Dangerously His

Chapter Four

“I cover today with the blood of Jesus,” Annabel whispered softly.

“In Jesus’ name… Amen.”

Her eyes opened slowly.

She had woken before the alarm, just as she always did—long before the day demanded anything of her. Morning prayers were a habit she never skipped, no matter how tired she was or how unfamiliar the place felt.

This morning was no different.

A soft beep sounded from the bedside table.

Her alarm.

Annabel reached over and turned it off, sitting up as the reality of the day settled in.

For a moment, she lay still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of the mansion beginning its day. Somewhere in the distance, doors opened and closed softly. Staff moved with practiced efficiency.

Kingsley had already left for work.

She knew that much from Adam’s message the night before. Their schedules would rarely overlap in the mornings, apparently. Annabel wasn’t sure whether that eased her nerves or heightened them.

She pushed the thought aside and got up.

After a quick shower and a simple change of clothes, she headed downstairs.

The kitchen was already active—the mansion cook moving with calm precision, the counters lined with prepared dishes.

The twins’ meals had been carefully planned: roasted chicken cut into neat portions, steamed vegetables, fruit slices, small containers of snacks—all arranged with deliberate care.

Annabel paused, eyeing the spread.

Can they even finish all this? she wondered.

Still, she packed everything carefully, filling the lunch boxes, adding water bottles and napkins, making sure nothing was forgotten. When she finally zipped the lunch bags shut, she glanced at the clock.

Time to wake them.

Upstairs, she gently roused the twins, helping them through their morning routine—baths, brushing teeth, calming Lily’s chatter, patiently guiding Nuel through each step. She dressed them in their school uniforms, smoothing fabric, adjusting collars, tying small buttons with practiced care.

By the time they were done, nearly an hour had passed.

They were ready.

Not long after, the driver appeared at the front entrance.

“Good morning, miss,” he greeted politely as he opened the door.

“Good morning,” Annabel replied, smiling.

The twins climbed in first. Lily talked animatedly as she settled, while Nuel sat quietly beside her. Annabel followed, the door closing with a soft, solid click.

The car was sleek and unmistakably expensive—a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, its interior lined with smooth leather and subtle lighting that muted the outside world. As the engine started and they pulled away, Annabel sank slightly into the seat.

The city moved past the tinted windows, distant and unreal.

For a brief moment, everything felt… heavenly.

BRIGHTWOOD CHILDREN'S ACADEMY

———

Soon, the car slowed at the familiar gates of Brightwood Children’s Academy.

The twins were clearly at ease here. As soon as they stepped out, Lily tugged forward eagerly, and Nuel followed without hesitation.

Their homeroom teacher approached—a woman in her early twenties, already smiling.

“Good morning, Lily. Good morning, Nuel,” Miss Calista said warmly.

“Good morning, Miss Calista,” Lily chirped.

Nuel nodded politely.

The teacher’s gaze then shifted to Annabel. “And you must be—?”

“I’m Annabel,” she said. “Their nanny. I’ll be handling drop-offs and pick-ups from now on.”

Miss Calista nodded in understanding. “It’s nice to meet you. The children are already very familiar with the routine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Annabel replied, relieved.

After a few quick goodbyes, the twins followed their teacher inside without fuss.

Annabel watched them go, her chest tightening briefly before she turned back to the car.

Once seated again, she leaned forward slightly. “Could you take me to the supermarket, please? I need to do some grocery shopping.”

“Yes, miss,” the driver replied smoothly, pulling away from the curb.

As the school disappeared behind them, Annabel looked out the window, her thoughts steady but full.

Her day had truly begun.

——

BACKCREST GROUP

The Blackcrest Group headquarters towered over the city like a monument of glass and steel—forty-eight floors of power, money, and quiet intimidation. Sunlight reflected off its polished surface, casting sharp lines across the pavement below where luxury cars pulled in one after another.

Blackcrest Group operated across global finance, real estate development, energy, and private infrastructure—oil logistics, power grids, and high-value commercial projects stretching across continents. A diversified empire built on precision, control, and ruthless efficiency.

A black Rolls-Royce Phantom came to a smooth stop at the private entrance.

The driver stepped out first. Adam was already there, opening the rear door.

Kingsley Rollins emerged.

Tailored charcoal suit. Crisp white shirt worn open at the collar—no tie. The deliberate lack of it gave him a dangerous, bad-boy edge, as though rules existed for others, not him. Polished black leather shoes caught the light with every step, and a sleek, expensive watch rested against his wrist—subtle, but unmistakable.

Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes, sharpening his presence rather than hiding it.

Authority was woven into every detail.

He stepped onto the pavement with unhurried confidence, as if the city itself made way for him.

Outside staff lowered their heads slightly in greeting.

“Good morning, sir.”

Kingsley didn’t slow.

He didn’t respond.

Adam closed the car door and fell into step beside him as they entered the building.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Security stood straighter. Conversations died mid-sentence. The echo of Kingsley’s footsteps carried through the marble lobby as employees subtly bowed their heads or stepped aside, instinctively aware of his presence.

The elevator ride to the executive floor was swift and silent.

When the doors slid open, Kingsley Rollins moved through the executive corridor with long, deliberate strides, Adam keeping pace beside him.

The moment he appeared, the floor transformed.

Staff straightened. Smiles tightened.

Greetings followed him like ripples.

🗣️ “Good morning, sir.”

🗣️ “Morning, Mr. Rollins.”

He passed them all without a glance—face carved from composure, jaw set, expression unreadable. The warmth he reserved for his children did not exist here.

This was the Kingsley Rollins the corporate world knew.

Cold. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Behind polished desks and glass walls, whispers followed him.

🗣️ “Oh my God… he’s unreal.”

🗣️ “Have you seen his lips?”

🗣️ “If he ever smiled at me, I’d forget my own name.”

🗣️ “I swear, men like that should come with warnings.”

🗣️ “How bad I wanna suck his d*ck.”

🗣️ “I can't believe I'm so f*cking wet already!.”

A few women subtly adjusted their blouses, straightened their skirts, lifted their chins—anything to be noticed. Anything to earn a second glance.

He gave none.

Then one woman stepped out too far.

She positioned herself deliberately in his path, tugging her already short skirt higher, fingers slipping to the buttons of her blouse as if by accident. Fabric parted just enough to draw attention.

Kingsley’s steps slowed.

For half a second, the floor held its breath.

His eyes flicked to her—not lingering, not curious. Assessing.

Then he stopped.

“You!,” he said, pointing his fingers in the lady's direction.

Her face lit up, confidence blooming. “Yes, Mr. Roll—”

“You’re fired!.”

The word landed like a blade.

“What!?” she whispered, color draining from her face.

“Clear your desk,” Kingsley continued calmly, already turning away. “HR will handle the rest.”

He resumed walking as if noth

ing had happened.

Adam followed without surprise, clipboard tucked under his arm.

Another lesson delivered.

Power was not something Kingsley tolerated being mistaken for desire.