Rhys rises from his leather armchair, closing the distance between us. He doesn't look like the struggling student I knew in a cramped London flat. The man approaching me wears a bespoke charcoal suit, his posture radiating absolute authority.

"Rhys," Sterling says, stepping forward. He pulls me along, completely oblivious to the sudden ice forming in my veins. "Brother, this is my girlfriend, Wren."

Rhys stops a foot away. His dark eyes lock onto my face, tracing my features with a cold, mocking half-smile.

"Wren?" he repeats.

The syllable rolls off his tongue wrapped in razor blades.

"Yes," Sterling says, beaming. "Wren Gallagher."

"Gallagher," Rhys muses, tilting his head. "Fascinating."

I force my chin up, refusing to let my trembling hands show. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rhys."

"Is it?" He steps even closer. "I feel like we already know each other."

"We haven't met," I say quickly.

"Are you sure?" Rhys asks. "You look incredibly familiar."

"She has one of those faces," Sterling jokes, wrapping an arm around my waist.

Rhys's gaze drops to Sterling's hand resting on my hip. A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Right. One of those faces."

Eleanor claps her hands together, breaking the suffocating tension. "Well, let’s not stand around in the doorway. Dinner is ready in the main dining room."

The crystal chandeliers cast a harsh glow over the silver plat.

Rhys’s arm forms a solid cage against the wall. His knuckles graze the wood paneling right next to my ear, trapping me in place.

"What are you playing at, Wren?" he asks.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Footsteps pound down the corridor.

"Brother, what the hell are you doing?" Sterling's voice echoes off the vaulted ceiling.

Sterling rounds the corner, his face twisting into a dark scowl. He marches over and shoves Rhys by the shoulder, forcing him to step back.

I immediately put distance between us. My hands shake as I smooth the wrinkles from my silk dress.

"Nothing happened," I say, pasting a frantic smile on my face. "I tripped over the edge of the runner. Rhys just caught my arm before I hit the floor."

Sterling doesn't look convinced. He steps in front of me, shielding me from his brother. "You've been staring at her since we walked into the house. Do you have some kind of prejudice against my girlfriend?"

Rhys slips his hands into his trouser pockets. He scans my face, his eyes lingering on my flushed cheeks and the erratic pulse jumping in my neck.

"A prejudice?" Rhys asks.

"Yeah. You're acting entirely out of line."

Rhys lets out a dry, humorless laugh. He doesn't confirm or deny the accusation. "Just making sure she has good balance, Sterling."

He turns on his heel and walks toward the dining room. The suspicion in his dark eyes remains completely intact.

The dinner passes in a blur of clinking silver and strained conversation. I barely touch my food.

"Sterling tells us your family is in real estate, Wren," Eleanor says, offering a warm smile.

"Yes. Commercial properties, mostly."

"A volatile market right now," Rhys says from the opposite end of the table. "How is the Gallagher portfolio holding up?"

"We adapt."

Rhys tilts his head. "I'm sure you do. Adaptation is a very useful skill."

"Leave business at the office, Rhys," Sterling snaps. "Tonight is about family."

"Just making conversation."

Outside, the wind howls. A sudden crack of thunder shakes the floorboards, followed immediately by a violent downpour. Rain lashes the massive dining room windows in heavy, unrelenting sheets.

Eleanor sets her napkin on the table. "You absolutely cannot drive back to the city in this weather. The roads will be flooded."

"We can manage," I say quickly. "I really don't want to impose."

"Don't be silly," Eleanor insists. "You are staying the night. Both of you."

Sterling leans over and kisses my cheek. "It's fine, Wren. You can just sleep in my room. It's about time my parents stop pretending we don't share a bed anyway."

"That is entirely inappropriate."

The words cut through the room like a blade.

Rhys rests his elbows on the mahogany surface, his expression completely unreadable.

"Excuse me?" Sterling asks, his voice hardening.

"You are not married," Rhys states. "She is a guest in this house. Putting her in your room sends the wrong message."

"We're adults, Rhys. You don't get to dictate where my girlfriend sleeps."

"There is an empty guest room directly across from mine," Rhys continues, ignoring his brother completely. He looks right at Eleanor. "It's clean. It's quiet. It provides the privacy a guest deserves."

Sterling opens his mouth to argue, but Mr. Voss raises a hand.

"Rhys makes a fair point," Mr. Voss says. "We should observe proper etiquette under this roof. I'll have the maids prepare the east guest room for Wren."

Sterling glares at his brother, his jaw locked tight. He doesn't dare challenge his father.

Rhys picks up his wine glass, his eyes flicking to mine over the rim. He takes a slow sip.

The east guest room feels like a vault.

I lock the heavy oak door behind me and drop my clutch on the armchair. My nerves are completely frayed.

I walk straight into the attached bathroom and turn the shower dial all the way to hot. Steam fills the small space, fogging the mirrors. I strip off my dress and step under the scalding spray, trying to wash away the phantom weight of Rhys's gaze.

It doesn't work. Every time I close my eyes, I see him.

Twenty minutes later, I turn the water off. I grab a white towel from the heated rack and wrap it tightly around my body, tucking the corner securely above my breasts. Water drips from my wet hair, sliding down my bare neck.

I push the bathroom door open.

The bedroom is dark. The only illumination comes from the hallway light spilling through the cracked bedroom door.

A tall figure stands in the shadows.

I freeze. My bare feet grip the cold hardwood floor.

Rhys steps fully into the room and pushes the heavy door shut. The lock clicks.

He has removed his suit jacket and tie. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, exposing the hard line of his collarbone.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I demand.

Rhys doesn't answer immediately. He steps closer, his dark eyes raking over my wet hair, my bare shoulders, and the thin white terrycloth clinging to my damp skin.

"You played your part perfectly downstairs," he says. His voice is a low, freezing rasp.

"Get out of my room, Rhys."

He takes another step. "Your room? You're across the hall from me. You're exactly where I put you."

I back up until my shoulders hit the bathroom doorframe. "If you don't leave, I'm going to scream for Sterling."

"Do it," Rhys challenges. He closes the final gap between us. His chest brushes against my bare skin. The heat radiating off his body makes my stomach clench. "Call him in here. Let him see us."

I swallow hard. "You're insane."

Rhys lifts a hand. His knuckles graze my collarbone, sending a violent shiver down my spine. His gaze drops to the swell of my breasts pushed up by the tight towel.

"He thinks he knows you," Rhys murmurs, his eyes darkening as he stares at my chest. "He thinks he knows what you look like underneath this."

I slap his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me."

Rhys doesn't flinch. He steps entirely into my space, trapping me against the wood. His gaze drags slowly from my mouth down to the tucked edge of my towel.

He pointed at my chest."Take it off for me."

"There must be a birthmark right here."