Bound to Him

Chapter 10: The Penthouse Princess

After Howard Penn left, the office returned to silence.

Julian stepped forward as if nothing had happened and placed a document on Cedric’s desk.

“Mr. Kane, Goldcrest has agreed to transfer the land in northern Starfall City. Mr. Lawson also reduced the price by five percent. I’ve already sent a gift to Goldcrest on your behalf. The legal department is reviewing the contract now. If nothing goes wrong, it should be signed this week.”

Cedric nodded.

Julian handed over a tablet.

“This is your revised schedule for the week. Also, Southbridge Lane called. They asked you and Mrs. Kane to come over for dinner tonight.”

Cedric looked at the schedule.

His expression did not change.

Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he asked, “Is my wife at home?”

Julian kept his eyes lowered.

“Mrs. Kane is at Belcrest Towers.”

Belcrest Towers was one of Ashbourne’s most famous serviced apartment buildings. In a city where luxury real estate was everywhere, Belcrest had managed to stand out by selling not just apartments, but access.

When it first launched, rumors spread that the building reviewed every buyer carefully and had even rejected several celebrities. Whether that was true or merely a marketing trick, no one knew anymore.

But now, Belcrest had indeed become a private gathering place for young billionaires, tech founders, and old-money heirs.

Miranda’s apartment there had been a wedding gift from her uncle.

It occupied the entire top floor.

One side of the apartment had a curved panoramic window nearly twenty meters long. The other opened onto a wide terrace suspended above the city like a private garden in the sky.

Miranda kept countless flowers, plants, and small trees on that terrace.

She was a greenhouse flower who could barely take care of herself, yet somehow the plants under her care grew wildly, almost rebelliously, turning the terrace into a strange and vivid garden.

Bright.

Messy.

Alive.

Exactly like her.

When Cedric arrived downstairs, Miranda had just finished revising a design drawing she was finally satisfied with.

She held the drawing in both hands and admired it again and again.

At that moment, she sincerely wished Claire could immediately organize another gala, drag Cedric to the venue, and force him to open his cold, arrogant eyes wide enough to see what Miranda Vale’s real design ability looked like.

After admiring the drawing for what felt like the one hundred and eightieth time, Miranda finally stood.

She stretched lazily, stepped over the chaos of papers and fabric samples on the floor, and went to fill the bathtub.

Living alone meant she did not have to follow anyone’s rules.

So she had placed the bathtub in the glass sunroom.

When the water was ready, she turned on music, drew the curtain on the window-facing side, and sank into the warm bath with a satisfied sigh.

Downstairs, Cedric called her twice.

The phone rang.

No one answered.

He went up anyway.

At the door, he patiently pressed the bell for a full minute.

Still no response.

Only then did he use the access card to open the door.

The apartment’s soundproofing was excellent. Outside, it had been completely silent. The moment the door opened, however, a blast of heavy music rushed toward him like a physical attack.

Cedric stood at the entrance for one second.

For a brief moment, he thought Miranda Vale had somehow decided to host a wild party in the middle of the day.

But the apartment before him was empty.

Messy, yes.

Wild, yes.

But empty.

Then, over the violent beat of the music, a female rapper shouted through the speakers.

“Hey boy, look at me!”

Cedric followed the sound.

In the sunroom, beyond the glass wall, Miranda sat in the center of a bathtub full of bubbles.

One hand held a small microphone.

The other was raised high in the air, her fingers forming an exaggerated gesture as she bounced with the rhythm.

“Miranda Vale is a goddess!”

“Goddess! Goddess!”

“A goddess who can ruin every man alive!”

“Goddess! Goddess!”

Not a single line matched the beat.

But she was clearly very good at creating an atmosphere.

After shouting one line, she even lowered her voice and imitated a crowd responding to her.

Cedric was forced to listen for thirty seconds.

Just when he thought this fatal performance was finally ending, Rapper Miranda proved with terrifying creative power that everything had only just begun.

“Miranda Vale is a goddess!”

“Goddess! Goddess!”

“A goddess who makes men kneel!”

“Goddess! Goddess!”

“A goddess you’ll never get to touch!”

“Goddess! Goddess!”

“Your fatal type! Type! Bang bang! Skrrr!”

The final “skrrr” came with a finger-gun gesture aimed at the invisible audience.

The music continued.

But the air itself seemed to die.

Through the glass of the sunroom, Miranda finally saw Cedric standing there.

His face was calm.

Too calm.

But somehow, Miranda felt as if one cold sentence was written plainly across his expression.

Oh?

But I already have.

For three full seconds, Miranda did not move.

The microphone remained in her hand.

The bubbles floated around her shoulders.

Her raised hand slowly lowered.

Cedric looked at her.

Miranda looked at Cedric.

The luxurious penthouse, the designer bathtub, the city skyline, the rain-washed glass, the flowers on the terrace, and the half-finished design drawings on the floor all became witnesses to the most humiliating moment of Miranda Vale’s life.

Finally, Cedric reached out and turned off the music.

The room fell into a silence so complete that Miranda could hear the bubbles popping beside her.

Cedric’s gaze moved once over the scene.

Then he asked, very calmly, “Are you done performing?”

Miranda’s face heated at a speed she could not control.

But pride was a reflex carved into her bones.

She lifted her chin.

“That was a private rehearsal.”

Cedric glanced at the microphone in her hand.

“For what?”

Miranda paused.

“For my future career as an international superstar.”

“I see.”

His tone made it clear he did not see at all.

Miranda tightened her grip on the microphone.

“Why are you here?”

“Southbridge Lane asked us to have dinner tonight.”

Miranda immediately remembered his family.

Then she looked down at herself.

Bubbles.

Wet hair.

Bare shoulders.

A bathtub.

A microphone.

A performance she wished she could erase from human history.

She took a slow breath.

Then another.

“Cedric.”

“Mm?”

“Turn around.”

Cedric’s gaze stayed on her face.

“Why?”

Miranda smiled sweetly.

“Because unless you want me to die of embarrassment and become the first woman in Ashbourne history to haunt a bathtub, you will turn around right now.”

Cedric looked at her for a moment.

Then, with rare mercy, he turned his back.

Miranda quickly stood, grabbed the towel hanging nearby, and wrapped herself as tightly as possible.

Water dripped from her hair onto the floor.

The towel was too small.

Her dignity, unfortunately, was even smaller.

She looked around for her robe, then remembered it was outside the sunroom.

Worse, her clean clothes were in the bedroom.

And Cedric was standing between her and the rest of the apartment.

Miranda closed her eyes.

This day could not possibly get worse.

Then she opened them and realized it absolutely could.

“Cedric.”

“What now?”

Her voice became unnaturally soft.

“Could you… help me get my clothes?”

Cedric did not turn around.

“What clothes?”

Miranda’s fingers clenched around the towel.

“My robe.”

A pause.

“And?”

Her ears burned.

“And my underwear.”

The silence that followed was so long, so calm, and so unbearable that Miranda almost wanted to sink back into the bathtub and never come out again.

Finally, Cedric said, “Where?”

Miranda pointed weakly toward the bedroom.

“Second drawer on the left.”

Cedric walked away.

Miranda stood behind him, wrapped in a towel, wet hair clinging to her neck, and decided that if the floor opened beneath her now, she would not resist.

Tonight’s dinner at Southbridge Lane had not even begun.

And she had already lost.