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Under The Billionaire's Spell

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Blurb

Camille Voss is determined to save Rosecliffe Manor, her crumbling family home, from ruin. Between mounting repairs and mysterious locked rooms her father warned her never to open, she’s overwhelmed—but unwilling to give up, especially to the cold, relentless CrossCorp empire.

When a dashing new renovation manager arrives, Camille hesitates but accepts his help. Cyrus Eddit seems skilled, resourceful, and too polished for small-town work—but she has no idea he’s really Nathaniel Cross, the billionaire determined to make Rosecliffe his own.

Disguised and working from the inside, Nathaniel plans to uncover the secrets hidden in the estate and get his father's name cleared from a conspiracy of the past. But as he grows closer to Camille, her passion and unwavering loyalty to her father’s legacy spark feelings he didn’t anticipate—and expose truths about the past neither of them are ready to face.

When Nathaniel’s deception comes crashing down, Camille must confront not just his betrayal but also the shocking truth buried within Rosecliffe’s walls. Can they rebuild trust on the ruins of their lies, or will they relationship come tumbling down before it even begin?

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Episode 1
The wind blew through the windows, rattling their old frames, as Camille Voss dragged a paint-stained rag across the floor of the parlor. The air was filled with the smell of oil paints. A half-finished canvas sat on the easel. She starred at the art critically, wondering if the lighting was all wrong—or maybe she’d just been staring at it for too long. A sharp knock at the front door echoed through the halls. She froze. No one ever knocked at Rosecliffe Manor. The old estate, was far from the main road, and wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled upon by accident. Camille straightened, grabbing a rag to wipe her hands. The knock came again—louder this time. She glanced at the clock on the mantle: 2:34 PM. “Alright, I’m coming,” she muttered, the sound of her voice oddly echoing the empty house. Her footsteps sounded against the floor as she made her way through the grand entry hall. The crystal chandelier overhead hung dusty and dim, its light long gone. Peeling wallpaper curled at the edges, and the distant echo of dripping water reminded her to check the pipes—later. She pulled open the heavy front door. Three men stood on the stone steps, their dark suits at odds with the color of the door. The man in the middle—a bald figure with a briefcase held in one hand—carried on a kind of smile that never reached the heart. “Good afternoon. Miss Voss, is it?” “Yes.” Camille’s gaze darted over the men. She didn’t recognize them, and that was enough to put her on edge. “Who are you?” “Apologies for the unannounced visit. My name’s Gregory Nash, CrossCorp’s real estate representative for this region.” He held out a hand, which Camille didn’t take. Nash cleared his throat, withdrawing it awkwardly. “We’re here to discuss your property—Rosecliffe Manor.” Camille tightened her grip on the edge of the door. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not selling.” “Miss Voss, we haven’t made an offer yet.” Nash’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his tone turned sharper. “May we come in? It’ll only take a moment.” “No.” The word came out, final. Camille lifted her chin. “I’m busy, and I’m not interested. You can leave whatever you need to say in a letter.” The two men beside Nash exchanged a glance. Nash tilted his head, his expression settling into something smoothe. “I appreciate your reluctance, Miss Voss. Truly, I do. But Rosecliffe Manor is... let’s say... a unique asset. There’s considerable interest in it. CrossCorp is prepared to—” “It’s not for sale.” Nash blinked as though he hadn’t heard her, as though people didn’t tell him no. He shifted his weight and forced a giggle. “I’m not sure you understand, Miss Voss. It would be in your best interest to consider this offer carefully. Very carefully.” There it was. The hint of pressure. Camille’s jaw tightened, and she leaned against the doorframe, her arms folding across her chest. She wasn’t someone to be forced to do something. “And I’m not sure you understand, Mr. Nah or Nassh, or whatever” she fired back. “Rosecliffe isn’t for sale. You, your men, and your shiny briefcase can turn around and head back to wherever you came from.” For a second, Nash’s smile flattered. The two men behind him shifted again, restless now, as if they’d been expecting a different kind of reception. “You’re making a mistake,” Nash said finally, his tone cooling. “I’ll take my chances.” Nash starred at her for a long moment, as though he were trying to measure her resolve. Finally, he gave a nod and turned to go, but not before Camille caught the way his eyes flicked over the facade of the manor—a calculated glance. “This isn’t over,” he said over his shoulder, his voice just low enough for her to hear. The words settled in Camille’s brain like as she watched them descend the steps and disappear into a sleek black car parked just outside the gates. She closed the door firmly. Inside, the house seemed quieter than before, as though it, too, had been holding its breath. Camille turned the lock and let her hand linger on the wood for a moment, her pulse slowing, her mind racing. “Who are these people?” she whispered to herself. She hadn’t missed the name Nash had dropped—CrossCorp. It had been in the news more times than she could count, an empire in real estate and investment. The company belonged to them. The Cross family. Camille’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze darted to the grand staircase, to the upper floors where her father’s old study sat untouched. The family that had something to do with her father’s death. “Not now,” she murmured. She forced herself to turn away. ****************** The kettle let out a whistle, startling Camille from her thoughts. She jumped, blinking at the worn kitchen counter before shutting off the gas burner. She poured the steaming water into a chipped mug and set it on the table just as the familiar sound of boots mounting up the gravel path outside reached her ears. Camille frowned and moved to the window, peering through the faded lace curtains. Liam Hart was walking toward the front door, hands stuffed into his leather jacket pockets, his golden hair rough from the wind. He stopped short, looking up at the manor as though he expected it to fall on him at any moment. Camille let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “About time,” she muttered. A moment later, the front door open, and Liam’s voice filled the hall. “Camille? You alive in here, or has this old house finally swallowed you whole?” She smirked, leaning against the kitchen doorway as he walked in. Liam looked just as he always did— easygoing, with a perpetual air of pleasure he reserved just for her. His brown boots were muddy, and his motorcycle helmet dangled lazily from one hand. “Don’t tempt it,” Camille shot back. “It’s feeling especially temperamental today.” Liam’s eyes softened when he spotted her. “You look tired.” “Thanks. Just what every girl loves to hear.” She turned, brushing past him into the kitchen. “Tea?” “Please. None of that paint-water you usually drink.” Liam followed her inside, sitting on one of the mismatched chairs around the kitchen table. His gaze moved around the room, stationed on the cracked ceiling and the peeling wallpaper. “You know, Camille, you might be the only person who actually lives like this and calls it ‘charming.’” “It is charming. Just misunderstood.” “Like you, then.” Camille shot him a look over her shoulder but didn’t argue. She dropped a fresh mug of tea across the table and sat on the chair across him. For a moment, they sat in silence, the wind blowing faintly at the kitchen windows. “So.” Liam broke the silence. “You want to tell me why you sounded weird on the phone earlier?” Liam had been her childhood friend, ever since she started living with her father in Rosecliffe Manor. A house her father cherished with all his life. Camille paused, her fingers curled around the warm mug. “Those men came back.” Liam’s easy expression faltered, his brow raised. “What men?” “The CrossCorp agents. Or whatever they call themselves. They were here this afternoon. A real estate representative and two goons in suits.” Liam straightened in his chair, his jaw setting. “What did they want this time?” “What they always want—to buy Rosecliffe.” Camille took a sip of tea. “They said something about ‘considerable interest’ and how it would be in my ‘best interest’ to listen. They were pushy, Liam. Too pushy.” He exhaled sharply. “They threatened you?” “Not directly.” She hesitated, hearing Nash’s parting words echo in her mind. *This isn’t over.* “But it was clear they don’t plan to take no for an answer.” Liam’s hands banged on the table, his gaze darkening. “Camille, you need to be careful. These aren’t just overeager developers. CrossCorp doesn’t waste time on dead-end properties like this unless there’s something they really want.” “I know.” Her voice dropped, quiet but resolute. “That’s what scares me.” Liam leaned forward, his elbows braced on the table. “They’re vultures. You know what I’ve read about them—CrossCorp buys up estates and old properties, guts them, turns them into luxury houses no one from around here can afford. If they’re pressing this hard, it’s because Rosecliffe’s valuable. More valuable than they’re letting on.” Camille swallowed, her gaze dropping to the table. “It’s not just the money.” “What do you mean?” She hesitated, then she looked up. “My dad never wanted me to sell this house, Liam. He didn’t say why exactly, but he always told me Rosecliffe was important—that it had history, that it was worth protecting. He kept everything here so private. His study, his old journals…” She explained. “It’s like he knew something. And I—I don’t think it’s just about sentiment. Not for them.” Liam’s frown deepened. “You think it has to do with your dad?” “I don’t know.” Camille pushed back from the table, rising to pace the narrow kitchen. “But those men weren’t just developers. They knew things—about the house, about me.” “You should’ve called me sooner,” Liam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Camille, I get why you want to keep this place. I do. It’s your home. But if CrossCorp is sniffing around, there’s more going on here than they’re saying.” Camille stopped pacing, turning to face him. “I’m not selling. I don’t care what they’re hiding. I’m not giving up Rosecliffe.” Liam shook his head. “I know you’re not. That’s what worries me.” She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak, a noise echoed from somewhere deep within the house—a low, distant, like a door closing far away. Both of them froze. “Did you hear that?” Liam asked, his voice low. Camille’s heart raced. “Yeah.” The two of them stared at each other, unmoving, as the silence in the house seemed to stretch and thicken around them. “Is someone else here?” Liam whispered. “No,” Camille said quickly, though her pulse rised. “No one but us.” She glanced toward the hallway that led to the grand staircase, a shadow longing on the walls of the hall…… Camille starred at Liam, completely scared. “I have never been this scared and I have lived in this house for years” “I told you this house was not charming at all” Liam said as they both walked closer to the hallway. “Will you come to my house tonight” He asked and she nodded innocently. Just as they turned to the grand stairs, a figure came from behind and startled them, They both looked on in shock “You,”

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