Billionaire’s Captive Heiress: Love Under His Rule

Chapter 11

Today is Ella’s big photoshoot. She’s completely in her element, posing effortlessly as the camera clicks away. Around her, assistants rush back and forth, fixing her hair, adjusting the lighting, and handing her bottled water.

I sit on a lounge chair in the shade, trying to keep my notepad steady on my lap. My job is to ensure Ella’s next outfit is ready, but focusing on that feels impossible.

My thoughts keep drifting back to last night. The moment Zachary opened his door seared into my mind. The way his damp hair fell over his forehead, the faint sheen on his chest—it was too much. He had this effortless way of looking untouchable, and now here I am, replaying it like an i***t.

I shake my head. You’re here for work, Clara, not to moon over Zachary Langston like some lovesick teenager.

But it’s not just him. It’s those men on his screen and their cold faces. Something about them felt dangerous.

A loud splash snaps me back to reality.

Ella tosses her wet hair over her shoulder, laughing as the photographer yells about “perfect lighting.” She’s so confident, so carefree. It’s hard to believe we’re the same age sometimes.

Movement near the mansion catches my eye, and I spot Oliver and Theo stepping out onto the patio. They’re dressed in sharp suits, their wives trailing behind them, already glued to their phones until they slid in one of those cars.

Do they know about Zachary’s other business? Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem like something discussed at board meetings.

And then, as if on cue, Zachary appears at the top of the grand staircase.

Even from here, he commands attention. His suit is charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, and his crisp white shirt makes his tan skin stand out even more.

How does he always look like he’s in charge of everything? Like the world bends to his will?

“Clara!”

Ella’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts.

I glance at her. “Yeah?”

“Can you grab my robe from the room? I forgot to bring it out,” she says, flashing me an easy smile.

“On it,” I reply, standing quickly and heading toward the mansion.

The lobby is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like you’re not supposed to be there. I hurry to Ella’s room, relieved to find the pink silk robe hanging neatly on a rack. Grabbing it, I head back out, determined not to waste any time.

But as I step into the lobby again, a soft meow stops me.

I turn to see a sleek white cat perched on a side table, its green eyes fixed on me. I recognize it as one of Beatrice’s many cats. They always seem to wander around like they own the place.

“Hey there,” I murmur, crouching slightly.

The cat flicks its tail, utterly unimpressed. Then it turns its attention to the tall porcelain vase beside it, batting at the edge like it’s a toy.

“No, don’t—”

I lunge forward, but I’m too late. The vase wobbles once, twice, then crashes to the floor in a deafening explosion of sound.

I freeze, staring at the shattered pieces scattered across the marble floor. My heart races, and my hands hover uselessly in the air.

The cat, of course, darts off, its tail high in the air, as if none of this is its fault.

“What have you done?!”

The voice cuts through me like a blade. I turn to see Beatrice storming toward me, her face twisted with rage.

“I-I didn’t mean to—”

“That vase was priceless!” she screams. “It’s worth more than your pathetic life!”

Before I can respond, her hand lashes out, the slap landing hard across my cheek.

The sting is immediate, my face burning as tears blur my vision. I touch my cheek, stunned, but her anger only seems to grow.

“You clumsy little fool!” she spits. “How dare you ruin something so precious? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Her words hit harder than the slap. My mind races, and suddenly, I’m back in Zachary’s penthouse, staring at the shattered remains of the figurine I’d accidentally knocked over. He had been so furious, his eyes blazing as he’d yelled at me. I had felt small, stupid.

And now, all I can think is, What will Zachary think when he finds out about this? Will he see me as nothing but a disaster waiting to happen?

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the maids peeking from behind doors. Ella rushes into the room, still in her bikini. Her wide eyes shifted nervously between me and the broken figurine on the floor. “What’s going on?”

"This clumsy b***h broke my vase! The one I purchased from that exclusive art gallery last month!" Beatrice's face is red as she points an accusing finger at me. She even pokes me on my temple. I feel more of an i***t as she does that. Is this how stupid I am? My tears start to well up, but I quickly wipe them away, refusing to let Beatrice see me cry.

But Beatrice’s finger jabs my temple again. “Are you deaf as well as clumsy? Speak up!” she snarls.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at the safest place, which is the ground. “It was an accident." Should I tell her it was her cat's fault? Of course, she wouldn't believe me. It's always easier to blame the clumsy girl.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t bring back my vase, does it?” Beatrice’s voice rises with every word, drawing the attention of the maids and passing staff. She raises her hand again, and I instinctively flinch.

But the blow never comes.

“That’s enough.”

My head snaps toward the grand staircase. Zachary stands there, one hand resting on the handrail as he stares down at us.

Beatrice straightens. “Zachary. This girl—”

“I said, that’s enough.” He descends the staircase slowly. When he reaches the bottom, he turns his attention to me and frowns as he reaches to touch the side of my face. “You struck her?” His gaze is on me, but he's talking to Beatrice.

Beatrice falters. “She broke my vase! Slapping her was the kindest thing I could since since she won't be able to pay it!”

"Then make your cat pay for the damage," Zachary says, letting go of my face and angling completely to face Beatrice.

"W-What do you mean? What's my cat have to do with this?" Beatrice stammers.

Zachary chuckles, but it's chilly. "Your cat is the one who knocked over the vase, not her."

Beatrice’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes widening. She glances at me, confused.

Zachary steps closer to her. “You have no authority to lay a hand on anyone in this house, least of all her. Apologize. Now."

“Zachary!”

“I said, apologize!"

“Please, Mr. Langston,” I murmur, reaching out to touch his arm, but I quickly retract my hand, knowing I'm not in the position to even touch him. “It’s fine."

“It’s not fine,” he said. “Abusing anyone in this house, employee or not, is unacceptable."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beatrice’s jaw tighten. Her face flushes red as she opens her mouth to argue. "I just taught her a lesson, Zachary. She's new here. She has to learn her place."

"Like how you should learn your place as well." Zachary’s laugh is sharp, cold. “Spare me your excuses. If anyone in this household should understand the maids, it’s you, Aunt Beatrice. Or have you forgotten where you started? You were a maid here once.”

I could see it in the way her expression twisted, the way her shoulders stiffened. She bit her lip and looked away. “I apologize,” she spits. Her eyes seethe with anger before she spins on her heel and storms off.

As she disappears, I let out a shaky breath. But was it really true? Beatrice was once a maid in this mansion?

My fingers tighten around Ella’s robe, my knuckles white. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene,” I say softly, not daring to meet his eyes again.

The sound of Zachary’s phone slices through the air. "Go back to your work," he says, and his focus is already on his ringing phone.