I Bought A Male Escort, Turns Out He's The Lycan King novel Chapter 70

**Leaves Falling Like Promises**
**By Amara Grant**
**Chapter 70**

**ΚΑΤ**

After what felt like an eternity of driving, I must have succumbed to the pull of sleep. The idea seemed impossible, especially with the tension that Mr. Rivers radiated. Yet, somehow, I found myself drifting into a dreamless slumber, lulled by the steady hum of the engine. A shiver coursed through me as I blinked awake, the darkness outside my window punctuated by the glow of lights that lined a paved road. Towering trees flanked us on either side, their branches arching overhead like the entrance to a secret tunnel.

As we emerged from the wooded embrace, a magnificent mansion loomed ahead, rising majestically from the hillside. It was a striking blend of white stone, sleek black steel, and shimmering glass, its crisp lines slicing through the starlit sky. I couldn’t help but marvel at its grandeur; it was possibly the most opulent sight I had encountered since Lordswood Castle. The floor-to-ceiling windows glimmered with reflections of bright lights, creating an otherworldly aura.

I gasped, my heart racing, and sat up straight in my seat. Were we still in the realm of humans? The stillness in the air felt almost palpable, as if the darkness itself was pressing down on us, wrapping us in a shroud of mystery. It was as though we had crossed into another world, isolated by the towering trees surrounding us.

“You live here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief.

“When I feel like it,” Mr. Rivers replied with a casual shrug, though I could sense the weight behind his words.

His demeanor had shifted; the icy facade was gone, replaced by an air of weariness. A wave of guilt washed over me for having slept so soundly while he drove.

He navigated the car around a gracefully curved driveway, bringing us to a halt at an imposing entrance flanked by grand stone pillars and wide steps.

“Home sweet home,” he declared, turning off the engine with a finality that echoed in the stillness.

The silence enveloped us, more pronounced than before. With a house of such magnitude, I anticipated the presence of movement—servants bustling about, guards standing watch, or even the faint sounds of life. But there was nothing but the quiet rustle of leaves in the night air.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Mr. Rivers, his hand extended toward me. My gaze was drawn to that hand, feeling as if he was offering more than just a simple gesture. What would happen if I accepted it? Would he interpret my action as an invitation for something deeper?

I hesitated, unbuckling my seatbelt but choosing to ignore his outstretched hand. Instead, I diverted my eyes, taking in the impressive structure of his home. Mr. Rivers sighed softly as he closed the car door behind me, then retrieved my bags from the trunk with a practiced ease.

“It’s late, so we’ll eat first,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of warmth, “and then I’ll give you a tour in the morning.”

I trailed behind him up the wide steps, my mind racing with curiosity as I scanned our surroundings. Beyond the illuminated driveway, the world outside was cloaked in darkness, swallowed whole by the towering trees.

As we stepped into the entryway, my breath hitched in my throat. I was immediately captivated by the polished marble floors that gleamed under the soft light, the soaring double-height ceilings, and the exposed wooden beams that added a rustic charm. Floating staircases spiraled upward, inviting exploration. My background in art made me acutely aware of the priceless pieces adorning the walls. They hung there, seemingly unguarded, in this remote sanctuary.

Mr. Rivers dropped my bags at the base of a spiraling staircase and moved ahead, leaving me to soak in the exquisite details—the juxtaposition of glass and stone, the luxurious silk drapes against the cold steel. It was a display of wealth that spoke volumes about his life; his illegal fights must have yielded far more than I had ever imagined.

Finally, he led me into a kitchen that was nothing short of a culinary paradise, large enough to belong in a high-end restaurant.

“I’ll whip up something quick,” he said, glancing back at me with a hint of a smile. “I know you’re hungry, but I didn’t want to disturb your peaceful slumber.”

He cooked? The notion felt foreign, almost incompatible with the persona he had projected. I remained silent, watching as he opened a double-door refrigerator, revealing a bounty of fresh ingredients.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he instructed, laying out the items on the island that dominated the center of the kitchen. “The bathroom’s down the first hallway if you want to freshen up. Just don’t wander too far.”

His words ignited a rebellious spark within me, urging me to explore.

The hallway stretched out before me, long and eerily quiet. The first door I encountered was a bathroom, where I quickly washed my face, hoping to shake off the remnants of sleep. The second door was a cozy den, filled with plush leather couches and shelves brimming with books. But it was the third door that caught my attention…

My breath caught in my throat, and with a sudden rush of panic, I slammed the door shut so forcefully that it rattled in its frame.

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