The Heiress Spoiled by Four Brothers and One Devilish CEO Free Preview

In a damp, dim jail cell.

A frail woman with tangled hair curled up in a corner, sleeves hanging empty where her arms should be, head buried deep into her knees.

Footsteps approached—light, cheerful, even a little excited.

The cell door creaked open. A woman in a ivory lace dress strolled in, hanging on the arm of a sharp-dressed man holding a rectangular box.

"Sis, don't I look fabulous today?" she twirled in front of the woman on the floor, lifting her hem with pride. Her voice was sweet and light, like bells chiming. "It's your big day today, so I figured something bright and celebratory was in order. This ivory lace... it feels right, doesn't it? Perfect for a wedding! And guess what? Wyatt and I just got our marriage certificate too! Isn't it all just perfect timing?"

Slowly, the woman in the corner looked up. Her face was filthy, crisscrossed with nasty scars that looked like crawling parasites.

Suddenly, she lunged forward, throwing herself at the woman in ivory with every ounce of strength she had.

But before she even got close, she was kicked hard. Her body flew like a ragged kite, slamming into the icy stone wall.

Curling up from the pain in her chest, she grimaced as fresh blood seeped from her stitched lips.

Her eyes, bloodshot and full of hate, locked onto the smug pair standing over her.

The man puffed out a breath, brushed off his pants like her presence had contaminated him, then drew the woman in ivory closer and kissed her.

He looked down at the woman on the floor like she was trash. His voice carried nothing but disdain. "Megan, still playing tough when you're one step from death? Molly came herself to see you off, and you repay her like this?"

Molly clung to Wyatt's waist, blinking up with teary eyes. "She's always been this way to me, I'm used to it…"

Megan's heart ached. She gave a broken laugh that only tugged at the stitches on her lips, splitting them open again. The agony didn't even scratch the surface of the pain her sister's betrayal carved into her soul.

No—Molly didn't even count as family.

Breaking away, Molly squatted in front of her and whispered with a grin, "Thought you were some badass? So I took your arms. You thought you were a beauty? So I wrecked your face. Sharp tongue? I stitched your damn mouth shut. Honestly, it felt great."

She pulled out her phone, flicking through photos. "Check out your lovely family's last moments. Now, everything from the Shaw family is mine."

Megan glared at her, eyes burning.

Molly didn't flinch. She leaned in and said just loud enough for Megan to hear, "Even Tristan Reid, the man you didn't even treasure—he'll be mine soon enough. Imagine his face when he finds out you were the one who destroyed him…"

She let out a mocking giggle. "Who would've thought you were this genius hacker too? So jealous I could scream."

The moment Tristan Reid's name came up, deep remorse stirred in Megan's chest.

She'd believed every lie Molly spun—believed Tristan was some twisted monster who'd locked her up to torture her, never once stopping to hear him out. Molly had even framed Tristan, making Megan believing he was the one who killed their grandfather. That lie had completely blinded her with hatred.

So, she tore down his company, crushed the century-old legacy of the Reid family.

She dragged him from his pedestal straight to the abyss.

She destroyed him.

Her eyes, dull and lifeless, slowly lost their last trace of light.

Suddenly, Molly stumbled to the ground, pretending to be terrified and shaken.

Wyatt Reid immediately knelt to pick her up, pulling her behind him protectively. Then, without warning, he stomped hard on the side of Megan's head, grinding his heel viciously.

He gave a cruel chuckle. "Guess what? All those Reid businesses you took in the end? Yeah, they ended up mine anyway. Tristan has nothing now, zip."

He flipped open a narrow rectangular box and pulled out a military dagger, casually tossing the box aside.

Under the pale moonlight, the blade gleamed coldly.

Then he raised his arm and drove the knife straight into her side.

The sharp chill cut through her like ice. The pain made it hard to breathe.

Megan knew both lungs had been punctured. She didn't have much time left.

Still, not a single tear fell.

She just didn't have functioning tear ducts.

Wyatt yanked the blade out and kept stabbing—again and again. Blood splattered across the drab prison wall like bursts of crimson plum blossoms blooming in winter.

Megan lay there, numb from all the pain.

Her mind started to fade.

She vaguely caught the sound of a struggle, then—bang! bang!—two gunshots shattered the silence.

"Megan! Megan!" a voice called out.

Megan felt herself being gathered into a warm embrace. She struggled to lift her heavy eyelids, trying to see who was calling her name.

Just as her vision cleared for a moment, a single tear slid from the corner of her eye.

Tristan was holding her bloodied body close, tears streaming down his face. "Megan, wake up. Look at me. I've avenged you."

With what little strength she had, Megan glanced at the two who had tortured her seconds ago. Now both lay lifeless in pools of blood, bullets to their heads.

Tristan was pressing hard against her wounds, hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding—but there were too many.

"Megan… I'm sorry. I got here too late. I'll take you to the hospital right now," he choked out.

But Megan could feel her life slipping away. She shook her head slightly.

She parted her stitched-up, ruined lips, trying to say something.

Tristan instantly understood. He pulled out a knife and gently cut the stitches.

Her voice was raspy and barely audible. "So...rry… Tristan…"

He cupped her bruised face like it was the most precious thing in the world, his hot tears falling onto her cheeks. "Don't say that. You don't need to say sorry."

She wished more than anything to wipe away his tears with her hands, touch his handsome face once more. But her arms were gone.

Her sight began to blur again. "I...can't... If there's... a next life, I'll... love you better..."

As the light faded from Megan's eyes, Tristan reached down, picked up the dagger, and without hesitation, thrust it into his own chest.

Megan's lips barely moved, whispering her final word, "Don't…"

Tristan cradled her still, lifeless body, tears filling his eyes as he collapsed beside her.

With his last ounce of strength, he reached out and gently closed her eyes.

A quiet smile touched his lips. "We couldn't live together… but at least we'll die together. If there's a next life, I'll still love you…"

"No!"

The woman snapped her eyes open, breath coming in quick gasps as she stared at the pale pink ceiling above her.

Her brows pulled together, and her long curled lashes trembled slightly. She slowly raised her arms—hands cuffed with customized chains that quivered just like her confusion.

"My arms… Molly severed these. Didn't she?" Megan thought, fingers trembling as they brushed unblemished skin. "Smooth lips… intact. Is this… a dream?"

Footsteps approached. She instinctively pushed herself up, though her weak body made her dizzy the second she moved.

Bathed in the soft afternoon sunlight, a tall figure stepped into view, wrapped in a golden glow.

His face was sharp, almost ethereal—thick brows, deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and thin-pressed lips. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a myth—with a sickly pallor that gave him a haunted edge.

"You hate me that much, huh?"

The man stood beside the bed, eyes locked onto hers, voice low and laced with exhaustion.

Megan's nose stung. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her small face against his firm waist.

"Tristan… Tristan…"

Tristan's body froze. She'd never said his name like that before, not with that kind of warmth.

She'd always been slick—skilled and full of tricks, trying every possible move to break free.

He even had those cuffs made—ones that only responded to his fingerprint—just to stop her escaping again.

She'd gone on hunger strike because of them.

So what now? Playing a new angle? Soft power?

The damp warmth soaked through his shirt, touching the muscles on his abdomen.

He quickly furrowed his brow, placing his hands on her shoulders to create distance.

"Are… are you crying?"

He'd really pushed this tearless woman to tears?

Anger surged in him. Did she hate him so much she'd rather fall apart?

He was about to tell her—tears or not, she wasn't leaving. He never let go of what was his.

But before he could speak, she hugged him again, tighter this time.

"Tristan, Tristan… is this really you? Am I dreaming?"

Wasn't this the same day from three months ago—when she had stopped eating?

Hadn't she… died?

Her last memory was of him… plunging a blade into her chest.

Could it be… she'd really come back?

Tristan lifted a hand, wanting to gently pat her back. But at the last second, he pulled it back.

No—he wouldn't give in again.

His voice was deep, smooth like a cello, but cold enough to sting. "Don't kid yourself. You're never getting away from me."

Megan jerked her head up, grabbed her own arm, and bit down hard.

The pain.

So real.

Way too real.

Tristan's face darkened, eyes narrowing. "Are you still trying to hurt yourself?"

She crawled up onto the bed, knelt, then threw her arms around his neck. Her voice softened to almost a whisper, "I'm not… I just had to know if this was real. If you… are real. I'm done running. Tristan, I missed you—so much. I really did."

Missed him?

Wasn't it hate?

Didn't she despise him for locking her up?

This—this was the Megan he'd been waiting for. A version of her he'd never thought he'd actually see.But the sudden happiness felt too unreal. He stood frozen, not knowing how to react.

Megan had cried for a while before loosening her grip around his neck and looking up at him.

Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, like two bruised cherries. Seeing that, Tristan felt a stabbing ache in his chest. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he raised a hand toward her lips. "If you want to check if this is a dream, don't bite yourself—it'll hurt. Bite me instead."

Megan stared at his clean, slender fingers, then wrapped her hands around his and brought them to her lips.

Just when Tristan thought she was about to chomp down on him, she gently kissed his hand instead.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low. "Trying to win me over with stuff you don't even mean? So I'll let you go?"

She shook her head and pressed his hand to her face, voice stuffy, "Tristan, can we just try to live a normal life together?"

Live a normal life…He'd waited way too long to hear those words.

"Do you… mean it?" Tristan asked, still in disbelief.

"Absolutely. I'm done running. We're already engaged. I'm your fiancée. I'll stay with you, no matter what." Megan nodded with conviction.

His dark eyes sparkled for a moment, only for doubt to flicker in soon after. "You said that last time too. Didn't stop you from bolting."

Megan knew she'd let him down—again and again.

In her past life, this very day had played out almost identically. She'd done everything she could to gain Tristan's trust.

And it had worked. He'd dropped all restrictions and stopped trying to confine her.

But she broke her promise, vanished, and hid in a secret underground room Molly had prepared.

Not long after, she heard that Tristan had lost it and ended up killing her grandfather in his rage.

That's when she messaged him privately, declaring war and demanding revenge.

Tristan tried tracing her down, but she was like a ghost, completely off the grid.

She used her tech skills to hack into Reid Corp's internal systems, drain their funds, and leak fake financial reports.

Reid Corp's stock crashed overnight—billions in assets gone.

All strategic partnerships with global companies were pulled. The entire corporation was in chaos.

She seized the opportunity to take it over.

And throughout all this, as CEO, Tristan didn't even try to fight back.

It was like… he let her do it.

It took her just two months to knock Reid Corp off its pedestal.

The flashback zipped through Megan's mind in seconds.

A deep guilt washed over her. She cupped his chiseled face in her hands, looked him in the eye, and said gently, "I know, for you, all this joy feels way too fast—like a blow to your chest. But Tristan, just this once, can you trust me?"

Tristan's deep gaze locked onto her pale face, a sigh slipping out from his nose. "I'll trust you... just this once."

Megan blinked those innocent eyes at him, gently shaking the cuff still attached to the bedpost.

His sharp brows furrowed, clearly hesitating.

After a beat of silence, he finally made up his mind, pressing both thumbs onto the fingerprint locks of her handcuffs.

A soft "beep" sounded, and the cuffs released with a clack, dropping onto the bed.

Now free, Megan rubbed her reddened wrists and stretched them a bit.

She wondered, "Damn. Not even I could crack these—talk about next level. And last time… I'm the one who tricked him into opening them.... …Guess I'll have to ask him again. Ugh.."

Megan suddenly smirked. "Where'd you get these cuffs? I swear, if I find out who made them, I'm gonna make sure they never design anything again."

Tristan cleared his throat lightly. "Some tech guy."

Yup, same answer, same tone. Lazy, as usual.

But whatever. Unlocked is good enough.

Megan leaned in and gave his cool lips a quick peck. "Thanks for believing me again."

That kiss sent a shockwave straight through him, blood surging. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously.

His first real kiss.

Assuming that time with the CPR didn't count.

He suddenly looked awkward, ears turning a slight shade of red. "Um...Oh, I'll ask Mrs. Jones to whip you up something. She'll bring it by later. I've got a meeting at the office—I'll head out now."

He turned quickly and made for the door.

When he got to the door, his hand paused on the knob.

He glanced back at her face—the one he loved most—then rushed out as if making a getaway.

Megan's eyes misted up watching him go, his tall frame vanishing from view.

God really gave her a second shot at life.

A second chance to make things right with him.

Her gaze darkened, killing intent brewing.

The debts of her past life—she was going to settle every last one.

♥

A sleek black Maybach sped down the road toward Reid Corp.

In the driver's seat, Cameron Brooks adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and happened to glance at the rearview mirror—only to get hit with a spook.

The usually stone-faced boss was... smiling?

That was rarer than hitting the lottery.

He'd been Tristan's assistant for five whole years and never once seen this man crack a grin.

Was the boss losing it, thanks to that drama queen back at the estate?

"Cameron, focus on driving," came the flat voice from the back. "You're not a reaction meme."

Cameron's lip twitched. Was he being that obvious?

Tristan's little grin stayed plastered on his face all the way to the company entrance.

Once parked, Cameron hopped out and opened the door for him.

The two stepped into the building and headed into the exclusive CEO elevator.

Just before the doors closed, a woman's designer clutch slipped in to block them.

A curvy, seductive beauty stepped forward, her voice like warm honey. "Mr. Reid, wait up."

The air dropped ten degrees instantly. Tristan's smile vanished like smoke, and his eyes shot daggers.

His voice was cold as ice, laced with anger. "Get out."

Clearly lacking the slightest self-preservation, the woman slid one leg into the elevator.

"Toss her."

"Got it," Cameron responded without missing a beat, now full-on bodyguard mode.

He grabbed her without a hint of mercy and shoved her out the door.

Then he calmly hit the close button.

"Better disinfect the whole elevator."

"On it."

Honestly, this kind of thing happened so often, he'd lost track. Disinfecting the elevator had become part of the daily schedule.

What a mystery that Megan girl was. Wild as she was, she had the boss wrapped around her finger.

And this was the richest man in the empire we were talking about—he could have any woman he wanted.

But nope. He had to fall for someone who didn't even like him back.

While Cameron was still busy trying to figure out that riddle, a cold voice pulled him back.

"The 88th floor. Did you press it?"Cameron cleared his throat awkwardly, hand clenched into a fist. "Uh, sorry, sir. I'll handle it right now."

"If you show up at work with just your head next time, don't bother coming."

"Yes, sir!"

A chill ran down Cameron's spine the moment he heard that. Sweat instantly broke out on his back.

The elevator doors slid open. Tristan Reid, sharply dressed in a tailored suit, strode straight toward the conference room.

At the center of the spacious room sat an oval redwood table, and every seat around it was already filled.

As Tristan entered, everyone quickly stood and greeted, "Good morning, Mr. Reid."

He gave a slight nod as the meeting began.

But honestly, Tristan barely paid attention the whole time. His mind was somewhere else—circling back to Megan's strange behavior earlier.

Was she trying to get him to let his guard down?

Was she planning to run again?

She really would do just about anything to escape.

But no matter where she went, he'd find her.

Even if she ran to the ends of the earth, he'd drag her back himself.

That thought made his dark eyes frost over. His jawline tensed, and both fists clenched on the table.

The room went dead silent. No one dared utter a word, and the one speaking just now froze, lips trembling.

Then suddenly, Tristan stood up and, without a word, walked out of the meeting room with long, purposeful strides.

Cameron scrambled to catch up.

♥

At Dreamscape Manor.

Megan stood in front of the spotless mirror, staring at her own face still dripping from the cold wash.

After days of not eating or drinking, her once-glowing complexion had faded into a sickly pallor. Hair messy, skin dull—she looked like a ghost straight out of a horror flick.

And she had kissed Tristan like this?

She actually chuckled. Would he have nightmares tonight because of it?

She stepped out of the bathroom and leaned against the wall, feeling drained.

Her gaze swept over the bedroom.

Soft pink hues everywhere—her favorite color.

Since Tristan had locked her up here, he had overhauled the entire room. It used to be all black and white, cold and modern—but now? Pink sheets, pink carpet, pink everything.

He'd even filled the place with stuffed toys—all pink too—like he was trying to fill the silence with affection.

Looking at all this, Megan couldn't deny it: Tristan really did spoil her in his own flawed way.

Problem was, the man didn't know how to love.

Well then, she'd teach him.

"Knock, knock!"

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said, barely audible.

Mrs. Jones walked in, carrying a tray with croissants and cookies. The moment she saw Megan, her eyes widened in alarm.

Setting the tray on the nightstand, she quickly turned back and helped Megan off the floor.

"Oh, Young Madam, please just make up with the young master. Look at you—you've wasted away these last few days." Mrs. Jones gently helped her to the bed and pulled a thin blanket over her.

Then she handed Megan a cookie. "You don't know this, but the young master stopped eating too. He's been working around the clock and hasn't taken a break. His stomach acted up again."

Megan's brows furrowed.

So that's why he looked so pale lately—he'd been punishing himself with her.

This idiot.

A strange ache settled in her chest, and even the butter cookie tasted a bit bitter.

She let out a breathy sigh. "Mrs. Jones, I'm done fighting with Tristan. I want to start over with him."

Even with Megan's words, Mrs. Jones still looked uneasy.

After watching her finish the whole croissant, she folded her hands, looking at her with sincere eyes. "Miss, please... have some mercy on the young master. He really loves you, though maybe his way of showing it's a bit much."

Megan reached out and held Mrs. Jones' wrinkled, calloused hands, offering a soft smile. "I mean it this time. I want to make things right with Tristan and take care of him too."

Mrs. Jones's eyes turned red, her nose stinging a bit. "Good... good. I've watched him grow up. When he was little, he lived with his mom out in the countryside. Didn't come back to the Reid family until he was eight. Poor child."

Megan had only seen the polished, public side of Tristan. She had no clue about the truth behind his background.

She looked at Mrs. Jones with a hint of confusion in her eyes. "Wait, I'm not following—Mrs. Jones, isn't his mom Mrs. Reid?"

Mrs. Jones shook her head, just about to explain when they both heard a sharp knock at the door.

Suddenly, Megan asked, "What time is it now?"

Mrs. Jones checked her watch. "It's 2:20 in the afternoon."

Megan recalled that, in her past life, she had escaped from Dreamscape Manor around 2 o'clock. Right after that, she'd gotten in touch with Molly—who must be the one knocking now.

She turned to Mrs. Jones. "Go answer it. No matter who it is, just say I'm asleep and not taking visitors."

Mrs. Jones looked at the woman who used to want to run away at all costs, now calmly staying put, and felt a deep sense of gratitude.

She nodded and picked up the food tray as she went to the door, blocking the figure who tried to barge in.

"Move. I need to see my sister."

"Sorry, Miss Shaw. Young Madam is resting."

"'Young Madam ? Seriously? My sister doesn't care about such titles. What, is she hurt or something and you're all hiding it?"

Young Madam is really just napping, please don't make this difficult for us."

"I don't care! If I don't see her today, I'm not leaving!"

"Apologies, but you can't come in—"

Smash! A loud crash echoed through the hall as the plate hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

The door flung open, and Mrs. Jones was shoved aside, crashing against the wall.

Megan lay in bed, eyes void of warmth, coldly watching the woman walk in with that familiar sultry strut.

Her face betrayed no emotion, but inside, a storm raged.

This woman in red—she was the one who'd severed her arms, sewn her lips shut, and wiped out her entire family in her previous life.

There was no way she'd let her go this time.

"Sis," Molly called out, rushing in with an anxious look, pretending to be worried.

She sat on the bed beside her, took her hand with false concern. "You've gotten so thin, what happened to you?"

As if she didn't know. It was Molly who'd told her to stop eating the last time she visited, and now she had the audacity to act clueless.

Just how blind had she been in her past life to not see that this snake had no heart?

Megan pulled her hand back and adjusted her covers. "Didn't you say I should starve myself?"

Molly's eyes darted toward the door, nervous that someone might've heard.

This wretched woman—how dare she say that out loud?

She lowered her voice. "Sis, I was only trying to help you get away from Tristan faster. I was just doing what you wanted, that's all."

"Sure."

Megan's calm agreement, coupled with her now free hands, made Molly's lips curl up slightly, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Sis, did Tristan finally agree to let you go?"

Megan nearly laughed. "Nope. He's dead set on locking me up here for good."

Molly's face instantly tightened, her brows creasing so hard they looked like they could trap a fly.

She leaned in and muttered, "If he's not backing down, then you've gotta take the dramatic route—slice your wrist."

Megan slowly pushed herself up, leaning back against the headboard.She lowered her gaze, idly fiddling with her nails. "I've kinda changed my mind about leaving... Turns out, Tristan's actually been really sweet to me lately."

Molly shot a glance at the maid standing by the door. "Sis, there's no need to pretend now. It's just us. If you're hurting, you can just tell me. No need to say stuff you don't mean."

Megan chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Yeah, I guess it's kinda not true… He did something that I couldn't stand."

"Couldn't stand?"

"I mean, look at me—already this weak, and he still didn't give me a break in bed."

That line hit Molly like a bolt from the blue. Her lashes trembled as she stammered, "You… you two actually did it?"

Megan gave a small nod, voice gentle. "Didn't matter I hadn't eaten for days—he was at me every night. Like he couldn't get enough."

As those words left her lips, Megan tilted an eyebrow, watching Molly's face go through a whole theatrical cycle—from shock to envy, and then seething rage. It was like watching a comedy unfold live.

But then Megan's smirk froze stiff.

Because right then, Tristan stood in the doorway.

Yep. He definitely heard all of that.

"Tristan, what are you doing back so quick? Missed me already?"

Megan tossed the blanket aside and hopped off the bed, running straight for him. Thanks to the croissants and cookies earlier, she had some strength back—especially after seeing him, it was like energy flooded through her veins.

Tristan's face was darker than a thundercloud, clearly not in the best mood.

Before she could throw herself at him, he stepped up fast and scooped her into his arms. His tone had a hint of disapproval, "You shouldn't be walking around barefoot like that."

Megan instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as she pouted, "Hey, at least I'm not running out here nude, right?"

That shut Tristan up real quick—his cheeks flushed red in an instant.

Molly stood up now, hands politely clasped in front of her, her voice sickly sweet. "Hi, Tristan."

Tristan straight-up ignored her, not even sparing her a glance.

He gently set Megan back on the bed and said coldly, "From now on, unless I say otherwise, no outsiders are allowed in the Dreamscape Manor."

Megan shot a casual glance at Molly, who was still standing there pretending she didn't get the memo.

She tightened her arms around Tristan's neck. "Baby, I'm so sleepy and drained. Can you stay and nap with me for a bit?"

Tristan kicked off his slippers, lay down beside her, and pulled the blanket over both of them.

Megan snuggled up close, and her hand sneakily popped open two buttons of his dress shirt, slipping inside.

He was that classic case—slim in clothes, built like a statue underneath.

She didn't even have to look. Just by touching, she could feel the solid definition of his chest and abs. The dude clearly lived a disciplined life.

"Let me count how many abs you've got. Last few times, I passed out before I got the chance to take a good look."

Tristan gritted his teeth, fists clenched tight under the covers.

Did this woman even realize how much she was teasing him?

His eyes darkened as he glared at Molly still lingering at the bedside. His voice was ice-cold. "Get out."

Molly's lips twitched, her hands subtly trembling.

The blood-red nails she took so long perfecting dug deep into her palms, but she didn't seem to feel a thing.

"One… two… three... four..." Megan murmured in a sultry tone, peeking up cheekily as she counted.

That was the final straw.

Molly, her pride shredded and heart fuming, stormed out like a defeated dog.

At the door, Mrs. Jones just smiled knowingly before quietly closing it behind her.

Megan took a deep breath—the fresh scent clinging to the man was oddly intoxicating.

She tried to slide her hand out from his shirt, but he held her still.

Tristan turned his head and looked at her. "Didn't finish counting, did you? Keep going."

Megan blinked, her clear eyes flickering. "I... I…"

Under the blanket, his warm hand gripped her slender wrist and gently guided her downward. His voice was low, deep, magnetic. "Five... six... seven... eight…"

"Nine…" Megan followed his movement, murmuring softly.

Her eyes flew open in shock. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I swear!"

Even Tristan looked a little stunned for a moment, his Adam's apple sliding up and down. "You didn't mean to? huh?"

Megan jerked her hand back, her face instantly flushing pink.

With one quick move, he pinned her beneath him, eyes flashing with a dangerous glint. "So, you're admitting it now?"

She stared straight at his impossibly handsome face, especially those deep, predatory eyes that seemed to suck her right in.

She swallowed nervously. "I-I didn't."

Trying to redirect the conversation, she cleared her throat and muttered, "Didn't you head to the office? Why are you back?"

"Just wanted to check if you'd eaten something. Don't try changing the subject—earlier who was it that said I'm too demanding, huh?"

That teasing lilt at the end of his sentence made her shudder all over.

She coughed lightly. "Well, I knew she had her eyes on you, so... I might've said something to rattle her a bit."

"Hmm? Weren't you the one who trusted her the most?"

Megan looked sly. "After starving for a few days, I think my brain finally rebooted. I can finally tell who's good and who's bad."

Tristan gave her a lazy smile. "So, where do I fall? Good or bad?"

Her dark eyes reflected his sharp features. "You're good. Really good. Especially to me."

"Seriously, who's the genius telling everyone I'm some possessive freak 24/7?"

Megan quickly shook her head. "Shh! No more of that—you're the best, Tristan."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Words are nice, but actions talk louder."

Then, without warning, he buried his face into her neck, taking in her scent. The unique fragrance of her made his breath quicken despite himself.

All the control he prided himself on? Completely dismantled the moment she came into his life.

And now, holding her in his arms felt surreal.

"You're something else, Megan," he murmured against her skin.

Her small hands pressed against his chest, eyelashes fluttering. "I'm here."

Tristan slowly lifted his head. "I... want to…"

That ragged edge of pleading in his voice hit Megan like a physical blow, a sharp twist beneath her ribs. Her breath hitched. Without thinking, she rose on trembling toes, her palms cradling his jaw. The rough scrape of his stubble against her skin sent sparks up her wrists as she pressed her lips to his—a tentative brush, feather-light.

He went utterly still for a heartbeat. Then, with a low groan that vibrated against her mouth, he took control. No fumbling, no hesitation—just pure, instinctive mastery. His hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling at her nape to angle her head exactly where he wanted it. The kiss deepened slowly, deliberately; his mouth moving over hers with devastating expertise—a languid exploration that tasted of desperation and dark honey.

She melted into him, her fingers slipping into his hair as he refused to relent. His other arm locked around her waist, crushing her against the hard lines of his body. Time blurred. There was only the slick heat of his tongue tracing her lower lip, the possessive pressure of his palm splayed across the small of her back, the dizzying rhythm of give-and-take that left her gasping into his mouth. Every retreat she attempted was met with a firmer pull, a deeper claim—an unspoken demand for surrender written in the scrape of teeth and the addicting pressure of his breath mingling with hers.

When he finally broke for air, his forehead pressed hard against hers, both of them panting. His thumb swept her swollen bottom lip, eyes black with something far beyond satisfaction.

"See?" The word rasped out, raw with triumph. "No escape."

Heat tore through Tristan's veins like liquid wildfire, every nerve ending scorched raw. Where their bodies pressed—hip to thigh, chest to collarbone—a treacherous friction sparked, threatening to ignite the control he clung to. God, she felt too good. Every shift of her hips struck flint against steel inside him.

Yet he forced stillness into his limbs, breath sawing ragged between clenched teeth. To rush this—to let the inferno consume them now—felt like stealing something sacred. Megan deserved reverence, not ravishment. So he gentled his grip, though every instinct screamed to claim, to brand her mouth with his need. Patience, he commanded the beast within. Or you'll lose her forever.

Tristan stopped and touched her forehead and gently tousled her hair. "Be good. Go to sleep. I'll head back to my room."

Megan grinned softly, turned over, and grasped his hand. "Don't go. Just stay with me, okay?"

"Okay."

That "okay" came so fast it was like he was afraid she'd take it back.

Without a second thought, he crawled under the covers and settled in.

Megan peeked up at him, then burrowed into his chest, rubbing against him like a cat.

She hadn't eaten or rested properly these days, so her energy was super low. In no time, she was out cold.

Tristan looked down at the little bundle in his arms, a faint smile playing on his lips.

All his earlier stress from meetings vanished the second he saw her.

Hard to believe that this same girl had been yelling at him in her dreams just last night, and now she was snuggling quietly in his arms.

He held her tighter, like he was scared she'd disappear if he let go.

Resting his chin gently against her soft hair, his eyes slowly shut.

If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

♥

A red Ferrari sped through the middle of the road.

Behind the wheel, Molly had a pair of oversized sunglasses hiding half her face. Her teeth clenched on her lower lip, clearly fuming.

She slammed the horn a few times, sharp beeps yelling out her frustration.

"Why her? Seriously, why does she get to be engaged to Tristan ? And now she even slept with him?!"

"I've tried every trick in the book to mess them up, how are they still together?! Ughhhh!"

Her voice rose into an angry scream.

Suddenly, she flicked on her right blinker, changed lanes, and pulled up by the curb.

Grabbing her phone, she scrolled to a contact labeled "Wyatt" and hit call.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, flicking her long black hair and raising an eyebrow.

The call connected.

Her voice was sweet as honey, full of flirt. "Wyatt, where are you?"

"At Enigma Club, babe. Wanna swing by?"

She rolled her eyes and mock-whined, "Tch! Who's the girl this time, huh?"A low chuckle came from the man on the other end. "Tsk tsk, babe, it's always been just you. You're clinging onto me 24/7—how would I even have time to mess around with anyone else?"

Molly scoffed coldly. "You'd better remember that. Which room?"

"Room 888."

She hung up and pulled out a compact mirror and loose powder from her purse, freshening up her makeup. Then she re-applied her lipstick with practiced ease.

"Megan, you bitch! Tristan is mine sooner or later. Just wait and see."

Snapping her purse shut, she started her car and sped off without a second glance.

♥

Dreamscape Manor.

The echoes of two gunshots rang through Megan's dream, followed by the flash of a man plunging a military sword straight into her chest.

"No!"

She snapped awake, gasping, her heart racing like crazy.

Tristan's brows furrowed tightly. So deep down, she was still afraid of him, wasn't she?

All those soft looks and gentle words before... were they all an act?

Was she just trying to ease him into letting her go?

That had to be it.

His face darkened just a bit, and he moved to get up.

But before he could, the girl reached out, clutching him tightly. "Don't go. Tristan... please stay. I was so scared."

He raised his hand and gently traced slow, calming circles on her back. "I thought you were afraid of me."

Megan shook her head, eyes earnest. "I'd rather never be apart from you—not even for a second. Why would I be afraid of you?"

That hit him right in the heart. Still, her sudden warmth compared to how she was yesterday—it was too different. It made him uneasy.

He couldn't help thinking all of this was just a sweet trap waiting to snap shut.

Patting her back softly, he stood. "You're drenched in sweat. I'll go run you a bath."

"Mm."

Megan let go of him, her eyes following his steps as he turned away. The corners of her lips curled up slightly.

He hadn't left. That was all she needed right now.

A few minutes later, Tristan returned from the bathroom. He came over, leaned down by her side, slid one arm beneath her back and another under her knees, and scooped her up effortlessly.

"I can do it myself," she murmured, startled.

He set her down gently in the bathroom and stepped out, softly shutting the door behind him.

"If you start feeling off at all, just call me, okay?"

"Okay."

Megan slipped out of her nightgown, stepping into the warm bathwater.

Leaning back against the tub, she let her mind wander, piecing together her next move.

In her last life, after escaping Dreamscape Manor today, she'd been caught by Molly and locked away in some hidden basement.

And then next Saturday night—just a week from now—her grandfather had been "murdered by Tristan."

Obviously, the real puppeteers were Wyatt and Molly.

But if she set it up right this time, laid out the trap early, she might stop that murder before it happened—and actually expose the real culprits.

But first, she needed to get out of this place. She couldn't afford to keep living like some pet in a cage.

Rubbing her temple, she sighed lightly. Priority number one: persuade Tristan to let her go.

The warmth of the water surrounded her, relaxing her tense muscles. She leaned against the back of the tub, eyes narrowing slightly as she mapped out what to say to Tristan.

At some point, without realizing it, her body had started sinking lower along the curved edge of the bathtub.