The Heiress He Underestimated novel Chapter 3

The Heiress He Underestimated

Chapter 3 Marry Me

The elevator to the penthouse of the Meridian Hotel was a capsule of polished brass and soft, golden light. It was utterly silent, so quiet Elera could hear the faint, rapid beat of her own heart. She watched the numbers above the door climb, each one a step closer to a meeting that could change everything. She had spent the morning carefully constructing her mask, choosing a simple cream–colored sweater and a pair of dark–wash jeans. It was an outfit that said unassuming, approachable. It was a lie, of course, but it was her favorite kind of lie, the type that gave her all the power.

The doors slid open without a sound, directly into the penthouse suite.

The view was the first thing that stole her breath. The entire wall opposite her was glass, a sweeping. uninterrupted panorama of the city sprawling all the way to the distant, hazy line of the ocean. The sky was a clear, pale blue, and the sunlight streamed in, painting the wide–plank oak floors with long, bright rectangles.

And there, standing with his back to her, silhouetted against that immense view, was Drakonius Vex.

He was taller than she had imagined, and he held himself with a stillness that was almost unnerving. He was not looking at the view, she realized. He was watching her reflection in the glass. He had known the moment she arrived.

“Miss Nethys,” he said, his voice a low, calm baritone that seemed to vibrate in the quiet room. He did not turn around. “I appreciate you coming.”

“I’m not sure I had much of a choice,” Elera said, stepping out of the elevator. The doors whispered shut behind her, sealing her in. “You seem to know things that should be impossible to know.”

“Very little is impossible,” he replied, finally turning to face her. “It just requires the right resources, and the right motivation.”

Up close, he was even more striking, and it had nothing to do with conventional handsomeness. His face was all sharp, intelligent angles, with a strong jaw and a blade–straight nose. His hair was indeed dark, and perfectly styled, but it was his eyes that held her captive. They were/a shade of gray she had never seen before, like a winter storm gathering over the sea, and they were filled with a weary intelligence that seemed at odds with his age, which she guessed to be in his late thirties. And her editor was right. He was pale, a faint, almost translucent quality to his skin that spoke of prolonged illness. But his presence was so commanding, so utterly dense, that the signs of his sickness seemed almost like a disguise.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, gesturing to a large, comfortable–looking sectional sofa facing the windows.

“I think I’ll stand for now, thank you.” She needed the distance, the illusion of control. She crossed her arms, not defensively, but thoughtfully. “You said you had a proposition. One that would save me from Zephyros Valdris.”

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