Hartwell Group Headquarters
Sebastian Hartwell grudgingly acknowledged Yan Wu's efficiency. The dossier on Clara Morgan—requested mere hours ago—now lay spread across his mahogany desk. His brow furrowed as he absorbed the contents.
So this was Clara's past.
He lifted her university graduation photo. Framed in academic robes, her waist-length hair cascaded over shoulders. Doe eyes glistened beneath a fringe of bangs, porcelain skin glowing without cosmetics, lips naturally rosy. An architectural prodigy—top of her class at Imperial City University, recipient of prestigious scholarships, the graduate of the year.
Her dream of a design studio hadn't been empty flirtation.
The inheritance from her parents' estate sale explained why she'd returned his ＄1.4M without hesitation.
Most telling: she'd declined offers from the city's top architecture firm and the Royal Institute of L City… only to join Hartwell Group as a junior administrator.
A life that should never have crossed his, deliberately rerouted toward him. Yet since succeeding, she'd dodged him at every turn.
A man who'd built an empire on paranoia found her background unsettlingly pristine. No shadowy puppeteer. Just… her own inexplicable choices.
What game is she playing?
Clara's Apartment District
Groceries in hand, Clara froze at the sight of the obsidian Rolls-Royce idling near her building.
Sebastian? On my day off?
Yan Wu emerged from the driver's seat. "Mr. Hartwell requests your presence, Ms. Morgan."
Clara's grip tightened on the produce bag. This feels like a mafia abduction scene. She thrust the groceries at Yan. "If I don't make it back… please don't waste the vegetables."
Yan's expression didn't flicker.
Inside the car, Sebastian's glacial gaze swept over her: cropped hoodie, loose jeans, hair in a high ponytail that swayed with every step. The casual attire made her look innocent yet sensual—especially when she lifted an arm, revealing a sliver of bare waist.
She'll be the death of me.
Sebastian clamped his hand around her throat. Fingers dug into the delicate column of her neck, threatening to crush bone.
Gasping, Clara's vision blurred. What did I do now?
"Explain why you targeted me," he demanded, his voice chillingly detached from the violence of his grip.
"P-please… Mr. Hartwell…"
His fingers tightened. "Speak. Or you won't live to see the hour."
"Then kill me." Her eyes shut. "It's not like anyone would care."
The resignation in her voice stunned him. His hand fell away.
Clara coughed, tears—from pain or despair?—streaking her cheeks. She met his gaze, defiance sparking through the fear. "I did approach you deliberately. But my reason… it's pathetic."
"Fire me. Banish me from Imperial City. Have me killed. My life's already in ruins."
Sebastian studied her trembling form. "Enlighten me."
She swallowed hard. "You've seen my file. After my parents died, the Windsors took me in. I… loved Ethan."
Sebastian's jaw clenched at the word.
"But he despised me. His girlfriend, Serena Vance, made school a living hell. Senior year, I saw her pursuing you. I thought… if I could win your attention…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "...it might hurt her."
Silence choked the car.
Pathetic? Understatement. Clara braced for his ridicule.
Sebastian's lip curled. "How juvenile."
He's right. She'd gambled her future to spite a high-school bully.
Suddenly, photos rained onto her lap. Clara recoiled—graphic shots of her entwined with Sebastian, others of her sleeping naked.
Third-person perspective made it a thousand times more violating.
"Mr. Hartwell! I never—"
"I took them." He watched her panic with cold amusement. "Show them to Serena. Achieve your petty revenge."
Clara shoved the images away. "No! You're in them too—it's obscene!"
Is she truly this naive? He'd expected a mercenary, not this baffling mix of cunning and innocence.
"Serena wants to marry you," Clara blurted. "She wouldn't care about your… indiscretions. Only losing you would break her."
She laughed bitterly. "All I proved is that I'm a fool."
Sebastian retrieved the photos. "Keep this in mind, Clara: I'll release these publicly the day you try to leave me."
Her blood turned to ice. Blackmail? From a billionaire?
Before she could respond, he vaulted over the center console, pinning her against the leather seats. His 6'1" frame dwarfed the spacious interior.
"But I'm on leave—"
"Who authorized that?" His breath fanned her lips.
"...You did."
Sebastian captured her mouth in a searing kiss that left her dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his whisper scorched her ear: "Consider today's leave revoked."
He traced her swollen lower lip. "Wanting more, Ms. Morgan?"
Clara shook her head frantically. "I can't… breathe…"
"Report to my office tomorrow. 9 a.m. sharp."
She scrambled from the car the moment he released her.
Yan called after her: "Your groceries, Ms. Morgan!"
"Keep them!"
As the Rolls-Royce pulled away, Sebastian watched Clara flee through the tinted glass. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips.
Her motive was laughable… but now? She's mine.