Chapter 33: the unwilling host
"I won't have it, Father," Liam stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I told you. That girl is a liability. She is cruel and entitled. I will not live under the same roof as her."
"It is already settled, Liam," the Chief replied, not looking up from his tea. "Chief Adenuga has begged for a chance for her to learn from us. She will stay in the West Wing. You barely use that part of the house anyway. If you want me to sign over the final voting shares of the refinery, you will show her the hospitality of a Sterling. It is only for a month. Surely the 'Iceman' can survive thirty days with a girl he claims to despise."
Liam's jaw tightened so hard his teeth ached. It was a blatant trap, a piece of emotional blackmail he couldn't easily sidestep without risking the refinery deal he had worked years to secure. He realized his father was using his own professional ambition against him. "Fine," Liam hissed. "One month. But tell her this: if she so much as raises her voice to a single member of the household staff, I will throw her luggage into the lagoon myself."
Sandra arrived at the Sterling mansion with six suitcases and a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She felt like a conqueror entering a fallen city. She knew she had lost the battle at the restaurant, but she intended to win the war in the hallways of this house.
Sarah, the nanny who had raised Liam, stood at the grand entrance. She had seen many girls come and go, but she sensed a darkness in Sandra that the others lacked. "Welcome, Miss Sandra," Sarah said politely, though her eyes remained observant. "I will show you to your quarters."
"You must be the nanny," Sandra said, her tone dripping with a condescending sweetness. "I've heard so much about you. I expect my tea at 7:00 AM sharp, and please ensure the linens are Egyptian cotton. I have very sensitive skin." Sarah didn't blink. She had dealt with bigger bullies than this girl. "I will inform the housekeeping staff, Miss. Here in this house, we follow Mr. Liam's schedule."
As Sandra settled into the luxurious West Wing, she began to plot. She knew Liam worked late. She knew he took his coffee in the library at 6:00 AM. She would be there. She would be the perfect, demure "wife-in-training" until he forgot why he hated her. She had no idea that Liam's heart was already miles away, occupied by the memory of a waitress's eyes and the anticipation of a girl in a red mask. The house was now a battlefield, and Sandra was ready to play dirty.