Signed away by my step father

CHAPTER 5

My knees gave out, and instead of hitting the leather cushions, I tumbled sideways, my body collapsing right against something incredibly solid, firm, and radiating a quiet, mesmerizing warmth.

I didn't panic. In my hazy, intoxicated mind, I had simply found the most perfect, supportive structure in the world. I let my head sink against the broad expanse of his chest, my fingers curling instinctively into the expensive, ultra-fine fabric of his button-down shirt.

"So warm..." I mumbled, my voice trailing off into a sleepy sigh. I shifted, snuggling deeper into his personal space, my cheek pressing right over the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat. "Like a hard... but really warm pillow."

The body beneath me instantly went rigid.

The silence in the room sharpened until it felt like a physical edge. For a long, agonizing beat, the man didn't move. He didn't push me off, but he didn't wrap his arms around me either. He just sat there, frozen, his breath hitching slightly against the crown of my head.

I let out a contented murmur, completely unaware that I was currently using most feared, ruthless, and untouchable corporate tycoon—Valerian Vance—as a personal mattress.

From the darkness above me, a voice finally cut through the silence. It was low, incredibly smooth, and carried a dangerous, velvety resonance that vibrated right through his chest and into my cheek.

"Who the hell are you?" Valerian whispered.

The voice felt like a low, physical vibration right beneath my ear, a dark current that sent a sudden, involuntary shiver down my spine. The fog in my brain didn't clear, but it shifted, turning the initial drowsiness into a strange, fuzzy curiosity.

I didn't pull away. Instead, I let out a soft, slurred hum and pressed my face a fraction of an inch deeper into the crisp, expensive fabric of his shirt. He smelled incredible—like rain on cedarwood and some kind of rare, bitter orange spice that made my mouth water.

"Too loud," I mumbled against his chest, my hand blindly reaching up to pat his lapel in a clumsy gesture for silence. "Don't shout. My head is... it's spinning like a kitchen mixer."

A sharp, sudden intake of breath sounded above me. The absolute audacity of my action seemed to stun him into a completely paralyzed silence. Nobody talked to Valerian Vance like this. Nobody touched him without permission, let alone patted him down like a misbehaving child.

Slowly, carefully, a pair of long, elegant fingers wrapped around my wrist. His grip wasn't violent, but it was unyielding—an iron band disguised as velvet. He pulled my hand away from his chest and used his other hand to firmly grasp my shoulder, pushing me back just enough to force me out of his immediate personal space.

"Sit up," he commanded. The tone was icy, devoid of any patience, the kind of voice that usually brought boardrooms to an immediate, terrified silence.

My head rolled back against the leather cushions of the sofa, my vision swimming as I tried to focus on the silhouette in front of me. The low lamp in the corner finally caught his face, and my breath hitched.

He was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was a dangerous, predatory kind of beauty. His features looked as though they had been meticulously chiseled from pale marble—a sharp, aristocratic jawline, a high nasal bridge, and lips pressed into a thin, displeased line. But it was his eyes that locked me in place. They were a striking, piercing shade of pale silver-gray, completely cold and calculating, staring down at me like I was a fascinating but unwelcome insect that had crawled onto his expensive suit.

"I asked you a question," Valerian murmured, his gaze tracking the messy tendrils of hair framing my face, down to the simple midnight-blue silk of the dress. "Who authorized your entry into this suite?"

"The door was... it wasn't locked," I blinked heavily, my words slurring together as I offered him a tiny, incredibly goofy smile. "And you're very solid. Like a wall. A handsome wall."

Valerian’s silver eyes narrowed, a subtle flash of annoyance rippling across his otherwise unreadable expression. He leaned forward slightly, his shadow completely enveloping me, bringing that intoxicating scent of cedar and citrus close enough to make my chest ache.

"You're drunk," he stated flatly.

"I'm eighteen," I corrected proudly, holding up four fingers, then blinking at them in confusion before adding a fifth. "Today. It's my birthday. But don't tell Richard. He'll make me count the register again."

The name Richard didn't mean anything to him, but the mention of a birthday made his gaze linger on the faint, poorly concealed shadow of a bruise near my hairline. His eyes darkened, a cold, analytical calculation happening behind those silver depths. Before he could say another word, the heavy mahogany door of the suite burst open, the muffled bass of the club downstairs flooding back into the room.

"Sylvia! Oh my god, Sylvia!"

Daisy practically threw herself into the room, her eyes wide with sheer panic. She had been tracking me down for the last ten minutes. But the moment her eyes adjusted to the dim light and landed on the man sitting next to me on the couch, the color drained completely from her face. She froze mid-stride, her breath catching in her throat.

"M-Mr. Vance," Daisy stammered, her voice shaking violently as she recognized the billionaire tycoon whose face dominated every business magazine in the country. "I am so incredibly sorry. She’s... she’s had too much to drink. She didn't mean to intrude. Please don't call security."

Valerian didn't look at Daisy. His eyes remained fixed on me as I let my head drop back against the leather cushion, my eyelids growing heavier by the second.

"Take her out," Valerian said, his voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register that made the entire room feel ten degrees colder. "Before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," Daisy scrambled forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet.

My legs felt like jelly, but Daisy caught my weight, wrapping her arm securely around my waist and dragging me toward the exit. As we reached the doorway, a strange, sudden compulsion made me look back over my shoulder through the hazy, spinning dark.

Valerian Vance hadn't moved. He sat perfectly still in the shadows, his long legs crossed, his silver eyes tracking me through the gloom like a wolf watching a stray lamb wander out of his territory. He reached down, his elegant fingers smoothing out the slight wrinkles I had left on his charcoal lapel, his expression completely unreadable.

"Happy birthday, handsome wall," I mumbled sleepily under my breath just as Daisy yanked me out into the corridor, closing the heavy mahogany door behind us.

I had no idea that the man in the shadows already held the keys to my entire world—or that in less than forty-eight hours, he would own the very roof over my head.