The Don's Unwanted Bride

CHAPTER 9

Hayden’s POV

There was something about her.

I couldn’t figure it out, but it kept gnawing at the edges of my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

Since the moment Andrea walked into this house, I had been watching her closely. Too closely, perhaps. The security cameras caught her every move, but it wasn’t enough.

I’d memorized the way she moved, how she kept her head down but her eyes alert. Like someone hiding something. Or someone hiding from something.

She was cautious. Skittish. The kind of desperate that didn’t just come from poverty or bad luck. No, this was the kind of desperation born from running.

She didn’t look like a threat, which made her all the more dangerous.

And yet, I couldn’t stop watching her.

Even now, my screen showed her standing nervously in the kitchen, gripping that damn tray like her life depended on it. I watched as Madam Lena whispered something to her probably another warning about me. As if she needed it. The girl was already terrified.

Good.

Fear made people predictable.

Still, the way her eyes darted around the mansion, the way she jumped at the smallest sounds, it made me suspicious. I’d been in this business long enough to know when someone was lying about who they were.

Andrea was lying. I just didn’t know about what yet.

A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

I quickly shut the laptop, hiding the surveillance feed, and leaned back in my chair like I hadn’t just been spying on her.

“Enter,” I said, voice steady.

The door creaked open, and she stepped in, nervous as ever. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the tray, and her eyes flickered to mine like she was checking if it was safe to breathe.

"Good morning, sir. Here is your coffee," she said softly.

Her voice was gentle, like a whisper wrapped in silk, but I didn’t let it affect me. I stood and approached her, reaching for the cup, and in an instant, everything went to hell.

She stumbled forward.

The tray tilted and the coffee spilled right on me.

A sharp breath escaped me as the scalding liquid seeped through my shirt, but I didn’t even flinch. Not because it didn’t hurt, it did, but because I was too stunned by what happened next.

She reached for me.

She started rubbing my shirt with her bare hands, trying to wipe it off. Her lips were moving in a panic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shit!”

I froze.

She touched me.

And she cursed.

My eyes slowly rose to meet hers. Wide, innocent, and terrified. Good. But still not enough.

I grabbed her wrist tightly, and her breath hitched.

“Were you not told not to touch me?” I asked coldly.

Her face turned pale. Like the realization had just hit her.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I was just—I'll make you another,” she stammered, stepping back.

She turned to flee, but I moved fast.

Too fast.

I reached for her, gripped her hand, and spun her around. The tray clattered to the ground, echoing like a gunshot in the silence. Before she could react, I had her pinned to the wall. My arm caged her in, my other hand resting against the wall beside her head.

She gasped.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her back pressed to the cold surface behind her. I could feel the tremble in her frame, the heat radiating off her body.

I leaned in slowly. Inches away. Just enough to see her pupils dilate.

“You think this is a game?” I asked, voice low.

“No,” she whispered, eyes locked on mine.

But her lips quivered. Her fear was real. I could practically hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest.

“What exactly did you think was going to happen when you touched me?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she pleaded. “It was an accident. I swear.”

“Accidents get people killed,” I growled.

She flinched.

Her eyes dropped to my shirt again. “I’ll clean it. I didn’t mean to—I was just nervous. I—shit.”

I stiffened at the curse words she just spurted out again

My eyes narrowed. “Did you just curse in front of me again?”