Chapter 3
I stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a very small doll in a very big, very scary dollhouse.
The door had clicked shut behind me, and now it was just... silence. Heavy, thick silence. The kind of silence that presses against your ears.
I clutched my paper bag so tight I heard the paper crinkle. Crinkle-crinkle.
"Hello?" I whispered again.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light. The fireplace was the only thing giving off a glow, casting dancing orange shadows on the walls.
It was spooky but also kinda romantic? Like those vampire movies where the vampire lives in a castle?
Not that I want to meet a vampire. They bite.
And I don't like pain. HUHU.
I smoothed my white ruffle dress with my free hand, making sure my bow was straight. Presentation is key, Aleesha. Be brave!
My gaze drifted to the far corner of the room. It was the darkest part, hidden in the shadows.
There was a chair there. A big, high-backed leather chair.
And it was facing away from me.
I froze.
Is someone sitting there?
I licked my lips. My mouth felt like I had eaten a spoonful of dry sand. I pursed my lips, trying to stop them from trembling. I didn't say anything. I just stared at the chair, my heart doing a gymnastics routine in my chest. Flip. Tumble. Crash.
Then... slowly...
Creaaaaaaak.
The chair turned.
I held my breath.
A man was sitting there. But the room was so dark, and the firelight was behind him, so I couldn't see his face. All I could see was a silhouette. A broad, large silhouette.
And a hand.
Resting on the armrest was a hand. It was holding a lit cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like a ghostly snake.
My nose scrunched up immediately. Ew. Cigarettes.
I hate cigarettes! I really, really hate them! Smoke makes my chest feel tight and squeaky because of my asthma. I tried to hold my breath so I wouldn't cough and look uncool.
But then... I blinked. I squinted.
I looked at the hand again.
Mr. Samuels has... well, let's just be honest... he has sausage fingers. They are stubby and kind of sweaty. And he has a ring that cuts into his skin because it's too tight.
But this hand?
This hand was huge. The fingers were long and slender, but thick with veins that popped out under the skin. It looked powerful. Elegant. Like a pianist's hand, but if the pianist also strangled people on the weekends.
Wait a minute, my brain whispered. That is not a sausage hand.
Before I could process that thought, the man moved.
He stood up.
My head tilted back. And back. And back.
My eyes widened until they felt like they were going to pop out of my skull.
WHOA.
He was TALL.
Like, skyscraper tall! Mr. Samuels is short. He barely reaches my shoulder when I wear heels! But this man? He just kept unfolding! He was easily over six feet! Did he eat a magic beanstalk bean?!
And he wasn't... round.
He was wearing a dark red, long-sleeved button-down shirt that was unbuttoned at the top. And even in the dim light, I could see... shapes.
Broad shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of the world (or at least a very heavy backpack). A chest that looked hard and solid. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were thick with muscle.
I gasped, the sound loud in the quiet room.
Input Error. Calculation Mismatch. Subject: Mr. Samuels. Data: Short, round, old. Observation: Tall, fit, muscular.
Impossible! A person cannot grow two feet and lose fifty pounds of fat in four hours! Unless... did he get plastic surgery? Like, extreme plastic surgery? Is that a thing?!
I couldn't speak. I was paralyzed by confusion and awe.
The man stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the fireplace. The light finally hit his face.
I think my heart stopped. Like, literally ceased to function.
He wasn't old.
He was... oh my gosh.
He was pale, like porcelain, which made his hair look even darker. His hair was black, slicked back with some kind of gel, but a few loose strands fell over his forehead in a "loose quiff" style that looked effortlessly cool.
And his face?
He had eyebrows that were thick and lush and arched perfectly (better than mine! Unfair!). His nose was straight and sharp. And his eyes... they were obsidian. Pitch black. Bottomless. They looked like two black holes that could suck you in and never let you go.
And his lips.
Oh, wow.
They were luscious. Not in a girl way, but in a very... firm, sculptured way. They looked soft but dangerous.
My gaze traveled down (I couldn't help it! My eyes had a mind of their own!).
On the side of his neck, creeping up from under his collar, was a tattoo.
It was a serpent, its scales detailed in black ink, looking like it was slithering up towards his ear.
And on his exposed forearms, there were more tattoos—intricate, dark designs that made him look like a piece of art. A scary piece of art.
"Ms. Garcia," he said.
His voice was deep. Baritone. It vibrated in the air and sent a literal jolt of electricity zipping down my spine. ZAP!
It was a voice that sounded like expensive whiskey and gravel.
Okay. Okay, Aleesha. Think.
He knows my name. He sent the car. He is in the room.
Logic: This must be Mr. Samuels.
Counter-Logic: But he looks like a Greek God of the Underworld, not a Theology professor who smells like onions!
I cleared my throat. It came out as a squeak. I tried again.
"Are you..." I hesitated, gripping my bag tighter. "Are you Mr. Samuels' son?"
The man paused.
He tilted his head to the side, looking at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
"Mr. Samuels?" he repeated.
Even the way he said the name sounded mocking.
I nodded slowly, my hair bouncing. "Yes. Mr. Samuels. My Theology professor? The one with the... um... grade negotiation?"
The man stared at me for a long beat. Then, a low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. It wasn't a happy laugh. It was a scary laugh. But it also sounded kind of nice?
"Sit down," he said, ignoring my question.
I looked behind me. I spun in a little circle.
"Um..."
There was no chair behind me. Just the empty floor and the creepy abstract paintings.
The man sighed (a very impatient sigh) and gestured with his cigarette hand toward the plush velvet couch near the fireplace.
"Oh! Right!" I blushed. "Sorry. I knew that."
I scurried over to the couch, my dress swish-swishing around my knees. I bowed politely to him (manners matter!) and then sat down on the edge of the cushion. It was so soft I sank in a little bit.
The very handsome, very scary man walked over and sat on the armchair directly across from me.
He leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. He didn't speak. He just... looked at me.
His obsidian eyes traced my face, then my hair, then my pink cardigan, and finally rested on the paper bag in my lap.
I felt like an insect under a microscope.
"Uhm... hello..." I whispered, giving a tiny, awkward wave.
"Hello," he replied. His face was completely blank. No smile. No frown. just... void.
I bit my lip. I chewed on it. This is my bad habit. When I'm nervous, I eat my lip. Right now, I was so nervous I could probably eat my whole face.
"So..." I started, my voice trembling. "Where is Mr. Samuels? Is he coming later? Did he send you to... negotiate for him?"
The man took a drag of his cigarette. The tip glowed bright orange.
"Mr. Samuels is not here," he said calmly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "And I have no idea who Mr. Samuels is."
My brain stopped buffering and just crashed.
System Failure.
"You... you don't know him?" I squeaked.
"No."
"But..." I gulped, my throat clicking. "But his car picked me up! The black SUV! It was outside my village! And the men... they knew my name! They brought me to the Velour Noir and pressed the button for floor one hundred and walked me to this room!"
I was rambling. I knew I was rambling. But I couldn't stop!
"I thought... I thought this was about my grade!" I wailed softly. "I have an F! But I deserve an A! And I brought onigiri!"
The man in front of me didn't interrupt. He just sat there, watching me panic. He looked... amused?
Yes. His lips twitched. Just a tiny, microscopic movement at the corner of his mouth. A smirk?
He leaned his head back against the chair, exposing the serpent tattoo on his neck. He brought the cigarette to his lips again.
Cough.
I turned my head away instantly, burying my nose in my shoulder. The smell was getting stronger. My lungs did a little flutter. Asthma warning! Asthma warning!
I tried to be polite, but I crinkled my nose.
The man paused. He looked at me, then at the cigarette in his hand.
He didn't say anything. He just... dropped it.
He tossed the half-finished cigarette into the fireplace. Hiss. It disappeared into the flames.
I blinked. He threw it away? Because I coughed?
Is that... nice? Or is he just done smoking?
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together. The veins on his forearms shifted.
"Ms. Garcia," he said again.
I snapped my head back to him. "Yes?"
"You are not here for a grade," he said. His voice was final. Absolute. "And you are certainly not here for a theology lesson."
"Then... why am I here?" I whispered. "Did I accidentally commit a cybercrime? Is this about the 'tree' command in the library?"
He ignored that too.
He looked me dead in the eye. His gaze was so intense I felt like he was reading my soul.
"I have a requirement," he said, his tone devoid of emotion, like he was reading a grocery list. "And based on the data, you are the most suitable candidate."
"Candidate?" I tilted my head. "For a job? I'm good at coding! Well, I'm trying to be! And I can bake!"
He shook his head slightly.
"I don't need a coder," he said. "And I have chefs."
"Then what do you need?"
He looked at me. He looked at my wide eyes, my bitten lip, my pink cardigan, and my terrified expression.
Then, he delivered the sentence that made the entire world stop spinning.
"I need an heir," he said coldly. "And you are going to give me one."