The rain in Northwood didn't just fall; it felt like a warning. It lashed against the grey stone turrets of the Thorne Estate, a gothic fortress that sat on the edge of the cliffs like a predator watching the sea.
Inside the Great Library, the air was different. It was still, heavy with the scent of beeswax, ancient parchment, and the cold, metallic tang of an industrial-grade air conditioner.
Ava Miller wiped a smudge of charcoal from her forehead, leaving a dark streak against her pale skin. She stood thirty feet in the air on a rickety wooden ladder, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushed a fine-haired brush over the spine of a first-edition Virgil.
Just one more hour, she told herself. One more hour, and I can go to the hospital to see Dad.
Ava was twenty-four, but her hands told a different story. They were calloused and stained with the oils of a dozen different wood types. While girls her age were posting photos of their designer handbags, Ava was counting pennies. Every cent she earned from this restoration job went into the black hole of medical bills—the price of keeping her father alive after the stroke that had stolen his speech.
As she reached for a heavy book at the back of the shelf, her foot slipped on a worn rung. To steady herself, she slammed her palm against the oak paneling of the wall.
Click.
The sound was tiny, but in the tomb-like silence of the library, it felt like a gunshot.
A rectangular section of the wood shifted backward. Ava froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She carefully pried the panel further open. Tucked inside a velvet-lined hollow was a small, black leather journal. It didn't look like an antique. The leather was supple, modern, and embossed with a silver hawk circling a sword—the Thorne family crest.
She opened the first page. The handwriting was frantic, elegant, and chillingly sharp.
> September 14th. The Board thinks the merger was a success. They don't know the blood we spilled to get the signature. If the truth about the Eastern Sector ever leaks, the Thorne name will be buried in the dirt we poisoned...
>
Ava's breath hitched. This wasn't history. This was a crime.
"Do you always pry into things that don't belong to you, Miss Miller? Or is today a special occasion?"
The voice was like a blade of ice sliding down her spine.
Ava gasped, the journal slipping from her numb fingers. She lost her balance, the ladder swaying dangerously. She prepared for the hard, unforgiving marble floor to break her, but instead, she slammed into something solid and terrifyingly warm.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist with bruising force, hauling her against a broad chest.
She looked up, her vision spinning, and found herself staring into a pair of eyes the color of a winter sea.
Julian Thorne.
He wasn't wearing the suit jacket seen on the covers of Business Insider. His white silk shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that looked like they were carved from granite. He smelled of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and power.
"Mr. Thorne! I—I fell. I'm sorry," Ava panted, trying to push away.
His grip didn't loosen. Instead, his eyes dropped to the black book lying open on the floor. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"You found it," Julian said. His voice was quiet—a low, dangerous rumble that made the hair on her arms stand up.
He released her so abruptly she stumbled. He picked up the journal, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. He looked at the secret compartment, then back at her. He stepped into her personal space, his shadow looming over her like a mountain.
"How much did you read?"
"Nothing! I mean—hardly anything," she stammered, backing away until her heels hit the base of the bookshelf.
Julian leaned in, trapping her with an arm on either side of her head. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. He looked at her paint-stained overalls, then at her defiant, wide eyes.
"You're a terrible liar, Ava Miller," he whispered. "Your heart is beating so hard I can see it in your throat. You know exactly what's in here."
"I don't care about your family secrets," Ava snapped, her pride flaring through her fear. "I just want to finish my job and get paid."
Julian let out a short, humorless laugh. "Get paid? After seeing this, you could sell a single page to the press and live like a queen for a decade. But I don't leave my legacy to chance."
He reached out, his thumb grazing the skin of her jawline. The touch was electric, making her shiver despite herself.
"You have twenty-four hours to pack your bags," Julian commanded. "You're moving into the Master Wing tomorrow morning."
Ava blinked, confused. "What? Why?"
"My Board of Directors thinks I'm a 'cold-blooded machine.' They want me to show a human side before the next shareholder vote," Julian said, his eyes narrowing. "And you... you are going to be my fiancée. You will keep my secret, and I will pay off every cent of your father's debt. One word of the truth, and I'll make sure you both disappear."
Ava stared at him. He was offering her salvation and a death sentence in the same breath.
"Welcome to the family, Ava," he said, his voice dropping to a velvet purr. "Try to look happy. We're supposed to be in love."