Chapter 4 THE EAST SUITE

~ARIA~

Behind me, I hear footsteps rushing to catch up with mine before turning to see Mrs. Iyani closely at my back. Ugh, can't she take a break.

"Ma'am, I should help you get changed."

I take a step back, shaking my head. "No need for that, I've got it. But thanks for the spa treatment."

I hurry out of there before she can argue or come up with another excuse to follow me down the hall.

Damn it, I should have asked that woman for the way to the east suite because I am officially lost. Who wouldn't get lost in a five-story building situated on land big enough to house an entire community?

The place is completely ridiculous. It feels more like a giant museum or high-end hotel than an actual home where real people live. I've been turning left and right for what feels like ten minutes, and I swear I am just walking in circles at this point.

As I am deciding on my next move, wondering if I should just sit down on the fancy rug to wait for someone to rescue me, I perceive a scent that I have come to recognize as Adrian's. The distinct blend of cedar and spiced rain is unmistakable, rich and striking against the clinical air of the house.

Jesus Christ, Aria, where did that come from? Must be the cold water messing with my brain. The guy is an absolute monster, so why am I here evaluating his scent profile?

I shake my head, trying to clear the ridiculous thought from my brain. Before I can get lost again in my train of thought, his rich baritone voice interrupts me.

"What are you doing here?" he asks in that annoying tone of his.

He stands at the intersection of the hallway, looking down at me with his arms crossed over his chest like he is a king questioning a trespasser.

"Throwing a tea party. Sorry, invites only," I say in a neutral tone, matching his stare with my own. I wasn't going to let him see me sweat, even if my pulse is behaving erratically.

"What?" he asks, and for once today, he looks genuinely confused.

His eyebrows knit together for a split second. His lips part slightly. It takes him a second or two to realize what happened and slip straight back into his mask of coldness.

The brief flash of confusion is gone, replaced by that blank, immovable look he always wears when he wants to remind everyone that he is completely untouchable.

"I'm obviously lost, you fool, and would appreciate it if you would kindly show me the way to the God-damn east suite."

I hear a loud gasp from behind him, and that is when it registers that he is not alone. Looks like he is with his P.A. or something.

The poor man is standing there holding a stack of folders, his eyes wide with shock. He clearly can't believe someone has the guts to call his terrifying boss a fool to his face.

A sharp, rigid tension locks the side of Adrian's face, his skin tightening aggressively across his cheekbones. I can practically see the anger radiating off him, charging the chilly hallway with a heavy, suffocating pressure. But his voice remains chillingly level when he addresses the man behind him.

"Damien, show Mrs. Cole the way to the east suite. I've got some quick business to handle and will be back in a few minutes or so."

He then turns to face me squarely, stepping a little bit closer so that his shadow completely covers me, blocking out the corridor lights.

"Do not touch anything in that room until I come back. The room is mine."

He turns and leaves before I can fire off one of my smart-ass comments, his long strides taking him down the opposite corridor in a matter of seconds.

I turn to the P.A., who, by the way, possesses a sharp jawline, nice dark hair, and a neat suit that fits him perfectly. Seriously, what is wrong with my brain today? First Adrian, now his assistant.

I need to get it together. I am supposed to be miserable, not checking out the staff.

"Lead the way," I tell him.

Damien nods quickly, looking a bit nervous now that it is just the two of us.

He walks a few paces ahead of me, guiding me up a grand flight of stairs and down another long hall that seems much quieter than the rest of the house. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, probably terrified that if he says the wrong thing, Adrian will find out.

Upstairs in the east suite, Damien pushes open the door and mutters, "This is it," before turning to leave as fast as his legs can carry him.

The room is vast and sparse, carrying the clinical scent of industrial soap. There are no personal items anywhere, no clutter.

My eyes track the layout, noting how the space functions more like a secure archive. Heavy metal storage cabinets are bolted directly into the concrete framework of the wall, their dark surfaces reinforced with digital locks. It feels less like a bedroom and more like a high-security vault.

Water drips from my hair onto the rug, and that is when I remember I am still soaking wet. That witch Mrs. Iyani might as well have poured a whole barrel of water over my head during that spa routine.

My skin is freezing. The heavy fabric of the wedding gown is sticking to me, making me feel completely miserable. I can feel the damp lace dragging against my skin with every single movement.

I remember Adrian blabbering on about not touching anything in his room, but who cares. He thinks he can just order me around like one of his employees, but he will learn real quick that I don't follow his rules. Besides, I enjoy seeing him pushed to his limit.

I reach back and struggle with the zipper of the heavy wedding gown for a few seconds. Once it gives way, I peel off the fabric and fling it onto the floor right beside his nightstand.

It forms a messy, expensive white pile on the dark wood floor. He might as well use it as a doormat for all I care. Let his staff clean up the mess tomorrow morning.

I open his wardrobe, pulling the heavy doors open wide. Inside, everything is perfectly organized. Rows of black suits, white shirts, and dark coats hang in neat lines.

I skip past the fancy clothes and find a section with casual wear. I pick out one of his plain black t-shirts, then walk into the massive bathroom to grab a big, fluffy towel.

I use it to dry my body and hair, rubbing away the chill until my skin finally starts to recover from the frost.

Then I look at the wet towel in my hands, a wicked idea popping into my head.

I walk back into the bedroom and fling the wet towel directly onto his neatly made bed, right in the middle of the crisp sheets, just for the fun of it. Let's see how his orderly mind handles that when he gets back.

I slide into the t-shirt. It is huge on me, hanging loosely off my shoulders and reaching all the way down to my thighs like a dress.

The second the soft cotton touches my skin, the heavy cedar scent floods my senses, creating a sudden tightness in my chest that I don't want to admit to. I actively fight the feeling, reminding myself he is the cold-blooded captor who put my father away.

Exhaustion finally pulls at my limbs. My feet are absolutely throbbing from wearing those high heels all day, and my eyelids feel like lead weights.

After the train wreck of a day I've had—from the forced wedding to the freezing spa treatment and getting lost—all I want is to crawl under the covers and let sleep wipe the slate clean. I want to forget about this whole marriage for a few hours.

I take a slow step toward the edge of the mattress, looking forward to burying myself under the heavy blankets.

But I never make it to the pillows.

A sudden, icy jolt freezes me dead in my tracks, my hand stopping right as I go to lift the blanket.

Sitting on the nightstand, right next to where I threw my messy wedding gown, is a silver-framed photograph. It was partially hidden before, but now that the gown has shifted, it is staring right at me.

The face staring back at me steals the breath right out of my lungs.

It's Adrian, and he is laughing. Not a cocky smirk, and not a cold, calculated mask. It is a real, unscripted expression of happiness that reaches all the way to his eyes—a look he hasn't given me once since the moment we met.

He looks incredibly handsome, full of uncharacteristic vitality, totally different from the rigid man who just threatened me in the hallway. He looks truly, deeply happy.

Draped over his shoulder is a blonde girl, laughing right into his chest with an ease that screams intimacy. Her hand is resting flat against his shirt, and his arm is locked around her waist, anchoring her close to him like he never wants to let her go. They look perfect together, two people who belong in each other's arms.

The pieces violently slam together in my mind, the harsh reality hitting me like a physical slap to the face, leaving a cold, heavy knot in the pit of my stomach.

Vanessa.