Chapter 2 - The Estate in the HillsThe journey from the quiet town of Hawthorne to the sprawling, high-security Vale Estate in the rolling hills outside Philadelphia took nearly an hour in the silent, leather-scented rear cabin of the armored sedan.
I sat huddled in the corner, clutching my canvas handbag against my stomach, watching the rain streak down the tinted glass.
When the vehicle glided through massive wrought-iron gates guarded by armed men and pulled up before a grand, three-story limestone mansion lit by warm golden floodlights, I realized my life as a quiet diner waitress was officially dead.
Marcus opened the heavy door, holding the umbrella over my head as he guided me up the wide stone steps into the foyer.
The interior was breathtaking—soaring marble arches, crystal chandeliers, ancient oil paintings, and an absolute, suffocating quiet.
Standing at the top of the sweeping mahogany staircase, wearing a tailored charcoal trousers and a crisp white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone, was Dominic Vale.
Without the dark suit coat and surrounded by his own home, he looked less like an urban myth and more like a striking, dangerous prince. The faint red scratch along his left cheekbone—the injury I had wiped clean—was still visible under the soft chandelier light.
He walked down the stairs, his leather shoes clicking softly against the marble.
Marcus bowed his head slightly. "The girl is here, Boss."
"Leave us, Marcus," Dominic ordered softly, never taking his gray eyes off my face.
"Boss..." Marcus hesitated, his brow furrowing in genuine concern. "The security protocol—"
"I said leave us," Dominic repeated, his baritone dropping an octave into an absolute, freezing command that left zero room for debate.
Marcus bowed again and retreated down the hallway, the heavy oak double doors clicking shut behind him.
Dominic stopped two paces from me. Up close, he towered over my five-foot-four frame, radiating an immense, magnetic power that made my pulse race wildly.
"You're terrified," Dominic observed quietly.
"Shouldn't I be?" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "Everyone in Pennsylvania says you're a monster."
Dominic looked at me for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out his right hand, resting his broad, calloused palm flat against his own jaw—the exact spot where my fingers had touched him earlier.
"When I was eight years old," Dominic spoke softly, his gray eyes darkening with an ancient, heavy memory, "my father's rivals took me. They kept me in a dark basement for three months. Every time a human hand touched my skin, it came with pain. When I took over the family sixteen years ago, I swore no one would ever touch me unless I allowed it."
My breath caught in my throat. The missing piece of the legend fell into place.
"Then why..." I rasped out, looking up into his severe, handsome face. "Why didn't you stop me tonight?"
May you like
Dominic stepped one inch closer, his thumb softly brushing against the air near my cheek, his eyes holding a fierce, unshakeable reverence.
"Because when your fingers touched my skin, Lily," Dominic confessed, every word quiet and absolute, "for the first time in twenty-eight years... it didn't hurt."
Related Stories
