I’ll be in my study until noon. Don’t disturb me unless it’s urgent.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I released the breath I’d been holding, my shoulders slumping. The kitchen felt enormous and empty without him. I stared at my half-eaten breakfast, my mind racing.

He was starting to remember. Or at least, he was starting to question.

I couldn’t let him piece it together. Not yet. Not until I figured out how to tell him about Katie. Not until I knew whether he would hate me or hurt me or use his power to take her away.

I stood and carried my plate to the sink, my hands trembling. As I turned on the water, my eyes caught on a small security camera nestled in the corner of the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed it before. It was discreet, but it was there. Watching.

Was it always on? Did he watch the footage? Did he see me wander the house at night? Did he see the way I looked at him when I thought he wasn’t looking?

The thought made my skin crawl.

But another thought followed, dark and unwelcome. What if he wasn’t the only one watching?

Victor’s threat echoed in my mind. If you say a word to Louis, the child will die.

I shut off the water and gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles white. I was trapped in a beautiful, dangerous cage. With a man who was starting to see through me. With a threat lurking in the shadows. And with a secret that was getting harder to hide every second I stayed here.

I had to be careful. I had to be smart.

But as I turned and my eyes drifted toward the hallway where he’d disappeared, I knew the hardest part wasn’t the danger outside.

It was the pull inside. The part of me that wanted him to remember. The part of me that wanted to step out of the shadows and say, “It was me. That night was me. And the little girl you haven’t met yet… she’s yours.”

That part of me was the real threat.

And it was getting stronger every day