Elena dropped to her knees in a split second and slid beneath the heavy study table, her breath shallow, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. The marble floor was ice cold against her skin as she pressed herself flat, every muscle locked tight as the sound of footsteps approached. They were slow and unhurried, they stopped just outside the door.
She stayed perfectly still.
Carefully, barely daring to breathe, she shifted her head and peered out from beneath the table. An elderly man stood there, tall and rigid, dressed in a perfectly pressed dark suit. His silver hair was neatly combed, his posture impeccable. He wasn't an Armstrong. From the cut of his suit and the way he carried himself, he was clearly staff. A butler. He glanced around the room once, expression unreadable, then turned and walked away.
Elena stayed hidden until the sound of his footsteps disappeared completely.
Only then did she let out a slow, controlled breath.
She couldn't afford being caught snooping around.
She rose carefully, her movements quiet and precise, and made her way back to the door she had entered through. She opened it just enough to peer into the corridor. It was empty and silent. Safe—for the moment. She stepped out, already deciding she would return to her room and rethink her approach. She had already pushed her luck enough for one day.
But as she stepped out, she noticed another door.
It stood a few feet away, solid and dark, almost daring her to touch it.
Elena hesitated only briefly before turning back and opening it.
The room beyond was enormous.
It was a master bedroom, dimly lit, immaculate, and unsettlingly cold. Everything was grey or black, including the walls. The furniture was sharp-lined and minimal. The massive bed was perfectly made, untouched, as though sleep itself was optional here. There was no warmth, no softness, no sign of comfort at all in the room.
As she stepped further inside, understanding hit her like a punch to the chest.
This was Xander Armstrong's room.
The heir.
If rooms reflected their owners, then Xander Armstrong had to cold, ruthless, and utterly unforgiving. Elena's gaze swept the space, her thoughts racing. Could he be the one who ordered her parents' deaths? Could this sterile, brutal perfection hide the mind of a murderer?
Suddenly, the bathroom door opened.
Steam rolled into the room.
"Who the hell are you?"
The voice was deep, accented, rough with authority.
Elena spun around.
Xander Armstrong stood there wrapped only in a towel, water sliding down his body in slow, deliberate lines. He was tall—much taller than she had imagined—with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, every muscle sharply defined as if carved by hand. His chest was powerful, his arms thick and veined, his body was the kind that spoke of violence restrained by discipline rather than softness. Dark, damp hair fell slightly into his face, long enough to brush his jaw, framing features so striking they were almost unreal.
His face was devastating.
High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, lips set in a hard, unforgiving line. His cold grey eyes locked onto her instantly, penetrating and merciless, like he was already dissecting her, stripping her down to motive and weakness. He was not merely handsome. He was dangerously, unfairly beautiful in a way that made your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at the same time.
Pictures hadn't done enough.
This man radiated control, menace, and raw power.
Elena had never looked at a man like this before. Never felt heat crawl up her spine without her permission. Men had always wanted her. She had always been the one untouched, unmoved, in control.
Standing in front of Xander Armstrong, she felt something unfamiliar coil in her stomach.
"Who the hell are you?!" he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation and something darker beneath it.
He hates people, especially strangers. Elena suddenly remembered Harper's warning.
Not to worry, she told herself. Her looks and her acting skills had saved her countless times before it would do so again.
She softened her expression, let her eyes widen just enough, let innocence slip into her features like a carefully practiced mask. "I'm so sorry," she said gently. "I got a little lost."
Xander's expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
He began to walk toward her, slowly, each step measured, predatory. The air around him seemed to grow colder. His gaze never left her face, and there was no desire in it, no admiration. Only suspicion and fury.
"Lost," he repeated, stopping inches from her. He towered over her, his presence overwhelming. "You got lost and ended up in my bedroom."
She swallowed and nodded. "I was trying to find my way back—"
"Bullshit," he cut in coldly. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Her jaw tightened, but she kept her voice sweet. "I swear, I didn't mean to—"
His hand shot out.
Wrapping around her throat.
Hard.
Elena's eyes flew wide in shock.
For a split second, she thought he was bluffing, simply trying to intimidate her. Then his grip tightened, crushing her airway, cutting off her breath completely. Panic slammed into her chest as her lungs burned for air. Her hands flew to his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he didn't flinch.
His grip was Iron.
"Tell me how you got in here," he said calmly, watching her struggle. "And tell me why I shouldn't snap your neck."
Her vision blurred at the edges as spots danced before her eyes. She clawed at him desperately, fear flooding her veins. She had miscalculated. Badly.
When the darkness started closing in, instinct took over.
She drove her knee upward with every ounce of strength she had.
Straight into his groin.
"Shit!" Xander cursed as he released her instantly, shoving her away.
Elena hit the floor hard, gasping violently, clutching her throat as she sucked in air like it was her first breath ever. Her chest burned, her body trembling uncontrollably as shock crashed over her in heavy waves.
She lay there stunned, her fingers pressed to her neck, her heart racing wildly.
No one had ever touched her like that.
No one had ever overpowered her.
And as she struggled to breathe, one horrifying truth settled deep into her bones.
Xander Armstrong was not like other men.