THE HIGH GROUND

SCARED LITTLE KITTEN

The town car glided smoothly down the tree-lined avenues of the city’s most exclusive enclave. Looking out the window, Bella was utterly amazed by the posh neighborhood. Everything was pristine, manicured, and dripping with astronomical wealth. Yet, looking at the towering, cold stone walls separating the massive properties, she couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for her own neighborhood. It wasn't rich by any means, but the people there were kind, warm, and friendly. Neighbors actually spoke to one another, shared meals, and looked out for each other—unlike the hyper-wealthy, who seemed shrouded in an atmosphere of isolated distrust and quiet hostility.

Her thoughts were cut short as the vehicle slowed down. They entered a massive private estate, passing through a set of imposing, intricately designed metal electric gates that slid open like the jaws of a fortress. Beyond the gates lay an enchanting, sprawling garden filled with vibrant, meticulously tended flowers and ancient, towering trees that completely secluded the mansion from the outside world. After a rigorous security check at the gatehouse, the car crawled up the winding cobblestone driveway and finally halted at a magnificent marble fountain directly in front of the main entrance.

The grandeur of the mansion’s exterior was intimidating, but the interior was staggering. As Bella and Rose stepped through the towering double doors, two elderly figures immediately approached them. One was a sharp-eyed, elegant old lady who appeared to be the head housekeeper, and the other was a stately, silver-haired gentleman who looked like a traditional old butler.

Before Rose could utter a single word or demand her usual priority, the old lady stepped forward, politely but firmly cutting her off. "Miss Rose, you are requested to wait in the formal waiting lounge. Mr. King is not accepting general staff in his private quarters today."

Rose’s jaw practically dropped, her face flushing with instant, suppressed fury. But before she could protest, the butler turned his discerning gaze toward the two of them. "Which of you is the assistant secretary?"

Bella swallowed hard, a nervous flutter igniting in her stomach. She gave a small, hesitant nod of her head. "I am."

"Very well. Please follow me upstairs," the butler requested smoothly, gesturing toward the grand, sweeping grand staircase.

Leaving a fuming Rose behind in the foyer, Bella hurried after the butler. The mansion was inconceivably huge, decorated with priceless artwork and vaulted ceilings. As they walked through the labyrinthine corridors, Bella noticed a few caretakers moving quietly through the halls. They were running like robots, performing their daily chores with a silent, eerie efficiency that made the house feel more like a highly functional museum than a home.

Finally, the butler led her to a magnificent office room. It was breathtakingly vast, defined by dark wood paneling, towering walls lined with leather-bound books, a massive mahogany desk, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows that opened up like grand doors to a private terrace. Standing in the center of the room, Bella felt microscopically tiny.

"Wait here, Miss," the butler said politely, offering a reassuring bow before stepping out and closing the heavy doors behind him.

Bella walked over to the grand desk, carefully setting the thick manila folders and documents down on the polished wood. She took a seat in one of the plush leather chairs, her heart hammering against her ribs as she waited for the storm to arrive. But five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty minutes crawled by in absolute, agonizing silence.

No one entered the room. The absolute stillness of the mansion began to wear on her nerves. *Maybe no one is actually coming,* she thought, a spark of desperate hope igniting in her chest. *Maybe he changed his mind. Rose might have even given up and gone by now.*

Driven by a restless, boring anxiety, Bella got up from the chair. She began to roam through the vast office, her thrift-store shoes making no sound against the thick, luxurious Persian rug. At the far end of the room, a set of double doors stood slightly ajar, leading into a connected suite that looked like a massive master bedroom.

Yielding to a sudden, reckless wave of curiosity, Bella slipped through the gap. The bedroom was an expanse of deep charcoals and rich silks, centered around an enormous king-sized bed. As she roamed a little further, her eyes suddenly froze on a silver photo frame resting on a bedside console.

She stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat. Inside the frame was a photograph of Daemond. The hot demon who had been giving her non-stop sweats and nightmares for the past week was looking right at the camera—and he was smiling. It wasn't his usual mocking smirk or his freezing, corporate scowl. It was a genuine, breathtakingly handsome smile that softened the harsh, aristocratic angles of his face.

"Unbelievable," Bella whispered to herself, an amused, soft smile tugging at her own lips. "He actually knows how to smile. How surprising..."

As she lingered over the photograph, completely lost in her thoughts, the sudden, heavy sound of bare footsteps echoed from the adjacent private bathroom.

*F*ck,* Bella muttered under her breath, pure panic instantly replacing her amusement.

A wave of intense guilt and terror crashed over her. She shouldn't have been so irresponsible, lingering around and trespassing into the private quarters of a man who explicitly wanted to ruin her. Her heart leaped into her throat as she slowly turned back toward the doors, desperate to sneak out before she was caught.

But she was too late.

Daemond stood right in the doorway, and the sight of him completely paralyzed her. He was entirely naked, save for a single, low-slung white towel wrapped loosely around his lower body. The damp fabric clung to his narrow hips, unsuccessfully hiding the heavy, prominent bulk of his huge manhood beneath. His upper body was a masterpiece of chiseled, tanned perfection—broad, muscular shoulders tapering down to a shredded six-pack, all glistening with droplets of water from a fresh shower.

Bella completely froze. In her entire life, she had never imagined a moment like this would come. She wished the expensive hardwood floor would open up and bury her alive right then and there. Shy to her very core, she tried desperately to force her eyes downward, to look at anything else, but the sheer, magnetic pull of his presence made it impossible to break away.

Daemond’s striking emerald-green eyes locked onto hers, holding her gaze with a fierce, burning intensity. He didn't look angry; instead, a dark, predatory fire ignited in his expression. He stepped closer, his long, powerful legs devouring the distance between them until he was standing directly in her personal space.

Bella held her breath, her chest locking up as the intoxicating, hot scent of his skin—mixed with expensive soap and woodsmoke—enveloped her completely. He was so close that a few stray, cool droplets of water fell from the damp, dark tips of his hair, landing softly on her flushed cheeks and her rosy, plump lips. The contrast of the cool water against her burning, blushing skin made her mind spin.

Daemond’s gaze pierced through her defenses, dropping down to her mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his large, hand and extended a single finger. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against her lower lip, rubbing the stray water droplet off her plump mouth with a heavy, lingering pressure.

Bella violently flinched at the electric shock of his touch, a gasp escaping her throat. Panicking, she instinctively tried to back up a sharp step to escape the overwhelming heat of his body. But her foot caught on the edge of the thick rug.

Her balance vanished. With a soft cry, she began to fall backward toward the massive king-sized bed.

Reacting with lightning speed, Daemond lunged forward, his powerful arm wrapping around her waist to catch her. But her momentum was too heavy, pulling them both down. They crashed onto the soft, silk-sheeted mattress in a tangled, breathless heap—with Daemond landing directly on top of her.

Bella’s breath was completely knocked out of her, but not from the fall. Daemond’s towering, heavy frame was pinned over her small, curvy body, his massive chest completely devouring her huge, fuller breasts. Because he was wearing nothing but a loose towel, she could feel the burning, solid heat of his thick manhood pressing directly against her sensitive feminine core through the thin fabric of her skirt.

"You never fail to disappoint, Miss Swan," Daemond said, his voice dropping into a slow, husky rasp that vibrated directly against her chest. His face was inches from hers, his green eyes dark with an intense, unvarnished hunger. "Always so clumsy. Always making trouble in my private spaces."

Bella’s cheeks burned crimson with a mixture of sheer humiliation and a sudden, wildly inappropriate thrill. Offended by his words, she instinctively pouted, her full lips twisting into a cute, angry look as she glared up at him. "It was an accident! Let me up!"

But her fiery, defiant expression only added fuel to the fire. Seeing her pout, the sheer, delicious contrast of her innocence and her curves sent a violent jolt of desire straight to Daemond's gut. Right before her eyes, his jaw clenched, and Bella felt a sudden, distinct shift between them. The heavy, rigid length of his manhood grew rapidly harder, pressing with an undeniable, thick pressure right against her thighs.

She could feel it perfectly. A wave of pure, hot panic crashed over her, and she desperately tried to push against his broad, muscular chest. But her hands felt like an ant fighting against a giant elephant. He didn't budge an inch. Instead, both of them remained entirely frozen, a sudden, blinding jolt of electric energy erupting through their nerves, binding them together in the quiet room. Her full breasts heaved against his chest with every ragged breath she took, and the friction was absolute torture for his self-control.

For a terrifying, intoxicating second, Daemond looked down at her mouth, his eyes wild with the primal urge to completely claim her right there on his bed.

But with a harsh, guttural growl, he forced his legendary willpower to snap back into place. Unwillingly, his muscles straining with the effort, he pushed himself up and got off her, stepping back onto the floor and adjusting the towel around his hips.

The moment the suffocating weight lifted, Bella scrambled off the bed like a wild animal escaping a trap. Her hair was completely disheveled, her blouse wrinkled, and her face a brilliant, burning shade of red. Without casting a single glance back at the magnificent, naked billionaire, she turned and rushed out of the master bedroom, practically sprinting back into the safety of the main office.

Standing alone by his bed, Daemond watched her frantic retreat. A slow, genuinely amused smile formed at the corner of his perfect lips—the exact same smile she had seen in the photo frame. His chest was still heaving, his body completely wired from the brief, intense sensation of her plush curves beneath him.

"What a scared little kitten," he muttered darkly to himself, his voice thick with a lingering, possessive promise. He looked down at his hardened length, a low chuckling escaping his throat as he walked back to his bathroom. The game was getting entirely too interesting.