Chapter 5
2087 Words
The drive to the corporate headquarters of Jones Holdings was a masterclass in psychological torture.
I sat in the back of the sleek, blacked-out, pressing my shoulder as hard as I could against the door panel. I was trying to put as much physical distance between myself and Grayson as possible, but it was completely useless. His presence filled the confined space, heavy and suffocating, thick with the scent of him.
He didn't speak a single word the entire forty-minute commute. He just sat there, reading through a report on his tablet, looking completely unbothered. But I could feel his eyes on me.
Every time a streetlamp illuminated the interior of the car, I caught his dark gaze flicking over to my reflection in the window, tracing the line of my neck, the curve of my jaw. It made my skin prickle with hot, nervous energy.
When we finally arrived at the towering glass skyscraper that served as the brain of the family empire, the reality of my new life fully set in.
I was no longer Belle Jones.
Grayson’s executive suite took up the entire top floor of the building. And right in the center of it, directly in front of his double doors, was my new desk. It was completely surrounded by floor to ceiling glass walls.
It was a literal glass box.
"Your schedule for the day is on the monitor," Grayson said, pausing by my desk before heading into his own office. "You will screen my calls, organize my meetings, and take notes during the board review at two o'clock. If you need anything, my door is always open."
"Am I allowed to use the restroom, or do I need to submit a written request for that too?" I muttered, glaring at the keyboard.
Grayson chuckled. It was a dark, rumbling sound that made my chest tight. He leaned down, placing both hands flat on my desk, bringing his face inches from mine.
"You can go wherever you want on this floor, Belle," he murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips. "But remember, I can see you."
He walked into his office, leaving the heavy door wide open.
The next eight hours were pure agony. I tried to focus on the spreadsheets, the emails, and the endless ringing of the phone, but I was hyper-aware of the man sitting just twenty feet away.
Every time I glanced up through the glass, Grayson was already looking at me. He wasn't even trying to hide it. He would sit back in his chair, a pen loosely held in his fingers, just watching me type.
By the time five o'clock rolled around, my nerves were completely fried. I felt entirely drained, like a deer that had spent all day pretending the wolf wasn't circling the clearing.
When we finally returned to the estate, the sun was setting, casting long, eerie shadows across the driveway. I dragged myself out of the car, my heels clicking tiredly against the pavement. I just wanted to go to my room, lock the deadbolt, and collapse face-first into my pillows. I didn't care about dinner. I didn't care about Arthur or Eleanor. I just wanted peace.
I practically sprinted up the grand staircase, leaving Grayson speaking with one of the household staff in the foyer.
But as I turned the corner of the second-floor hallway, my heart stopped.
My bedroom door was wide open.
A cacophony of voices spilled out into the quiet corridor. I jogged the rest of the way, my pulse hammering in my ears. When I reached the threshold, I physically recoiled at the sheer chaos inside my room.
Three maids were frantically pulling my clothes off their hangers and tossing them haphazardly into black plastic garbage bags.
My books were swept off the shelves, scattered across the floor like trash. My white duvet had been stripped off the bed, replaced by a garish, bright purple comforter that I had never seen before.
Standing right in the center of the destruction, pointing a commanding finger at one of the maids, was Iris.
"Don't just fold them, stuff them in the bags!" Iris snapped, her voice shrill and grating.
"She’s just the help now. She doesn't need those dresses. And get that horrible floral painting off the wall, it's disgusting!"
Standing near the doorway, looking deeply uncomfortable, was Ryan, the head of estate security.
"What the hell are you doing?!" I screamed, stepping into the room.
The maids froze, looking terrified. Iris slowly turned around, a wicked, triumphant smirk stretching across her face. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Moving in," Iris said simply, looking me up and down with absolute disdain. "This is the best room in the house, aside from the master suite. It belongs to the daughter of the family. Not the hired help."
"This is my room," I snarled, stepping forward.
I grabbed a garbage bag from the nearest maid and yanked my favorite coats out of it, tossing them back onto the bed. "I have lived in this room since I was five years old!"
"And you lived here on stolen time," Iris shot back, stepping into my space. She was shorter than me, but the sheer venom in her eyes made her look feral. "You are an imposter, Belle. You’re a fake. Mom and Dad said I can have whatever I want in this house, and I want this room. Servants sleep in the basement quarters. Pack your s**t and get out of my sight."
I looked at Ryan, my hands shaking with absolute fury. "Ryan, get her out of here."
Ryan shifted his weight, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Miss Belle, I... I can't do that. Mr. and Mrs. Jones authorized Miss Iris to select her living quarters this afternoon."
"I don't care what Arthur and Eleanor said!" I yelled, tears of frustration finally burning my eyes. "This is my space!"
"Not anymore, parasite," Iris sneered. She reached out and snatched a framed photograph off my nightstand. It was a picture of my friend and me at our high school graduation.
"Oops," Iris said flatly, and deliberately dropped the frame onto the hardwood floor.
The glass shattered into a dozen pieces.
My vision went completely red. I took a step toward her, my hand raising on instinct. I didn't care about the consequences. I just wanted to wipe that smug smile off her face.
But before my hand could connect with her cheek, a voice like cracking thunder echoed through the hallway.
"What the f**k is going on in here?"
Everyone in the room froze. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in a single second.
Grayson stood in the doorway, his frame blocking out the light from the hall. He had taken off his suit jacket, his white shirt pulled taut across his broad chest. His dark eyes swept over the shattered glass, the garbage bags, and finally landed on Iris.
He looked absolutely murderous.
Iris immediately dropped her hostile act, transforming into a sweet, victimized innocent. She ran toward Grayson, stopping just a few feet away, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"Grayson, thank goodness you're here," Iris cooed, her voice sickly sweet. "The maids and I were just cleaning out this room so I could move in. As the real daughter, Mom said I should have the south-facing suite. But Belle came in and started screaming at us! She’s acting totally unhinged."
She reached out, attempting to place a delicate hand on Grayson’s forearm to play the part of the fragile little sister.
Grayson didn't just step back; he looked at her hand as if it were covered in a deadly disease. The look of disgust on his face made Iris freeze mid-reach.
"Do not touch me," Grayson warned, his voice dangerously soft.
Iris blinked, stunned. "But... Grayson, I'm your sister."
"I have no sister," Grayson stated coldly, his words slicing through the room. He stepped past her, ignoring her entirely, and walked over to the center of the room. He looked at the maids, who were practically trembling against the walls. "Put every single item back exactly where you found it. If a single button is missing from her clothes, you are all fired. Now."
The maids scrambled into action, frantically pulling my clothes out of the garbage bags and rushing them back into the closet.
Iris's face turned a violent shade of red. "Grayson! You can't do this! Mom and Dad said—"
"I don't give a damn what Dad and Mom said," Grayson roared, the sudden volume of his voice making both me and Iris jump. He turned his glare back to her. "I told you last night that I own this house. I decide who sleeps where. And you will never, ever set foot in this room again. Do you understand me?"
Iris's bottom lip trembled. She looked at him, searching for an ounce of familial warmth, a shred of brotherly protection. She found absolutely nothing but cold. Tears welled up in her eyes, real ones this time, born from absolute humiliation.
"You're a monster," she sobbed, turning on her heel and running out of the room, crying all the way down the hall.
Grayson didn't even blink. He looked at the head of security, who was standing by the door.
"Ryan," Grayson snapped.
"Yes, Mr. Jones?"
"Iris will sleep in the east guest wing. It is the furthest wing from this hallway," Grayson ordered, his voice returning to that low, terrifying calm. "If she steps foot on this floor again, you will physically remove her. If she speaks to Belle without permission, you will report it to me. Is that clear?"
"Crystal clear, sir," Ryan nodded, quickly exiting the room to follow his new orders.
Within two minutes, the maids had rushed through the rest of the room, tossing the purple comforter into the hall and sweeping up the shattered glass before practically sprinting out the door, terrified of breathing too loudly in Grayson's presence.
And just like that, we were alone.
I stood in the center of my room, my chest heaving, my hands still curled into tight fists. I was exhausted. I was broken. I felt like a stranger in a war zone, forced to rely on the enemy for survival.
Grayson slowly closed the door, the click of the latch sounding deafening in the silence.
He walked over to me, his dark eyes softening just a fraction, though the possessive fire still burned bright in his gaze. He reached out, his large hands gently wrapping around my clenched fists. With a soft pressure, he rubbed his thumbs over my white knuckles, coaxing my hands to open.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
"No," I whispered, staring down at his hands holding mine. His skin was so warm, so steady. It was infuriating how much my body wanted to lean into him for comfort, even knowing what he was. "But she broke my picture of Maya."
"I'll buy you a new frame. I'll buy you a hundred," Grayson murmured. He released my hands and cupped my face, his calloused thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. I sucked in a breath, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until his chest was a hairsbreadth from mine.
"Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Belle," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips, heavy with a dark, forbidden hunger. "You might be my assistant on paper. You might be legally bound to pay off a debt. But in this house, you are untouchable. You are mine. And absolutely no one disrespects what belongs to me."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against my forehead in a brief, tender kiss that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down to my toes.
Before I could even process the touch, he pulled back, dropping his hands, and walked toward the door.
"Lock the deadbolt," he ordered over his shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner."
When the door shut behind him, I finally let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My legs gave out, and I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. I raised trembling fingers to my forehead, where my skin was still burning from his lips.
I was safe from Iris. I was safe from my parents.
But as I looked at the locked door, I knew with terrifying certainty that I would never, ever be safe from him.
- Writer
