AGAINST MY WILL WITH HIM

Episode 3

The morning after the deal, Sandra woke in a room that wasn’t hers. The sheer size of Williams’ mansion made her feel smaller than ever. Every corner was pristine, gleaming — cold, like the man who owned it. Even the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows seemed hesitant, shy, as though it didn’t want to intrude on this life she’d been forced into.

She sat on the edge of the massive bed, her fingers gripping the silk sheets, trying to ground herself. The events of the night before replayed in her mind: her father’s pleading, Williams’ calm demeanor, the unshakable reality that her life had been sold like a commodity. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she wondered if she could ever breathe normally again.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

“Ms. Wilson? Breakfast,” a polite, familiar voice said.

Sandra didn’t move. She wasn’t ready for anyone yet.

“Please,” the voice added gently, “it’s just breakfast.”

With a resigned sigh, she rose and followed the housekeeper into the dining area. The table was immaculate, set with silverware and fine china. A plate of eggs, toast, and fresh fruit waited for her — simple, domestic, normal. And yet, in this mansion, it felt like a trap.

As she ate, she heard the sound of polished shoes on marble floors. Her stomach knotted. He was awake.

“Good morning, Ms. Wilson,” Williams said, his voice calm, composed, almost gentle — and yet that same undercurrent of authority lingered, the one that made it clear he was in control.

Sandra looked up, meeting his piercing gaze for a heartbeat too long. Something flickered — an acknowledgment, a curiosity she didn’t understand.

“Good morning,” she replied curtly, cutting her eyes away.

He observed her as if studying a puzzle too complex for casual understanding. “Did you sleep well?”

“I survived,” she said, her tone flat, carefully measured. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing fear or weakness.

A faint smile curved his lips, subtle, almost imperceptible. “Survival is a start,” he said. Then, as if realizing how much power he had in this room, he added, “You’ll get used to it.”

Sandra’s fingers tightened around her fork. “I’ll never get used to this,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he leaned back slightly, eyes softening — just enough for her to notice. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But sometimes, we get used to things we thought we couldn’t survive. Then, later… we realize we can thrive.”

Sandra froze. There was something in his tone, an honesty that surprised her. She didn’t trust it. She wanted to, but her heart was still screaming that this man had taken everything she held dear.

And yet…

There was an undeniable magnetism between them, one she couldn’t ignore. Something in the way he observed her, careful but exact, made her skin prickle. Her pulse quickened. And though she wanted to look away, she couldn’t.

“I don’t need your philosophy,” she said sharply, her voice breaking through the tension before it could grow.

He smirked, a tiny, teasing curve that suggested he wasn’t offended, only entertained. “Noted,” he said simply. Then he straightened, turning his attention to something else — but Sandra felt the weight of his gaze linger on her as he moved.

The rest of the morning passed in strained silence. Williams’ every movement was precise, deliberate, and Sandra couldn’t help but notice — the way he poured coffee, the way he arranged his papers, the quiet strength in his presence. It was infuriating and strangely… magnetic.

At some point, she realized she was staring. She snapped her eyes to her plate, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

He gave her a look — not judgmental, not mocking, just curious, like he was reading her thoughts. It made her stomach flip. She wanted to hate him, to run, to refuse every inch of this new life. But part of her felt a pull she didn’t want to admit.

A single moment — a brush of hands as he handed her the sugar for her tea — sent a shock straight through her. The contact was brief, innocent in appearance, but charged with something neither of them were ready to name.

“Careful,” she said softly, her voice a little breathless.

“Careful?” he echoed, eyebrow raised. “I was merely passing the sugar.”

Sandra wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, wanted to tell him off. Instead, she picked up her cup, trying to steady herself. Her heart refused to obey reason.

Breakfast ended, and she excused herself. Alone in the hallway, she exhaled shakily. What was happening to her? She hated him. She hated him. And yet, that fleeting touch, that look, that quiet moment of understanding… it lingered in her mind.

Sandra clenched her fists. She would not — could not — let herself be drawn to him.

Not now.

Not ever.

And yet, somewhere deep in her chest, a spark had been lit.

A spark that refused to die.

Sandra stepped out onto the balcony, her chest still pounding. The cool morning air hit her face, trying to wash away the heat that had spread from her encounter with Williams. She pressed her hands to her temples, desperate for control, for logic, for anything to remind her that she hated him.

“Trouble thinking?” Williams’ voice came from behind, low and smooth, startling her.

She spun around, heart hammering. He leaned casually against the railing, hands crossed, but the way he looked at her made her knees feel weak. He wasn’t cold here. Not entirely. That piercing gaze… it was curious, sharp, and uncomfortably intimate.

“I… no. I mean—” Her words caught in her throat. She could feel him watching her, reading every flinch, every heartbeat.

“You’re tense,” he said simply, stepping closer. Closer than necessary. Her breath hitched. “Relax, Sandra. I won’t bite.”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “I… I don’t need you to tell me how to feel.”

He tilted his head, almost amused. “No, but you seem to be doing it anyway.”

Before she could protest, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was brief, almost casual — and yet it sent a shiver straight through her. Her breath caught, and she took an instinctive step back, only to feel the edge of the railing behind her. There was nowhere to go.

His gray eyes softened just a fraction. “Don’t step back,” he murmured. “You won’t break anything… except maybe me.”

Sandra blinked. Did he just…? Her pulse spiked. “Excuse me?”

“I said… don’t step back,” he repeated, voice lower now, almost a whisper, his words wrapping around her like a weight she couldn’t resist. “I like seeing you like this. Flustered. Unpredictable. Alive.”

Her stomach twisted. She hated how much those words affected her. She hated him. She hated how alive he made her feel.

And then, before her mind could protest, before she could shove him away or tell him to stop, he leaned in.

It was slow. Deliberate. Tentative, as if testing boundaries, testing consent, testing the air between them. Sandra’s eyes widened. Her heart thundered so loud she thought he could hear it.

His lips brushed hers lightly — a ghost of a touch — soft, electric, impossible to ignore. For a heartbeat, time stopped. The world outside the balcony faded, leaving only the warmth of him, the brush of his breath, the dangerous intimacy of the moment.

Sandra’s body stiffened. Part of her wanted to pull away. Part of her wanted to melt into him. She didn’t move.

Williams lingered just enough to make her feel every second, then pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. “That… was necessary,” he said softly, almost a murmur.

“I… I—” She couldn’t form words. Her throat felt dry, her knees weak, her brain refusing to cooperate.

“Relax,” he said, smirking just a little. “It’s just a kiss.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Just a kiss?”

“Just a kiss,” he confirmed, his tone teasing, but the intensity in his eyes made her doubt the casualness of it. “Although, from the way you’re looking at me… maybe it wasn’t so simple for you.”

Sandra swallowed hard, heart racing, cheeks burning. She wanted to hate him. She tried. But that single kiss — brief, teasing, electric — had already planted a spark she knew would grow.

And she hated that spark almost as much as she hated him.