Adrien woke up with a headache that felt like a drill boring into his temples.
He sat up, the room spinning. He touched the sheets beside him. They were cold.
But there was a scent. Vanilla. And something metallic. Blood?
He reached up to rub his shoulder and hissed. He walked to the mirror. There were scratch marks down his back. Deep ones.
It hadn't been a dream.
He stood still, a strange sensation washing over him. The constant, dull ache of pressure in his chest-the symptom of his impending corporate war-was gone. For the first time in weeks, he felt... in control.
"Cole!" he roared.
The security chief burst in. "Sir?"
"The cameras. Last night. Between midnight and 1:00 AM."
"The storm, sir. The system rebooted. We lost about fifteen minutes of footage in the West Wing."
Adrien cursed. "Find out who was in this room. Check the guest list. Check the staff."
She sat in the breakfast nook, wearing a high-collared cashmere sweater. It was stiflingly hot, but she couldn't risk exposing her neck.
She stared at her black coffee, her hands shaking slightly.
"Good morning!"
Ivy Bates breezed into the room. She looked radiant. Too radiant.
She poured herself a cup of tea and leaned against the counter, making sure the maids could hear her. "Oh, what a night. The storm was terrifying, wasn't it? I got so lost in the hallway... ended up in the strangest place."
She touched her hair, smiling coyly. "Mr. Sargent was working so late. I brought him some documents he needed. He was... very grateful for my dedication."
Her grip on the mug tightened until her knuckles turned white. She was lying. She was taking credit for being in his study.
Cole walked in, his face grim. "Ms. Bates. Mr. Sargent would like to see you."
Ivy's smile widened. She shot her a smug look. "See? Some of us belong upstairs."
She followed Cole out.
She sat there, frozen. Part of her was relieved. If she took the fall, she was safe. But another part of her-a part she hated-was furious.
She stood up and followed them, keeping a distance.
She waited outside the study door. It was slightly ajar.
"You were here last night?" Adrien's voice was low, dangerous.
"Yes, Adrien," Ivy purred. "I came to bring you the revised press release for the Chen merger. You seemed... stressed."
"And what did I do?"
"You... thanked me," she said vaguely.
"I bit you," Adrien said. "Show me."
There was a pause. "What? Adrien, don't be ridiculous."
"My neck," Adrien corrected. "The woman I was with. I bit her on the neck."
Silence.
"Get out," Adrien said. But his voice lacked the conviction of certainty. He was confused. The whiskey had messed with his memory.
Ivy stumbled out, looking pale. She saw her standing there.
"What are you looking at, trash?" she hissed. "He's under a lot of pressure. He gets confused."
She looked at her, then at the closed door.
"Careful, Ivy," she said softly. "Lies have a way of rotting."
