Chapter 2

"I didn't do anything sneaky," I said sweetly, shaking my head with a playful grin. "I just wanted you, Uncle Grayson!"

For a split second, Grayson's face went blank. Then his expression darkened, and he snapped at me in that sharp, commanding voice I both feared and craved.

"You're just a kid—what nonsense are you spouting?"

It wasn't nonsense. Every word was true.

From the day Grayson brought me home from Sunshine Coast Orphanage, he became the most important person in my life. I was so young back then that if I woke up in the morning and didn't see him, I'd burst into tears. No matter how busy he was, he always came to soothe me. Over time, I started sleeping in his bed because I was too scared to be alone. That arrangement lasted until last week…

It was my eighteenth birthday.

Grayson had drunk too much at some corporate dinner, so I helped him upstairs and tucked him into bed. As I leaned in to curl up beside him like always, I noticed something strange—his skin was burning hot, far hotter than usual.

"Uncle, are you running a fever?" I asked, worried. I turned to fetch the medicine cabinet, but before I could take a step, his arms locked around me.

"Don't go, Bella. Let me hold you."

We hugged all the time. He'd told me it was how people showed affection. But this… this heat radiating off him made my skin prickle. Sweat slicked my back, my sundress clinging uncomfortably as I pressed against him. He felt like a furnace—I swear I was about to melt right through the sheets.

"Uncle… I don't feel good," I whispered, trying to wriggle free.

Instead, he crushed me tighter.

"I said, don't move. Why can't you be good?"

His voice cracked like a whip. His grip stole my breath, stars dancing at the edges of my vision—and yet, deep in my chest, a strange, electric thrill sparked to life.

That was the moment I realized—I didn't just want his gentle hugs. I wanted this—the raw, possessive force of him, even when it hurt.

The next morning, Grayson jolted awake like he'd been electrocuted.

"Bella! What are you doing here?!"

"You pulled me into bed last night," I murmured, blinking up at him.

He froze. His eyes raked over me, scorching and hungry, as if he wanted to devour me whole. But Grayson had iron willpower. After a long, tense silence, he simply reached out, dressed me carefully in a fresh floral sundress, and fled the room without another word.

Later, I read about it in psychology class. They called it "imprinting"—like ducklings bonding with the first moving thing they see. In ethology, it's instinct. For me, it was destiny. The moment I laid eyes on Grayson at the orphanage, my heart was his.

Unfortunately, after that night, he moved me back into my own room.

Now, back in his Brickell high-rise office, he wouldn't even listen to my excuses. With a curt nod, he summoned Alex Thompson, his assistant, to drive me home. Frustrated and exhausted, I flopped onto my bed in the Key Biscayne villa and drifted off.

Half-asleep, half-awake, I heard the bedroom door creak open.

A tall, familiar shadow filled the doorway.