Summer’s POV

Mr. Stark’s fingers traced the edge of his platinum cufflink as he spoke, the gesture casual yet somehow predatory. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can help you.”

That commanding tone… like he’s used to people following his every word. I clutched the silk covers tighter to my chest, painfully aware of my nakedness beneath them. The realization that I wasn’t wearing anything sent a wave of vulnerability crashing through me. “I don’t need your help.” The words came out sharper than I intended, tinged with the bitter memories of the last time I’d trusted someone’s help. My fingers clenched in the fabric, knuckles turning white.

He moved closer, each step measured and deliberate, like a predator approaching cornered prey. My heart stuttered as his expensive leather shoes whispered against the plush carpet.

“Really?” His deep voice carried a hint of amusement, but his eyes… God, those eyes. Dark and intense, they seemed to see right through my fragile defenses. One corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smirk as he continued, “Why did you come to Manhattan Club last night? Your fiancé becoming your brother-in-law, your parents’ distrust – you’ve become the target of everyone’s gossip.”

“Who are you?” I demanded again, but this time the question carried a different weight. He knew too much for this to be a coincidence.

He took another step closer, and I caught that same winter-fresh scent from last night. “Brandon Stark.”

The Brandon Stark? Seriously? The name hit me like a physical blow. My mind raced through the possibilities, the connections. “Wait… what’s your connection to Alexander?”

His lips curved into a predatory smile. “If I say there’s no real connection, would you believe me?”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion flaring as I pulled the sheet higher, ensuring it covered me completely. “Are you trying to use me against him or something? Some Stark family feud I don’t know about?”

A bark of laughter escaped him, sharp and dismissive. “Against him? You’re giving him way too much credit!”

He closed the distance between us in two long strides, his movements fluid and graceful despite his imposing height. At this distance, I could see how his perfectly tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame, how the morning light caught the sharp angles of his face. Suddenly the room felt too small, too warm. I clutched the sheet tighter around myself, terribly conscious of my complete nakedness beneath the thin barrier of silk. I tried to scoot back, but my bare skin against the smooth sheets reminded me of just how vulnerable I truly was. Trapped. Again.

His tie pin caught the morning light as he leaned closer, casting golden reflections on the wall. “Miss Taylor,” his voice dropped lower, a velvet rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Don’t you hate them? Being betrayed by the ones closest to you, don’t you hate them?”

Yes. No. I don’t know anymore. The conflicting emotions must have shown on my face because something flickered in his expression – satisfaction maybe, or triumph.

“That’s none of your business,” I whispered, but the words lacked conviction. His proximity was making it hard to think straight, especially with nothing but a thin sheet between my bare skin and his fully clothed presence.