Desired By Deception

Chapter 3

Morning light filtered through heavy silk curtains, pulling me from a restless sleep. I lay in the enormous bed for a long moment, staring at the ornate ceiling above me. Instead of comfort, the room felt suffocating. Foreign. Like a beautiful cage designed to make me forget I was trapped.

Back home, I would have woken to the familiar creak of the floorboards above my antique shop, the faint smell of old paper and polish drifting up from below. Here, there was only silence. Oppressive, silent. Even the air felt controlled. I missed the cozy chaos of my real life already.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts. The maid from last night entered with a polite nod. “Good morning, Miss Thorne. Mr. Rossi expects you for breakfast in twenty minutes. I’ll escort you when you’re ready.”

I dressed quickly in a simple cream blouse and dark trousers. Nothing that made me feel like I was playing dress-up in their world. As we walked through the mansion, the grandeur pressed in on me from every side. Marble floors gleamed beneath my feet, reflecting priceless artwork that hung on the walls.

Fresh flowers sat in crystal vases at regular intervals. The corridors were wide and quiet, with discreet security cameras tucked into corners. The staff we passed moved like shadows. They were impeccably dressed, their faces neutral, and their voices never rising above a murmur. They showed respect to the Rossi name, but I sensed fear beneath the professionalism. No one lingered. No one spoke unnecessarily. It made my skin crawl.

The formal dining room was even more intimidating. An impossibly long mahogany table dominated the space, capable of seating dozens. Lorenzo Rossi sat at the head like a king, reading a paper while sipping espresso from a delicate china cup. Everything about him radiated absolute authority. The way he held himself, it all screamed power.

I took a seat a respectful distance away, my hands folded tightly in my lap.

The door opened again. Julian Vance entered.

This was our first real interaction after that brief, awkward hallway collision last night. He moved with confidence, he was dressed in a crisp shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders. When his eyes met mine, recognition flickered across his face, but his expression remained neutral.

Lorenzo looked up. “Julian. Good timing. This is Keyanna Thorne, our new document restoration specialist. She’ll be assisting with the memoir and merger preparations.”

Julian’s gaze settled on me fully. “Miss Thorne,” he said, his voice deep and low. He took the seat across from me. No smile. Just acknowledgement.

Breakfast was served efficiently. Fresh fruit, perfectly poached eggs,and warm pastries. After a few moments of silence, Lorenzo turned his attention to me.

“Tell me, Miss Thorne,” he said, setting down his cup, “why does someone with your talent waste it on dusty old shop documents? Why is document restoration so important to you?”

I met his eyes steadily, refusing to shrink. “Because history isn’t preserved by monuments or grand statues,” I replied. “It lives in the records. In the small details most people overlook. Those details tell the real story. They can’t be easily rewritten.”

Julian listened quietly across the table. For the first time, I saw genuine interest spark in his eyes. He studied me like I was a puzzle.

I looked away, focusing on Lorenzo instead.

Lorenzo gave a low chuckle. “History is written by those powerful enough to survive long enough to tell it.”

Julian’s reply came calmly, almost casually. “Or by those willing to tell the truth, regardless of power.”

The tension at the table thickened instantly. Lorenzo’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup. No one raised their voice. No open argument.

But I could feel unresolved conflict simmering beneath the surface. Father and son. Something deeper was at play here, and I had just witnessed a small crack in the facade.

Lorenzo recovered smoothly, waving a hand. “Julian doesn’t care much for history.”

Breakfast ended shortly after, and to my surprise, he rose from his chair. “Come, Miss Thorne. I’ll give you a personal tour. It’s important you understand what we’re preserving here.”

Julian excused himself politely, but I caught him glancing back once as he left.

Lorenzo led me through the estate with obvious pride. The private library took my breath away. There were walls lined floor to ceiling with rare books and historical texts. Next came a room filled with maritime artifacts, ancient shipping logs, and priceless relics from the Rossi empire’s early days.

The secure archive rooms were climate-controlled masterpieces, protecting documents behind glass. Finally, he showed me the restoration studio prepared specifically for me. Professional lighting, advanced humidity controls, every high-end tool I could possibly need, and a large workstation with a view of the gardens.

“You will have everything required to work,” Lorenzo said, gesturing around the room. “I am writing my memoir to cement the Rossi legacy correctly. History must be protected, Miss Thorne.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

As we walked back through one of the long corridors, my eyes caught on a heavy black door fitted with advanced electronic security. Far more sophisticated than the others. I paused instinctively, curiosity pulling at me.

Lorenzo noticed immediately. “Some parts of the estate are private,” he said, his tone polite but carrying an unmistakable warning. “You would do well to remember that, Miss Thorne. Focus on the work I’ve assigned to you.”

He walked away without another word, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.