Emily
Assured that what happened remains between us, I tightened the robe around me and slipped out of the room, scanning the hallway for movements, I walked as fast as I could down the long corridor, all the rooms had the same doors, no wonder I went into the wrong room.
I tried to remember which room the the maid had taken my luggage to.
I couldn't
I could only guess.
The only main room on this floor other than Adrian's was Nathan's.
Others were guest rooms
Trying my luck, I open the first guest room beside Nathan's slightly, peeking inside.
It was empty.
I sighed in relief and slipped into the room, closing the door behind me.
At a corner of the room was my luggage.
Perfect, I'm in the right room.
It made sense though, placing my luggage in the room beside my fiancé's.
I looked around the room.
A modest bed, neutral walls, a single window letting in soft morning light.
Nice for a guest room.
The bathroom was small but functional. I turned on the shower and let the warm water hit my skin, letting the liquid run over me as though it could wash away my mistakes.
Then I noticed the marks.
I froze, gripping the edge of the tub. The evidence was everywhere: the faint, angry blush on my neck, the lingering traces on my shoulders, and the subtle hints along my chest.
How am I going to hide these?
I closed my eyes. I could think of scarves, high collars, turtlenecks—but this was summer, and the house was hot with sunlight pouring in. I could feel my pulse spike with panic.
I scrubbed at the marks under the hot water, but I knew it was pointless. They were still there, and worse, they were visible. The thought of the marks being seen, made my stomach knot.
I finished the shower quickly, letting the towel wrap around me tightly, pressing it to my body as though that could erase my worry.
The first thing I did after drying off was press the call button on the nightstand. My voice, when I asked for help, had to sound casual, distant—innocent.
"I'm feeling a bit chilly," I told the maid when she answered.
"Could you bring me some clothes? Something long-sleeved… and perhaps a scarf or something to cover my neck?"
"Of course, Miss Emily. I'll bring them immediately."
I waited, pretending to read a book that wasn't open, my mind racing. I didn't want the Carter's—or anyone else—to see me like this, vulnerable, exposed.
Moments later, a soft knock echoed at the door. I peeked out just enough to see the maid place a folded set of clothes on the floor. My hands itched to snatch them immediately, but I stayed still until she left.
Once the door clicked shut, I moved fast, grabbing the clothes and scanning for the scarf—or high-necked blouse—that could hide the marks on my skin. I clutched it to my chest and let out a quiet, relieved sigh.
Safe. For now.
I dressed quickly, slipping into the long sleeves, letting the soft fabric shield my neck, chest, and shoulders. I checked myself in the mirror and tried not to panic at the subtle shadows of the hickeys. They were faint, but they were there.
I need to figure out a plan.
I made sure the room looked a little disorganized, as if I had just woken up normally.
The bell rang a short while later, and a second maid knocked politely.
"Miss Emily, breakfast is ready downstairs," she said, her voice neutral. "The family would like you to join them."
I nodded, keeping my composure. "Thank you. I'll be down shortly."
She left, and I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the bed for a moment. My pulse was still racing, and the events of last night felt surreal in the bright morning light.
As I made my way downstairs, each step felt heavier than the last. Every corner, every doorway seemed alive with possibility. What if someone noticed my neck? What if Nathan—God forbid—looked too closely?
I tried to calm myself with shallow breaths, keeping my hands lightly crossed over my chest. The scarf was a good cover. Long sleeves hid my shoulders. No one could see the evidence, but the knowledge of it pressed on me like a weight.
Breakfast was already in motion when I entered.
The long dining table gleamed beneath the morning light, silverware aligned with surgical precision. Freshly brewed coffee, buttered pastries, sliced fruit arranged like artwork. The Carters moved with the kind of effortless composure that came from generations of wealth.
Nathan was already seated, looking annoyingly composed. I know he didn't care, but part of me couldn't stop the occasional flicker of guilt—or thrill—at last night.
He looked up first, smiling— a smile that obviously didn't reach his heart.
"Good morning, Emily. Sleep well?"
My fingers tightened subtly around the fabric at my neck.
"Yes,"
I slid into my chair, keeping my scarf tight, my posture deliberate. The mysterious man was nowhere to be seen, and a tiny part of me was grateful. Maybe he'd stay upstairs and spare me the unsettling feeling of his pressing gaze
Breakfast passed in a flurry of polite conversation. The Carters were warm but distant, like people who treated interactions as carefully choreographed dances. I kept my eyes mostly on my plate, speaking only when addressed.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a subtle shift in the room. Someone had arrived, I looked up, it was the mysterious man, moving slowly, purposefully, like he owned every step he took. He didn't speak. He simply looked at me, his eyes flickering briefly to Nathan beside me.
He looked amused.
I turned slightly toward Nathan, keeping my voice soft. Casual.
"Who is that?"
Nathan glanced up, as if the answer were obvious.
"Oh. That's my uncle."
Uncle.
The word hit like ice water.
Nathan continued, oblivious to the way my pulse spiked.
"Adrian Carter. He doesn't stay here often. He runs most of the Carter Group now."
My heart stopped.
Adrian Carter.
Uncle.
Carter Group.
The man from last night.
The man whose marks were still burning beneath my clothes.
Adrian's gaze never left me as he approached the table. Slowly. Deliberately.
He took the seat at the very edge — not at the head— but positioned in a way that allowed him to see everything.
Especially me.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
I felt exposed.
Nathan leaned slightly toward me, lowering his voice.
"Just a warning," he murmured. "Don't cross him."
I swallowed.
"He may be my uncle, but he's the real power behind the Carter Group. My father listens to him. Everyone does."
I could barely hear him over the roaring in my ears.
Don't cross him.
Too late.
I had crossed him.
In more ways than one.
Adrian picked up his coffee cup, his movements unhurried. Calculated. He didn't greet me. Didn't acknowledge last night.
But his eyes did.
They traced the scarf at my neck.
I forced myself to lift my cup, though my hands felt unsteady. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.
"Emily," Mrs Carter said pleasantly, "I hope you're settling in comfortably."
"Yes," I answered, somehow managing composure. "Everyone has been very kind."
Adrian's thumb brushed the rim of his cup.
Kind.
His lips curved slightly, as if he found that amusing.
"They should be" Nathan's mom continued, patting my hands from across the table, "you'll soon be the young madam of the family, they shouldn't just be kind, they should also show respect"
Nathan's dad laughed at her words, I didn't know what about it was funny.
I kept my eyes on my plate, but I could feel him — the weight of him — like a hand at the back of my neck.
Nathan resumed casual conversation, unaware of the silent war unfolding across the table.
Unaware that the man he admired, respected — feared — had pressed me against cold sheets hours ago.
Unaware that I now understood exactly why everyone in this house moved carefully when Adrian Carter entered a room.
Power.
It radiated off him.
And I had walked straight into it.
My pulse thudded against the marks hidden beneath silk and fabric.
Don't cross him.
I hadn't just crossed him.
I had let him cross me.
And the worst part?
When our eyes locked again — just for a second — I felt that same pull.
Dangerous.
Magnetic.
I looked away first.
But he smiled.