His Forbidden Ward

CHAPTER THREE: The Ghost in the Rain

MIA

The harsh, gray light of dawn crept through the gaps of the heavy velvet curtains, cutting across the massive penthouse bed like a blade. I blinked my eyes open, the sudden brightness sending a sharp ache through my temples.

For a single, blissful second, my mind was entirely blank. But then, my body moved, and the dull ache between my thighs brought the memory of last night crashing back into my consciousness. The heavy weight of his body. The rough demand of his hands. The way he had called me little bird in that low, gravelly baritone while demanding absolute control over my body. My skin still felt hot, humming with the phantom sensation of his skin pressed tightly against mine.

I rolled over, my arm reaching out across the tangled silk sheets, expecting to meet the warm, solid expanse of his chest.

Nothing. The other side of the king-sized bed was completely empty.

I sat up abruptly, pulling the heavy duvet up to cover my bare chest as I looked around the sprawling, shadowy suite. The bathroom door was open, the lights turned off. The private elevator stood silent. He was gone.

My gaze flicked to the dark mahogany nightstand. There was no handwritten note left behind. No phone number scrawled on a piece of hotel stationery. There was only a single, crisp black silk tie lying neatly beside an empty crystal tumbler. He had slipped away into the early morning shadows, leaving me with nothing but the lingering scent of cedarwood, expensive leather, and a trace of soreness that reminded me of the innocence I had given away in the dark.

A cold, hollow numbness rushed back into my chest. The illusion was over. The temporary sanctuary of his darkness had vanished, and the calendar on the wall screamed exactly what day it was.

Today, I had to bury my parents.

Three hours later, the world outside was just as miserable as the void inside my chest. A torrential downpour beat a relentless rhythm on my umbrella. The cemetery was a bleak sea of dark coats, somber faces, and a canopy of umbrellas shielding the elite who had come to show their superficial respects to the deceased power couple.

I stood at the very front, dressed in a stifling, tight black lace dress that felt like a straightjacket. My hands were shoved deep into the pockets of my trench coat, my fingers trembling so violently I had to ball them into fists. I stared at the two polished mahogany caskets suspended over the open earth. It felt surreal. Just a week ago, they were laughing in the kitchen. Now, they were in boxes.

Beside me, my friends formed a tight, protective wall against the freezing wind. Chloe, my best friend, was a constant, grounding weight on my left, holding my arm with a fierce grip. Standing right behind her was Ethan, Chloe’s boyfriend, his tall frame blocking the wind. Just behind us, my roommate Elena and my close friend Brittany stood shoulder-to-shoulder under a large dark umbrella, their quiet tears spilling over their cheeks.

And then there was Liam Blackwood by my right. Even though we had broken up a month ago, the tragedy had brought my ex-boyfriend running back to my side. His arm was wrapped securely around my waist, his solid frame providing an anchor I was simply too exhausted and numb to push away. He kept his head bowed, offering the familiar comfort of someone who had known my parents almost as well as I did.

The priest’s voice droned on, a muffled string of words about ashes and dust. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I had spent all my tears into the mattress of a stranger's penthouse suite, begging for a temporary oblivion that had now completely expired.

Suddenly, a quiet, menacing purr of an engine broke through the heavy silence of the graveyard. Through the hazy curtain of falling rain, a massive, pristine black Maybach pulled up to the curb. The driver immediately stepped out into the pouring rain, rushing to open the rear passenger door while holding a large golf umbrella aloft.

A man stepped out of the vehicle.

He paused on the wet tarmac, slowly fastening the middle button of his immaculate, custom-tailored charcoal-grey suit. Even under the dreary sky, his presence was completely commanding. He possessed broad, imposing shoulders, a sharp, lethal jawline, and a dusting of silver threading through the dark hair at his temples.

My breath caught violently in my throat. My heart stopped beating entirely, the blood in my veins turning to pure ice.

What is the stranger from last night doing here?

The question screamed through my mind, shattering my numbness. It was him. The dominant monster who had pinned me against the penthouse door, who had claimed my mouth with a terrifying possession, who had cradled my wrists and gentled his touch when he realized I was a virgin. Why was he at my parents' funeral?

He walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the crowd, his commanding presence cutting through the sea of mourners like a scythe. As he approached the front, he stopped just behind my parents' longtime family lawyer, Mr. Vance.

As if sensing the absolute shock of my gaze, the man turned his head slowly. His piercing, stormy grey eyes locked directly onto mine across the open cracks of the gravesite. The stoic, unyielding mask on his face instantly shattered. As his eyes raked over my youthful face, my funeral black dress, and then drifted down to look at Liam’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist, a look of sheer, unadulterated horror passed over his hard features.

He froze, his jaw clenching so tightly a muscle leaped violently under his dark stubble. He recognized me. He finally realized exactly who he had taken to his bed last night.

When the service finally concluded and the caskets were slowly lowered into the mud, the crowd began to disperse. Mr. Vance immediately turned around and walked over to me, guiding the intimidating billionaire along with him, while Liam stepped back slightly but kept a possessive hand near the small of my back. The older lawyer's face was lined with deep sorrow as he stepped under my umbrella, gently patting my trembling shoulder.

"Mia, my dear," Mr. Vance said gently. "You've been remarkably brave today, child. We will do the formal reading of the will tomorrow morning at my office to give you some rest. But today, there is someone very important you need to meet."

I couldn't speak. I could only stare at the man standing directly behind the lawyer, his stormy eyes burning into mine with a dark, suffocating intensity.

"This is Aleksander Tremain," Mr. Vance explained warmly, completely oblivious to the fact that the air had been violently sucked right out of my lungs. "He was your father’s closest friend and most trusted business partner. The moment the news of the tragic plane crash reached him in London, he caught the very first flight back. He has been abroad for the past seven years, but he dropped everything to be here. And, as of today... he is your legal guardian."