Do You Know How Long I’ve Been Waiting for This?

Chapter 4

I woke up to the harsh morning sunlight burning through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom.

For about three seconds, my brain tricked me into thinking I was still in my cramped, cozy flat in London. I expected to hear the faint rumble of the tube and the chatter of pedestrians on the street below.

But as my eyes adjusted to the sprawling canopy bed and the floral wallpaper, reality crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.

I was in the Jones mansion.

I was not they daughter.

And Grayson was waiting for me.

I sat up, pushing the heavy duvet off my legs. My clothes from yesterday were wrinkled, and my mouth felt like sandpaper. I looked over at the door. The deadbolt was still locked, just as I had left it.

Grayson hadn't tried to come in during the night, but his parting words still echoed in my ears like a threat:

Belle, if I wanted to come into your bed, a locked door wouldn't stop me

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I couldn't stay here. I absolutely refused to be trapped in this house, playing some twisted game of indentured servitude with a man who had secretly obsessed over me for years.

"Screw this," I muttered under my breath.

I kicked off the bed and practically leaped toward my suitcase, which was still sitting haphazardly on the floor where Grayson had tossed it.

I hadn't unpacked a single thing. I grabbed my toothbrush and face wash from the bathroom, threw them into the zippered pouch, and slammed the suitcase shut.

I didn't care about the money. I didn't care about Arthur and Eleanor threatening to sue me for my childhood expenses. If they wanted to take me to court, fine. I would declare bankruptcy. I would live in a cardboard box on the street if I had to. Anything was better than staying in this house with Grayson acting as my warden.

I unlocked my door, wincing at the loud click, and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty. The house was dead silent, save for the faint, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs.

I gripped the handle of my suitcase, took a deep breath, and walked out.

The grand staircase felt three times as long as I made my way down, trying to keep the wheels of my luggage from bouncing against the hardwood steps. I reached the ground floor and immediately turned toward the front foyer.

I was ten feet away from the heavy doors, freedom practically in my grasp, when a sharp, mocking voice cut through the air.

"Stealing some old things on your way out?"

I froze. I turned my head slowly toward the archway of the formal dining room.

Iris was sitting at the head of the massive dining table—Arthur's usual seat. She was eating a plate of eggs benedict, holding a silver fork with awkward fingers as if she was trying too hard to look elegant.

But what made my blood boil was what she was wearing. She had on a soft, pale pink cashmere sweater. Mysweater.

Eleanor sat to her right, sipping from a delicate teacup. She didn't even look up at me. It was as if I were entirely invisible, a ghost haunting a house that had completely moved on without me.

"That's my sweater," I said, my voice tight.

Iris smirked, taking a slow bite of her eggs.

"Not anymore. Mom said everything in this house was bought with Jones money, which means it belongs to me now. Including the clothes in your closet. You should probably be grateful I'm letting you leave with whatever is in that bag."

I gripped the handle of my suitcase tighter, my knuckles turning white. I wanted to march over there and rip the sweater off her back, but I forced myself to swallow the anger. It wasn't worth it. Nothing in this house was worth fighting for anymore.

"Keep it," I said flatly. "Consider it a parting gift."

I turned my back on them and marched straight toward the front doors. I reached out, wrapping my hand around the brass handle, and pulled.

It didn't budge.

I frowned, yanking on the handle harder. Nothing. The door was locked from the outside.

"Looking for a way out?"

The deep, gravelly voice came from behind me, instantly sending a shiver down my spine. I spun around.

Grayson was leaning casually against the archway of his private home office, holding a mug of black coffee in one hand and a sleek leather folder in the other. He was dressed flawlessly in a tailored navy suit that hugged his broad shoulders, his tie perfectly knotted.

He looked like a man who owned the world, and looking at his dark, amused eyes, I knew he felt like he owned me, too.

"Unlock the door, Grayson," I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of fear and rage.

Grayson took a slow sip of his coffee. "I don't think so. We have a meeting in my office. Now."

"I am not signing your damn contract," I shot back, stepping away from the door and pointing an accusing finger at him. "I'm leaving. If you don't unlock this door, I am going to call the police and tell them you are holding me hostage."

Grayson chuckled. It was a dark, hollow sound that held zero humor.

"The police?" he asked, pushing himself off the wall and walking slowly toward me. "That's a fantastic idea, Belle. In fact, they should be here any minute. Eleanor called them about twenty minutes ago."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. "What? Why?"

"Because she reported a theft," Grayson said casually, stopping a few feet away from me. He gestured to my suitcase with his coffee mug.

"She told the dispatcher that a disgruntled former employee was attempting to flee the premises with a quarter of a million dollars' worth of stolen family jewelry stuffed in her luggage."

"That's a lie!" I gasped, horrified. "I don't have any jewelry in here! Just my clothes and my toiletries!"

"I know," Grayson replied smoothly. "But Eleanor is a very convincing crier. By the time the police arrive, they will search your bag. And what do you think they will find?"

He reached into his suit jacket pocket, pulled out a velvet pouch, and tossed it to me. I caught it reflexively. It was heavy. I opened the drawstring and dumped the contents into my hand. My mother's—Eleanor's diamond tennis bracelet and sapphire earrings stared back at me, glittering maliciously under the chandelier light.

"You sick bastard," I breathed, staring at the jewels in sheer horror. "You planted this on me?"

"I didn't plant it," Grayson corrected gently, though his eyes were completely dead. "I intercepted Eleanor before she could slip it into your bag while you were asleep. I told you, Belle. They want to ruin you. If you walk out that door right now, you aren't walking to freedom. You are walking straight into the back of a squad car for grand larceny. You’ll be in a holding cell by noon, and with Arthur paying the judge, you won't see bail for months."

I felt the air get sucked out of my lungs. My legs went weak, and I had to lean heavily on my suitcase just to stay upright. They were really going to do this. The people who had raised me, the people I had called Mom and Dad, were trying to send me to prison just out of sheer spite.

"Why?" I whispered, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. "Why are they doing this to me? I didn't ask to be swapped at birth."

Grayson stepped into my space. He reached out, his large, warm hand wrapping around my trembling fingers, taking the stolen jewelry from my palm. He slipped the pouch back into his pocket.

"Because they are weak, pathetic people who care more about their bruised egos than human life," he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had fallen down my cheek.

"But I don't care about egos, Belle. I care about you. I can protect you from them. I can make this entire police issue disappear before they even pull up to the gates. All you have to do is step into my office."

I looked up at him. He was offering me a lifeline, but I knew the rope was tied in a noose.

I was completely, utterly trapped.

"Fine," I croaked, my voice hollow.

Grayson's lips curved into a triumphant, predatory smile. He placed a hand on the small of my back, his touch burning through my shirt, and guided me away from the front door and into his private study.

The heavy doors clicked shut behind us, sealing me inside. Grayson's study was dark and imposing, filled with rich furniture, walls lined with leather-bound books, and the sharp scent of his cologne.

He walked behind his massive desk, opened the leather folder he had been holding, and pushed a thick stack of papers toward the edge. He picked up a solid gold fountain pen and held it out to me.

I slowly walked up to the desk, staring down at the document.

EXECUTIVE EMPLOYMENT & DEBT

SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT

EMPLOYEE: Belle (Formerly Jones)

EMPLOYER: Grayson Jones, CEO of Jones Holdings

TERMS: The Employee shall serve as the Executive Personal Assistant to the CEO. The Employee will reside exclusively at the Jones Estate under the direct supervision of the CEO. Compensation will be strictly allocated to pay off a retroactive debt of $2.4 Million USD incurred between the years 2006 and 2026. The Employee is strictly forbidden from seeking outside employment, relocating, or engaging in external relationships that interfere with her duties...

I stopped reading, a wave of nausea washing over me. "Three and a half million dollars? Are you out of your mind? I’ll never be able to pay that off!"

"Not on a standard assistant's salary, no," Grayson agreed, sitting down in his leather chair and steepling his fingers. "But as long as you work for me, the debt is paused. Eleanor and Arthur cannot touch you. You will be fed, clothed, and protected under my roof. You will be by my side."

"This is slavery, Grayson," I spat, glaring at him through my tears. "This is literal, legal slavery."

"It's a job, Belle," he corrected coldly. "You wanted to be an independent, working woman when you ran away to London, didn't you? Now you have the best job in the city. You just happen to work for me."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I open this door, I put Eleanor's diamonds in your pocket, and I let the police drag you away in handcuffs," he stated, his face hardening into an unreadable mask. "The choice is entirely yours."

I looked at the pen in his outstretched hand. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt my ribs. I looked into his dark, obsessive eyes and realized there was no bluffing here. He was entirely willing to watch me burn if I didn't submit to him. He was a monster, wrapped in a bespoke suit, and he had me completely cornered.

My hand shook as I reached out and took the pen from his fingers.

I pressed the pen to the signature line.

Before I could write my name, Grayson reached across the desk. His large, warm hand covered mine, his long fingers wrapping completely around my knuckles.

I gasped, looking up at him.

The air in the room suddenly grew unbearably thick. His touch sent a violent, forbidden spark shooting up my arm. I hated him for trapping me, I hated him for cornering me, but God help me, the sudden realization that this powerful, dangerous man was completely obsessed with me was doing something terrifying to my mind.

"Once you sign this," Grayson murmured, his dark eyes locked onto my lips, his thumb slowly stroking the back of my trembling hand, "there is no going back. You belong to me."

"I belong to myself," I whispered weakly, though I couldn't pull my hand away from his heat.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart," he replied, a dark, chilling smirk curling his lips. He let go of my hand, leaning back into his chair. "Sign it."

I swallowed hard, lowered my eyes, and signed my name.

Belle...

I hesitated. I didn't have a last name anymore. I just scribbled Belle.

Grayson took the contract, sliding it into his top drawer with a definitive, hollow snap. He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with smooth, effortless grace.

"Get your coat," he ordered, walking past me toward the door. "We leave for the office in ten minutes. And Belle?"

He paused in the doorway, looking back at me with a gaze that promised nothing but chaos.

"Welcome back to the firm."