Chapter 3: Mrs. Sterling's Wake-Up Call

Selena's POV

Holy shit. I wake up in what feels like a freaking palace.

The silk sheets under me are softer than anything I've ever touched, and for a split second, I forget where the hell I am. Then it all crashes back—the botched arrangement, that arrogant bastard Rex, and somehow winding up in his massive private mansion.

I slip into the plush robe he left for me last night. The second I step out of the bedroom, I freeze.

A woman in a crisp black uniform stands at attention, surrounded by what looks like half the staff from Downton Abbey. Every one of them—six women in matching outfits—drops into a perfect curtsy and says in unison:

"Good morning, Mrs. Sterling."

What the actual fuck?

"I'm sorry, what did you just call me?" My voice comes out as a total squeak.

The head woman, probably in her fifties with steel-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, smiles warmly. "Mrs. Sterling, of course. I'm Berta, the head housekeeper. Mr. Sterling left specific instructions to take good care of you while he's away on business."

Away on business? When did that even happen?

"He's... gone?" I hate how disappointed I sound. Get it together, Selena. You're supposed to hate this guy, remember?

"Only for a bit, ma'am. He had an urgent thing in Chicago, but he'll be back soon." Berta's eyes sparkle like she's in on some secret. "He was pretty reluctant to leave, actually. Checked on you three times during the night to make sure you were comfortable."

My heart does this weird little flip. "He what?"

"Oh yeah, ma'am. Very concerned about you. Now, want us to show you what Mr. Sterling set up?"

Before I can even protest, they're leading me down a hallway lined with what look like actual Van Gogh paintings—or killer knockoffs—into a room that makes my jaw drop. It's like walking into the world's fanciest boutique.

Designer dresses hang in perfect rows, sorted by color. Shoes straight out of Vogue covers sit in glass cases like they're museum pieces. Jewelry boxes line velvet tables, each one probably worth more than my parents' house.

"What the hell is all this?" I breathe.

Berta doesn't flinch at my swearing. "Mr. Sterling's picks for you, ma'am. He said, and I quote, 'She deserves the best of everything, and I want her to have it.'"

She pops open one of the jewelry boxes, revealing a necklace that literally takes my breath away. Diamonds and sapphires woven into this intricate design that sparkles like captured stars.

"This is insane." I back away like it might bite me. "I can't accept any of this."

"I'm afraid Mr. Sterling figured you'd say that." Berta hands me an envelope with my name scrawled in bold, masculine handwriting. "He left this for you."

My fingers tremble as I tear it open.

Selena,

I know your pride's gonna make you wanna refuse these gifts. Don't. You're in my world now, and I want you to feel like you belong. You deserve beautiful things, even if you don't believe it yet.

Wear whatever makes you happy. The sapphires match your eyes.

-R

P.S. - Stop calling me an arrogant bastard. I prefer 'devastatingly handsome billionaire.'

Despite myself, I snort out a laugh. The cocky jerk actually made me smile.

"Breakfast is ready whenever you are, Mrs. Sterling," Berta says gently. "Want me to pick out something for you to wear?"

Thirty minutes later, I'm in a dining room that looks like it belongs in a museum, rocking a sundress that fits like it was custom-made—which it probably was. The spread in front of me is straight out of a five-star hotel: fresh strawberries, fluffy pancakes, eggs Benedict, and coffee that smells like heaven.

"This is too much," I mutter, but I'm already grabbing a strawberry.

Berta sits down with a first-aid kit and starts gently cleaning the cuts on my hands from yesterday's glass fiasco. Her touch is so motherly it almost makes me tear up.

"If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, Mr. Sterling was real specific about your breakfast. He noticed you liked strawberries at dinner last night."

"He noticed that?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

"Oh, he notices everything about you." Berta's smile turns all knowing. "Half the women in this city would kill to be where you are. Mr. Sterling's quite the catch."

I nearly choke on my coffee. "I'm sure they would."

"But he's never brought anyone here before," she goes on, dabbing antiseptic like a pro. "This estate is his sanctuary—his escape from the world. Sharing it with you... well, that says something."

Something warm and dangerous blooms in my chest. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying, in twenty years working for the Sterlings, I've never seen that boy look at anyone the way he looks at you. Like you're something precious he's scared might slip away."

The warmth spreads like wildfire. No, this is bad. Really bad. I'm supposed to be plotting my escape from this fake engagement, not catching feelings for the golden boy I'm stuck marrying.

But every day that passes makes it harder to remember why I hated him to begin with.

Three days. Three days of living like royalty in this over-the-top palace. Three days of Berta spilling stories about Rex's good side—how he footed the bill for her grandson's surgery, how he sneaks off to visit kids' hospitals on weekends, how he pulls eighteen-hour days keeping his grandfather's company alive.

Three days of missing someone I barely know.

When I hear the front door open on Thursday evening, my heart jumps into my throat. I'm in the library—because yeah, this place has a full-on library with a rolling ladder and all—trying to read, but mostly just staring out the window like some lovesick character in a romance novel.

"Selena?"

His voice echoes through the marble foyer, and damn if my whole body doesn't light up. Every nerve ending buzzes. I snap my book shut and try to play it cool as he appears in the doorway.

He looks like he just stepped off a magazine cover—dark hair tousled from travel, white shirt sleeves rolled up, those piercing blue eyes scanning me head to toe like he's making sure I'm in one piece.

"How was the trip?" I ask, proud my voice sounds halfway normal.

"Long. Boring. Full of old guys in suits who think they run the world." He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—clean, expensive, and way too tempting. "How about you? Berta treating you right?"

"She's amazing. The whole place is..." I wave vaguely at the fancy room. "Incredible."

"And you? Settling in okay?"

It's a casual question, but his eyes are intense, like my answer really matters. Something inside me cracks wide open.

"Everything's perfect," I say, the words tumbling out. "The only issue is I hardly get to see you."

The confession hangs there, and my cheeks burn. Did I seriously just admit I missed him? What the hell is wrong with me?