Chapter 7
2037 Words
His words sent shiver racing down my spine. The heavy certainty in his voice wasn't just a threat; it was a promise.
I gasped, yanking my hand out from under his grip. I pushed my feet against the floor, rolling my office chair backward so hard it slammed into his legs. I scrambled up, putting the chair between us like a shield. My chest was heaving.
"Don't do that," I snapped, my voice shaking. "Don't touch me like that."
Grayson didn’t even flinch. He stood perfectly still, his body dominating the space between us. His dark eyes never leaving mine.
"Like what, Belle?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
"Like... like I belong to you!" I yelled, though I kept my voice as hushed as I could, terrified of the empty echoes of the floor. "I signed a contract to be your assistant, Grayson. That is all. I am here to type your emails, organize your meetings, and pay off a fabricated debt. I am not your toy."
Grayson’s jaw tightened. The amused smirk vanished, replaced by a dark, predatory look that made me want to take a step back.
"You aren't a toy," he said softly, setting his glass down on the edge of my desk. He took a step around the chair. I immediately took a step back, my spine hitting the cold glass wall of the office. "You are my entire world. You always have been. And now that that damn piece of paper doesn't say we're siblings, I don't have to hold back anymore."
"You are insane," I breathed, wrapping my arms around myself. "You spent years pretending to be my brother!"
"I spent years protecting what was mine," he corrected fiercely, stepping right into my space again. He planted his hand on the glass wall right beside my head. "And I will spend the next fifty making sure you never leave my side. Finish up. We're going home."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel, grabbed his suit jacket from his office, and walked toward the private elevator. I stood frozen against the glass for a long, heavy minute, trying to steady my breathing before I forced myself to sit back down and finish the damn data entry.
Saturday morning at the Jones estate was a completely different kind of hell.
Without the distraction of the office, the reality of my isolation began to crush me. I woke up at nine, the house eerily silent. I sat up on my bed and pulled my phone from my nightstand.
There were three missed calls and four text messages. All from John
John: Belle, what’s going on? You haven't called.
John: Did you see your parents? Are you coming back to London next week?
John: Call me. I’m starting to get worried.
A painful lump formed in my throat. John was my anchor in London. We had worked together at a small marketing firm, and when I was drowning in the trauma of escaping my overbearing family, he was the one who bought me coffee, made me laugh, and helped me find a apartment. He was a sweet, normal guy with a normal family.
I couldn't tell him the truth. If I told him I was trapped by a billionaire psychopath who used to be my brother, John would do something stupid like fly out here and try to rescue me. And Grayson would obliterate him. I had seen him destroy a senior executive's fifteen-year career in sixty seconds; I couldn't imagine what he would do to a guy he could viewed as a rival.
I quickly typed out a lie.
Me: Hey John. I’m so sorry. Things are crazy here. A lot of family drama. I’m safe, just overwhelmed. I might be stuck in the city longer than I thought. I’ll call you later today.
I hit send, feeling like a complete coward, and tossed the phone onto my bed.
I needed coffee. I threw on a pair of comfortable jeans and an oversized sweater, desperate to feel normal, and ventured out of my room.
When I reached the formal dining room, the suffocating atmosphere hit me instantly.
Eleanor was sitting at the table, holding a silver spoon. Sitting next to her, looking absolutely miserable, was Iris.
Iris was wearing a stiff, incredibly formal tweed dress that looked ridiculous on a Saturday morning. In front of her were three different bowls of soup, an array of complex silverware, and a towering stack of thick etiquette books.
"No, Iris," Eleanor sighed, rubbing her temples.
"The soup spoon goes outward. You sweep it away from you, not toward you. We have the annual gala in two months. You cannot eat like a stray dog in front of the mayor."
Iris slammed the silver spoon down, her face turning red. "I'm not a dog! I just don't see why it matters how the soup gets into my mouth!"
"It matters because you are a Jones now,"
Eleanor snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. "And Jones women do not slurp."
I walked over to the sideboard to pour myself a cup of black coffee from the carafe. The moment Iris saw me, her expression morphed into a nasty sneer.
"What is she doing here?" Iris demanded, pointing a finger at me. "Shouldn't the hired help eat in the kitchen with the rest of the maids?"
I paused, the hot coffee steaming in my mug. I slowly turned around, leaning my hip against the sideboard. I was exhausted, stressed, and entirely out of patience.
"Good morning to you too, Iris," I said flatly.
"And for the record, I'm the CEO's personal assistant, not a maid. Though considering you can't even figure out how to use a spoon, I suppose big words might confuse you."
Iris gasped, standing up from her chair so fast it scraped against the floor. "How dare you! Mom, tell her to leave! This is my house!"
Eleanor looked at me, her eyes cold and disdainful. "Belle, go to your room. It is highly inappropriate for you to be lingering in family spaces."
"Actually, she will sit exactly where she wants."
The deep, commanding voice came from the archway. Grayson stepped into the dining room, dressed casually in black slacks and a dark fitted henley that hugged every muscle in his chest. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, falling messily across his forehead, making him look dangerously rugged.
The air in the room instantly froze.
Grayson ignored Eleanor and Iris completely.
He walked straight over to me at the sideboard. He took the coffee mug right out of my hands, took a slow sip from the exact spot where my lips had just touched, and set it down.
"You didn't eat dinner last night," he murmured, his back completely turned to our mother and Iris. His dark eyes scanned my face, taking in the dark circles under my eyes. "You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry," I whispered, acutely aware of Eleanor and Iris watching us in stunned, horrified silence.
Grayson didn't care. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing against my cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. It was an incredibly intimate, tender gesture that made my heart do a painful flip in my chest.
"Sit," he ordered softly.
He placed a hand on my back and guided me toward the table. But he didn't point me to the far end. He pulled out the chair directly to his right—the seat of honor.
I sat down, feeling my cheeks burn under Eleanor's furious gaze. Grayson sat next to me. He completely ignored his own empty plate, reaching over to pull a silver platter of fresh fruit and pastries toward us. With terrifying domesticity, he began placing strawberries and a croissant onto my plate.
"Grayson," Eleanor finally spoke, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "This is absurd. She is a fraud. You cannot parade her around this house like she belongs at this table!"
Grayson slowly stopped what he was doing. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in his tone made the hair on my arms stand up.
"Mom," Grayson said coldly. "If you ever speak about Belle like that in my presence again, I will have your belongings packed and shipped to a very small, very cheap condo on the outskirts of the city. Do not test me."
Eleanor's mouth snapped shut. She looked absolutely terrified. Iris shrunk down in her seat, her eyes darting between Grayson and me with a mix of jealousy and fear.
"Eat," Grayson murmured to me, entirely unfazed by the bomb he had just dropped.
I picked up my fork with shaking hands. I took a bite of the croissant, the buttery pastry tasting like bitter. I was protected, yes. But being protected by a monster didn't make me safe. It just made me his.
By two in the afternoon, the walls of the my room felt like they were closing in on me. I needed air.
I slipped out the French doors of the sunroom and walked out into the sprawling, multi-acre estate gardens. The landscaping was immaculate. High hedges, blooming rose bushes, and stone fountains scattered across the perfectly manicured lawns. It was beautiful, but today, it felt different.
I walked until I reached the furthest stone bench, hidden away behind a willow tree. I pulled out my phone and dialed John's number.
He answered on the first ring.
"Belle! Oh my god, finally," John's voice crackled through the speaker, with relief.
"Are you okay? Your text sounded weird. What's going on?"
Hearing a normal, friendly voice almost broke me. Tears pricked my eyes, and I had to cover my mouth to stifle a sob.
"John," I whispered, looking around the empty garden to make sure I was alone. "I'm in trouble. Everything is completely messed up."
"What? What happened? Did your parents do something?" he demanded, his protective instincts flaring up.
"They aren't my parents," I choked out. "There was a mix-up at the hospital. They found their real daughter. I'm... I'm their daughter anymore, John. I don't belong here."
"Holy s**t," John breathed. "Belle, I'm so sorry. That's insane. Look, pack your bags. I'll buy you a ticket right now. Come back to London. You can stay at my place as long as you need."
"I can't," I cried quietly, a tear slipping down my cheek. "They drafted a lawsuit for all my childhood expenses. Millions of dollars. If I leave, they'll have me arrested for fraud and debt evasion."
"They can't do that! That's illegal!"
"They have the best lawyers in the country, John! They can do whatever they want. But... Grayson stopped them."
"Your brother? Well, that's good, right? He's helping you?"
I let out a wet, bitter laugh. "He's not my brother anymore. And he's not helping me. He paid the debt, but he forced me to sign an employment contract. I'm legally bound to work for him, live in his house, and... John, he's keeping me here. He won't let me leave. He’s obsessed."
The line went dead quiet for a few seconds.
"I'm flying out there," John said, his voice dropping into a deadly serious tone. "I'm coming to get you out of that house."
"No!" I panicked, my grip on the phone tightening. "John, no! You don't know who he is. You don't know what he can do. He destroyed people in the past just for talking to me. If you come here, he will ruin your life, your family, everything! Please, just stay away!"
"Belle, I am not leaving you trapped with a psycho—"
Snap.
The sound of a twig breaking behind me made my blood freeze in my veins.
"I have to go," I whispered frantically, and hung up the phone.
I slowly turned around on the stone bench.
Standing ten feet away, perfectly framed by the weeping willow branches, was Grayson. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, but his dark eyes were completely dead.
He stared at me with an expression so cold it felt like physical ice against my skin.
He had heard everything.
- Writer
