Semua Bab Once His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake : Bab 71 - Bab 80

Chapter 71The morning after the pantry incident with Lucien felt like waking up inside a pressurized steam cooker. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that low, gravelly promise, The Fox always catches what he hunts. My skin still felt sensitized, the ghost of his knuckles tracing my jawline acting as a phantom itch I couldn't scratch.I spent an extra twenty minutes on my "Antonella" mask today. I added a slightly more severe line to my eyebrows and pulled my wig into a knot so tight it gave me a natural facelift. If I was going to survive a formal lunch with the entire Sterling clan and the insufferable Alaric Blackwood, I needed to be impenetrable. I needed to be a fortress in charcoal silk.The dining room of the Villa de Cristal was a cathedral of glass, overlooking the turquoise shimmer of the Mediterranean. It was the kind of room designed to make people feel small. Today, it felt like a stage.I stood by the sideboard, hands clasped over my white lace apron, the picture of

Chapter 73 The humid Mediterranean air had turned the Villa de Cristal into a shimmering, airless pressure cooker. It was 3:00 PM, the hour of the siesta, when the Sterlings usually retreated to their respective wings to dream of stocks and scandals. But for “Antonella”,the labor never ended. I had just spent the last two hours chasing Leo and Luna through the manicured gardens. My matriarch" uniform, the charcoal dress, the stiff apron, and the wig felt like it was made of lead. Sweat was pooling under the chestnut tresses, itching with a ferocity that threatened my sanity. My ribs felt bruised from the corset, and the silicone inserts I used to create a feminine bust were beginning to chafe against my skin like sandpaper. I needed a shower. I needed to be a man for ten minutes or I was going to snap. I retreated to my small, impeccably clean servant’s quarters in the North wing. I locked the door, or so I thought. The mechanism on these high-end Spanish villas was silent,

Chapter 75The morning air in Marbella was a shimmering veil of heat, but inside the *Villa de Cristal*, the temperature was dictated by the ice in the Sterlings' veins. I had spent the night in a state of vibrating alertness, the ghost of Lucien’s hands still etched into my skin. The "Navarino Spine" was becoming a cage I couldn't escape, and every time the floorboards creaked in the servant’s wing, I braced myself for the Fox to reappear.I returned to my quarters after the morning nursery rush, a whirlwind of Leo’s interrogations about the tensile strength of the villa’s glass and Luna’s demands for glitter toast only to stop dead at the threshold.On my small, scarred wooden vanity sat a vase. It wasn't just any vase; it was Baccarat crystal, likely borrowed from the main dining hall. And inside it was a cluster of Black Baccara roses, velvety, deep crimson blooms that looked like they had been dipped in wine and shadow.There was no card. There didn't need to be. The scent of t

Chapter 77The invite hadn’t been a request; it had been a summons, delivered on a heavy cream cardstock that smelled of Lucien’s signature vetiver and the quiet threat of a man who was beginning to enjoy the chase a little too much."Staff Appreciation Dinner. The Terrace. 8:00 PM. Dress: Formal."As Caleb, I knew exactly what "Formal" meant in the Sterling lexicon. It meant psychological warfare. As Antonella, it meant I was currently being poured into a vintage, midnight-blue silk dress that was clearly designed for a woman who didn't possess a ribcage or the internal organs required for basic survival."I am going to die," I wheezed to my reflection in the dim light of the servant's quarters. "I am going to pass out, and my last breath will be the scent of lavender starch and silicone."The dress was a masterpiece of constraint. The bodice was boned with the rigidity of a medieval fortress, pushing my compressed chest upward and cinching my waist into a shape that defied human bi

Chapter 79The infirmary wing of the Villa de Cristal was too quiet, smelling of sterile lemon wax and the faint, lingering scent of my own panic. I had been recovering in my quarters for three hours, buried under a mountain of heavy wool blankets that made the Andalusian heat feel like a personal purgatory.My faint in Leo’s room had been a stroke of desperate genius, but the consequences were proving to be a different kind of trap.I was currently horizontal, my chestnut wig slightly askew on the pillow, and my "Navarino Spine" screaming from the unnatural posture of "fragility."The door opened without a knock.I didn't even have to look to know the scent. Vetiver. Bourbon. Trouble."The doctor said it was a simple case of orthostatic hypotension," Lucien’s voice drifted across the room, silkier than the sheets I was tangled in. "But I think it was the sheer weight of your own legend, Antonella. The Granite Gal, felled by a ten-pound iron ball."I kept my eyes closed, letting out