VENGEANCE IN HIS BED

Episode 6

ETHAN’S POV

The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my study felt like an interrogation. I stepped into the room, my head thumping with the rhythmic remains of the scotch, but it wasn’t the hangover that made me feel disorganized. It was the air that still smelled like her, that maddening scent of vanilla and defiance.

I moved frantically, my usual composure stripped away. "Where is it?" I hissed to the empty room, tossing papers aside on my desk.

The locket was the only piece of sanity I had left. I knew I had it yesterday, I remembered the cold silver against my palm before I went to check on the boy. I must have misplaced it here. I searched the drawers, the mahogany surface, even the floor, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure desperation. Without that silver heart, the ghosts of the past felt ready to swallow me whole.

My eyes snagged on the edge of the desk, the exact spot where I had pinned her.

The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. I could almost see her sitting there, her dress pooled around her waist, her skin glowing like amber in the low light. The s*x hadn't just been a release, it was electrifying. I remembered the way her perfectly round breasts had felt in my hands, the weight of them, the peak of her n*****s as I'd taken them into my mouth. I remembered the curve of her hips, the soft, yielding heat of her ass against my palms as I’d driven into her.

I’d had countless women, high-society mannequins, models and cold professionals, but none of them had been a forest fire. Hers was a chaotic, beautiful blaze. Her moans hadn't sounded like a performance but a complete surrender to me.

"What the hell was she?" I muttered, rubbing my face.

I knew she hadn't arrived at the Vale estate by chance. There were too many coincidences, too many sharp edges to her archivist persona. Yet, despite the suspicion, despite the fact that I felt nothing but cold calculation for the rest of the world, the s****l tension with her was so heavy I could barely breathe the same air without wanting to break her again.

I forced myself to stop, it was just s*x after all, nothing more. I really had to find the locket, I turned back to the shelves, my movements jagged.

Ping.

An email flashed on my monitor and I glanced at it. It was a reminder from my lead associate about the Pacific Heights Gala tomorrow night. I stared at the screen for a moment, and then brushed it off. I’ll get ready and head for work instead, maybe the distraction from the office is exactly what I need right now.

CLAIRE’S POV

I tried to lose myself in the land grants, focusing on the 1890 signatures, but the ink blurred into memories of Ethan’s hands. Every time I moved, the slight ache between my thighs reminded me of my betrayal.

"Mommy, look! I drew a star!" Leo shouted, tugging on my sleeve.

"It’s beautiful, Leo," I whispered, pulling him into my lap. Being with him always made me think of his mom, my sister.

Sarah had been my everything to me. Our parents died in an accident when I was twelve, and she’d stepped into the role of a mother, father, and protector without a single complaint. She was only twenty herself, but she’d worked three jobs to keep me in school. I remembered the smell of her kitchen on my birthdays, she couldn't afford a fancy gift, but she’d stay up all night baking a lopsided chocolate cake just to see me smile.

We used to go to the park on her rare days off, sit on the grass, watching other kids play, and she’d lean her head on my shoulder and say, "One day, Claire, we’ll have a garden of our own and have all the fun in the world"

She was twenty-six when they took her life, leaving me alone in a cold world with nothing but a baby and a heart full of glass.

I didn't realize I was crying until Leo’s small, warm hand reached up to wipe my cheek.

"Why you crying, Mommy?" he asked, his big eyes searching mine.

"I’m okay, baby. Just a little tired," I said quickly, sniffing and forced a smile. I couldn't let him see the cracks.

“Sad you mean?” He asked again, his soft eyes studying me. I just smiled and hugged him tight to my chest, I didn’t have to let him see through my sadness and worries.

A sound came at the door, so sharp and rhythmic. I stood up, smoothing my hair, and went to the door. Mrs. Holloway was standing there, a silver tray with our dinner in her hands. Her eyes were like needles, stitching over every inch of me. When her gaze dropped to the side of my neck, I felt my blood run cold.

I instinctively raised my hand, covering the dark, purple hickey Ethan had left there, a brand of my own foolishness.

"Dinner," she said curtly, handing me the tray. She didn't look away from my hand. "And a message from Mr. Vale. You are to accompany him to a Gala tomorrow night in the city."

I blinked, stunned. "A gala? But…”

"It wasn't a request, Miss Collins. It is a requirement of your 'specialized duties," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "The child will remain here, I will personally oversee his care."

"No," I protested, my voice rising. "I don't leave him with strangers."

"I am hardly a stranger, and this is final," she snapped, stepping back into the hall. "A dress will be sent down in the morning.

She turned and walked away before I could argue. I shut the door, dropped the tray before Leo and sank on the floor, my heart racing.

Going to a gala was something I never saw coming, It meant being in the spotlight and I didn’t want that. The benefactor’s message flashed in my mind. He wanted me to use Ethan, but what if I’m being used right now?

I looked at Leo, who was happily eating a piece of bread from the tray.

"This was a dangerous mission," I whispered to the empty room.

The rest of the night blurred and soon, Leo and I slept off.

***

The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon before the weight of the day settled on my chest. I stood by the small window of the sub-level, staring at the patch of grey sky visible through the reinforced glass.

"A gala," I whispered to my reflection. "Why me?"

I knew Ethan’s reputation. He was a solitary creature, a man who treated social obligations like irritants to be swatted away. He usually attended these high-society circuses alone or with a rotating cast of cold, professional associates. Bringing me, the 'archivist' from the basement wasn’t just out of character, it was a calculated move. Was it a punishment for the way I’d unraveled under him on that desk? Or was it a test?

“s**t!”

The morning was a slow crawl of anxiety. I spent every second with Leo, my heart aching at the thought of leaving him in Mrs. Holloway’s cold hands.

"Listen to me, Leo," I said, kneeling in front of him after a quiet lunch of tomato soup. "I have to go to work for a little while tonight, some big party. I need you to be the bravest boy in the world. Stay in this room. Don't play too loudly, and don't under any circumstances, go out into the hall or talk to anyone but Mrs. Holloway. Do you understand?"

Leo nodded, his eyes wide and trusting. "Will you bring me a cookie, Mommy?"

"I'll bring you ten," I promised, my voice cracking as I kissed his forehead.

At 3:00 PM, the door opened. Mrs. Holloway entered, followed by two staff members carrying garment bags and a velvet-lined box. She laid the dress across the bed as if she were laying out a shroud.

It was a masterpiece in midnight-blue silk, floor-length with a daring slit up the left leg and a back that dipped dangerously low. The shoes were silver stilettos that looked more like weapons than footwear, and the jewelry, a tear-drop diamond necklace with matching studs, glowed with a light that spoke of a price tag I couldn't even fathom.

"The beauticians will be here at five," Holloway said, her voice clipped. "Mr. Vale expects punctuality. Do not embarrass the house, Miss Collins."

The next few hours were a blur of shenanigans. I was poked, prodded, and painted. A makeup artist obsessed over the "smoky eye" look, while a hair stylist twisted my black curls into an intricate, sophisticated updo that left a few rebellious tendrils to frame my face. They worked with a clinical speed, ignoring my protests as they transformed the grieving, vengeful girl into a high-society siren.

At exactly 7:00 PM, a knock signaled my departure. I took one last look at Leo, who was tucked into bed with a book, and stepped out into the hall.

A sleek, black limousine was idling at the main entrance. The driver held the door open, and I slid into the cool, leather interior.

Ethan was already there.

My breath hitched as I took a full glance at him, he was wearing a custom-tailored black tuxedo that made him look like a god of the underworld. The white of his shirt was blindingly crisp against his tanned skin, and his hair was slicked back, highlighting the sharp, lethal angles of his jaw.

He didn't speak to me at all, he just looked at me. His gaze started at my heels, traveled slowly up the slit of the dress, lingered on the curve of my waist, and finally settled on my eyes. For a split second, I saw the same raw, carnal hunger from the night before, flashing behind the ice of his stare.

I’m not myself without Leo, my hands trembled in my lap and I wished I wasn’t going without him.

"The boy is safe! Ethan said, though he didn't look at me as he spoke. "Tonight, you will take mental notes of every name and every transaction mentioned, and you will never, not for a second, make me search for you. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," I bit out.

The drive to the city was a silent war of nerves. But in no time we arrived at a massive, glass-walled pavilion overlooking the California coast. The gala was a sea of excess. Crystal chandeliers hung from the rafters, reflecting off the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, wagyu beef appetizers, and the metallic tang of old money.

As we entered, a hush seemed to follow Ethan. He was a high-stake member of this elite circle, a man whose presence shifted the gravity of the room. Men in five-thousand-dollar suits bowed their heads, women in couture watched him with predatory eyes.

I stayed glued to his side, playing the part of the dutiful assistant. We moved through the crowd as he shook hands with governors and tech moguls. When we finally sat down at our table, he was called forth and recognized as a distinguished member. I barely ate, my stomach too knotted with nerves, but I managed a few bites of a lobster tartlet and a glass of vintage champagne that tasted like liquid gold. Ethan remained disciplined, carrying a single glass of champagne the entire night, barely sipping it.

Toward the end of the evening, a group of investors cornered him near the balcony.

"Wait here," Ethan murmured to me.

I stood by a marble pillar, feeling slightly exposed before a woman approached me. She was older, perhaps in her late forties, wearing a gown of sharp, emerald scales. Her eyes were clever and cruel. She didn't just look at me, she looked through me.

"A new one," she mused, sipping her drink. She leaned toward a younger woman standing beside her, but her voice was loud enough for me to catch every word.

"She’s the second archivist Mr Vale is employing, she’s pretty and he’s probably obsessed with her too.” the woman whispered, her lips curving into a jagged smile. She finally turned her gaze to me, her voice dropping to a chilling, conspiratorial tone. "Let’s just hope this one has a better exit strategy than the first.”

I didn’t fully understand what thy mean but the champagne suddenly turned to lead in my stomach. I looked across the room at Ethan who was laughing at something a colleague said, the picture of a perfect, powerful man. But as the words of the women continued to echoe in my head, I knew my sister’s death wasn’t the only thing he was hiding. And maybe I wasn't just his employee, but a repeat of a tragedy I didn't yet understand.