Alistair cleared his throat, breaking the silent standoff，"You must be freezing, Miss Bennett. Please, allow the staff to show you to the guest wing so you may wash up."
Adaline gave a tight nod. She followed a silent maid down a long, sprawling corridor. The walls were lined with original oil paintings and antique vases.
The sheer wealth of the place pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. It felt like a very expensive cage.
The maid opened the door to a massive guest suite. She placed a set of brand-new silk loungewear on the bed, bowed slightly, and left the room.
Adaline stood alone in the silence. She walked over to the full-length mirror. She stared at her reflection. Her hair was matted with rain. Her clothes were stained with mud. Dark, ugly bruises peeked out from the collar of her shirt.
She felt a wave of intense disgust. She turned away from the mirror and walked toward the bathroom.
She grabbed the handle of the bathroom door. It felt stuck. She pushed hard with her shoulder. The door popped open, leading her not into a small guest bath, but into a cavernous, marble-lined master bathroom. It was a Jack-and-Jill setup, connecting two suites.
She didn't care. She just wanted the dirt and the memory of last night off her skin. She turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the massive room.
She stripped off her ruined clothes and stepped under the spray.
The hot water hit her skin. It stung the cuts and deep bruises left by the monster in the hotel room. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, followed by a low, broken sob she couldn't hold back anymore.
Downstairs, the front doors of the estate flew open.
Ferris Finch strode into the foyer.
His jaw was locked tight. He radiated a dark, violent energy. He was still furious about last night. He had been drugged, set up, and the high-class escort who had taken advantage of him had vanished before he woke up.
He ripped his silk tie from his neck and threw it at Alistair. "Is the Bennett woman here? The one selling herself to pay her bills?"
"She is in the guest wing, sir," Alistair replied smoothly.
Ferris let out a cold, sharp sneer. He didn't stop walking. He headed straight for his master suite to shower the scent of the city off him.
He pushed open his bedroom doors. His sharp ears immediately caught the sound of running water coming from his private bathroom.
His eyes went dead. He assumed it was another woman trying to climb into his bed, just like last night.
He marched to the bathroom and shoved the heavy glass door open.
Steam billowed out. Through the haze, Adaline was standing under the water, her back to him.
The loud bang of the door ripped a raw, guttural scream from her throat-a sound of pure terror that echoed her silent screams from the hotel room. She spun around, her eyes blown wide, her chest heaving as her mind violently flashed back to the pitch-black darkness and the crushing weight of the monster.
She scrambled backward, her wet feet slipping on the marble. She grabbed a thick white towel from the rack and clutched it tightly against her chest like a shield, pressing herself into the corner of the shower, trembling so violently her teeth chattered.
Ferris stood in the doorway.
His massive frame blocked the only exit. His piercing gaze swept over her wet, panicked face. He recognized her from the background check photos. Adaline Bennett.
His eyes dragged downward. They locked onto the dark, mottled bruises blooming across her collarbones and the tops of her thighs.
To Ferris, those marks told a very clear story. They were the violent, messy aftermath of a wild night with another man.
A cruel, mocking laugh tore from his throat. His eyes filled with raw disgust.
"Couldn't even wait to wash the stench of your other men off before coming here to cash your check?" Ferris's voice was a low, venomous whip.
Adaline's face drained of all color. The nightmare of the hotel room flashed behind her eyes. Her hands shook violently as she gripped the towel. "No... you don't understand. These marks-"
"Save it," Ferris snapped, cutting her off. He took a step closer. The sheer physical dominance of his presence made her lungs seize. "You disgust me. You're a calculating, money-hungry parasite."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Don't think you can play your little games in my house."
Adaline's pride, battered and bleeding, flared to life. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The sharp pain grounded her. She tasted copper.
"I just took the wrong door," she said, her voice shaking but defiant.
Ferris stared at her stubborn eyes. A flicker of irritation tightened his chest. He hated that she wasn't cowering.
"Get out of my bathroom," he ordered, his voice like ice.
He turned his back on her and walked out. He slammed the door so hard the glass walls vibrated, sending droplets of water crashing to the floor.
Adaline's knees gave out. She slid down the wet marble wall and hit the floor. The humiliation burned through her veins like acid.
She pressed her fist against her mouth to muffle her cries. She had to survive this. For her mother.
Five minutes later, she stood up. She dried off and put on the oversized silk loungewear. It swallowed her frame, but it felt like armor.
She took a deep breath, opened the guest room door, and stepped out to face the devil she was about to marry.
