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Chapter 3: A Taste of Deception

Author: Soft Xoxo
last update Last Updated: 2025-03-18 02:40:42

Annie stood at the entrance of Eric’s mansion—if she could even call it that. The place was ridiculous. Gated entrance, a long, winding driveway, and the kind of architectural perfection that only billionaires could afford.

The moment she stepped inside, the air changed. The scent of expensive leather, polished wood, and faint cologne wrapped around her. A chandelier big enough to drown her in diamonds hung from the high ceiling. The floors gleamed under the warm lighting, and everything—from the minimalist furniture to the enormous windows overlooking the estate—screamed wealth.

She didn’t belong here.

This was too much.

Harley, however, seemed completely at home. The little girl ran down the hallway, already chattering about showing Annie her room.

Annie adjusted the strap of her bag and sighed. Only a few days. Play the role and get out.

Eric watched her closely, leaning against the staircase railing. His wolf instincts hummed beneath his skin.

She was tense, stiff, too aware. He could hear the slight hitch in her breathing, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat—controlled, guarded.

Interesting.

“You look uncomfortable,” he mused.

“I am.” Annie glanced around. “I’ve never been surrounded by this much unnecessary luxury.”

Eric smirked, stepping closer. “You’re in my world now.”

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Yeah, and I hate it."

Annie had planned to stay distant, keep her interactions minimal, but Harley had other plans.

The moment bedtime rolled around, Annie found herself trapped in the little girl’s room—soft pastel colors, stuffed animals, and a bed that could fit three kids.

Harley patted the space beside her. “Mommy, storytime!”

Annie tensed. Mommy?

She hesitated, glancing at Eric, who stood by the door, watching with that unreadable expression again. He wasn’t going to help her, was he?

Harley pouted. “Please?”

Something in Annie cracked.

She sighed and sat down stiffly, picking up the nearest book. Harley snuggled close, her warmth pressing against Annie's side.

Eric's nose twitched slightly.

There.

The faintest shift in Annie's scent. It wasn’t much, but it was there—something undeniably warm, undeniably protective.

He had to force himself to look away.

As Annie read, her voice softened.

Harley giggled at parts of the story, completely relaxed in Annie's presence. Completely trusting.

Annie didn’t realize how her fingers had started brushing through the child’s hair until she saw Eric's eyes darken slightly.

Something flickered in his gaze.

Something dangerous.

She cleared her throat, quickly pulling her hand away.

“I should go.”

Harley yawned, sleep already dragging her under. “Stay…”

Annie bolted out of there before she let herself sink deeper into something she had no business feeling.

The bedroom Eric had given her was bigger than her entire apartment. A king-sized bed, a walk-in closet, and a private bathroom with a tub that could fit two people.

She grabbed a towel and stepped inside, the cool marble floor chilling her skin.

As she pulled her shirt over her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

The scar on her back stood out under the bathroom lights—a thin, deep mark that ran along her spine. A reminder.

A past she had buried.

She swallowed hard. Don’t think about it.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking open made her spin around, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

Eric.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, but his wolf was restless now.

His gaze locked onto the scar, brows furrowing.

The moment the air shifted, his nostrils flared slightly.

The faintest trace of her scent thickened.

Not fear.

Not embarrassment.

Something else.

Something he shouldn’t notice.

His voice came low, almost husky. “That doesn’t look like a baking accident.”

Annie yanked the towel up against her chest, heat flooding her face. “What the hell are you doing in here?!”

Eric didn’t blink. “This is my bathroom.”

She gritted her teeth. “Well, I’m in it.”

His wolf stirred.

Heat pulsed low in his abdomen.

That damn towel wasn’t helping.

Her scent had changed again—subtle, but noticeable.

Eric took a slow step forward. The air between them charged, thick with something unspoken.

His fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to touch her. He could hear the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her heartbeat had picked up speed.

Annie heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She should’ve yelled at him again. Should’ve shoved him out.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed frozen, her breath catching as his fingers barely grazed the skin of her bare shoulder.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Eric's pupils dilated slightly. Damn it.

He was about to do something he shouldn’t.

His fingers flexed—almost as if testing himself. Would she pull away? Would she let him?

But before he could find out, he stepped back.

Annie barely masked her disappointment before she snapped, “Get out.”

Eric exhaled sharply, turning on his heel. “Put some clothes on.”

Then, he was gone, the door shutting behind him.

Annie stood there, heart pounding.

Damn it.

She exhaled slowly, gripping the towel tighter.

She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She couldn’t afford to.

But the heat still lingered.

Eric walked straight into his room and closed the door.

He pressed a hand against his face, his fingers curling into his temples.

What the hell was that?

He’d seen women half-dressed before. Hell, he’d seen plenty of them naked.

But Annie?

That was different.

She wasn’t supposed to make him react. She wasn’t supposed to make him feel like his blood was running too hot.

His hands clenched into fists.

Control yourself.

He could still smell the shift in her scent.

And it was driving him insane.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Across the world, in a dimly lit office, Jaime stared at the confidential file on his desk.

The emblem of the CIA was stamped across the top.

His brows furrowed as he flipped through the pages.

And then—

His stomach dropped.

Lady Lilly.

An assassin linked to countless disappearances. Deadly. Untraceable.

He clenched his jaw, eyes scanning the description.

The details were vague, but something about it—something about the physical description—felt… off.

His grip on the file tightened.

He had a bad feeling.

And Jaime always trusted his instincts.

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