Chapter 1 - The Woman in His Bed
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
Chloe Bennett stood beside Victor Russo’s bed with both hands wrapped around the glass of water he had given her.
She looked terrified.
Victor had seen grown men look less frightened with guns pointed at them.
He leaned against the edge of the dresser, his black trousers wrinkled from five unexpected hours of sleep, his white shirt open at the collar.
“Because you were sick.”
“That doesn’t explain why you slept beside me.”
Victor’s expression barely changed.
“I was tired.”
Chloe stared.
“In your own bed?”
“It seemed convenient.”
Despite the fever burning through her body, Chloe almost laughed.
Almost.
Then reality returned.
This was Victor Russo.
Owner of the estate.
Owner of half the companies whose trucks moved through northern Illinois after midnight.
The man employees were instructed never to disturb.
And she had crawled into his bed.
“I should go downstairs.”
She took one step.
The room tilted.
Victor crossed the distance before she reached the door.
His hand caught her forearm.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re about to collapse.”
“I’ve worked through worse.”
Something in her voice made him stop.
Not pride.
Experience.
Victor studied her more closely.
“Why?”
Chloe frowned. “Why what?”
“Why would someone work through worse?”
She looked away.
“That’s none of your business.”
Most people apologized after speaking to Victor Russo that way.
Chloe simply swayed again.
Victor almost smiled.
Instead, he reached for the phone beside the bed.
“Dr. Moretti.”
Her head snapped toward him.
“No doctor.”
Victor paused.
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
“I can’t afford a private doctor.”
The sentence came out quickly.
Automatically.
Like she had said it many times before.
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“You work for me. You have health insurance.”
“It started this week. I don’t know what’s covered yet.”
“You’re covered.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I own the company administering the plan.”
That silenced her.
Victor made the call.
Twenty-five minutes later, Dr. Samuel Moretti arrived carrying a leather bag and the expression of a man accustomed to being summoned at unreasonable hours.
He stopped when he saw Chloe sitting in Victor Russo’s bed.
Then he looked at Victor.
Then Chloe.
Then Victor again.
Victor’s stare turned cold.
“Whatever conclusion you’re reaching, keep it to yourself.”
Samuel cleared his throat.
“Of course.”
Chloe wanted the floor to open.
Instead, she endured an examination.
Temperature: 103.1.
Severe viral infection.
Dehydration.
Exhaustion.
Samuel prescribed medication, fluids, food, and forty-eight hours of complete rest.
Chloe immediately shook her head.
“I have a shift tomorrow.”
“No,” Victor said.
She glared at him.
Samuel quietly packed his bag.
“I think I’ll let you two negotiate that.”
He escaped.
Chloe waited until the door closed.
“You can’t tell me not to work.”
Victor looked genuinely puzzled.
“I employ you.”
“Exactly. Which means if I don’t work, I don’t get paid.”
“You’re paid.”
“For staying in bed?”
“For not infecting my entire household.”
“That isn’t how hourly employment works.”
“It is tonight.”
Chloe pressed two fingers to her temple.
“You do this with everyone?”
“Do what?”
“Decide reality works differently because you say so?”
Victor considered the question.
“Usually.”
She laughed.
It slipped out before she could stop it.
A small, exhausted laugh.
Victor went still.
For some reason, that sound affected him more than it should have.
There had been very little laughter in this room.
Very little of anything, really.
Chloe covered her mouth.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re not succeeding.”
“You’re difficult.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
“And you’re sleeping in your employer’s bed.”
Her cheeks turned crimson.
“That happened once.”
“So far.”
Chloe stared at him.
Victor realized what he had said.
An unfamiliar silence settled between them.
He broke it first.
“You can use the guest room.”
“Good.”
“But you’re not going home tonight.”
Her expression changed instantly.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“My brother.”
There it was again.
The tension.
Victor had noticed it in employment reports Mrs. Gable provided.
Chloe Bennett. Twenty-four. Legal guardian of minor sibling. No criminal record. Two previous employers simultaneously. Excellent references. Repeated requests for overtime.
Victor generally knew everything about people allowed into his residence.
Until that moment, those details had been information.
Now they became personal.
“How old?”
“Fifteen.”
“Is he alone?”
“He’s staying with Mrs. Alvarez downstairs from our apartment.”
Victor nodded.
“Call him.”
“I don’t need—”
“Call your brother, Bennett.”
She reluctantly reached for her phone.
Victor moved toward the windows, giving her a semblance of privacy.
Outside, freezing rain streaked down the glass.
He heard Chloe’s voice soften.
“Hey, Tommy.”
A pause.
“No, I’m okay.”
Another pause.
“I’m staying at work tonight.”
Victor glanced over.
Chloe caught him looking and turned away.
“Yes, I ate.”
Victor looked at the untouched tray a servant had brought earlier.
She was lying.
“Did you take your evening medication?”
Victor’s attention sharpened.
Chloe listened.
“Tommy.”
Her voice changed.
Firm now.
“Don’t skip it to stretch the prescription. I’ll get the refill.”
A longer silence.
“I said I’ll handle it.”
After she disconnected, Victor asked, “What medication?”
She stiffened.
“Nothing.”
“You just argued with a fifteen-year-old about rationing medicine.”
“That doesn’t make it your concern.”
“What condition does he have?”
Chloe stepped off the bed.
“Thank you for not firing me. Thank you for the doctor. But please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn my life into a problem you can solve with a check.”
Victor stared at her.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s what rich people always do.”
There was no accusation in her voice.
That made it worse.
She looked simply tired.
“My brother has kidney disease. He needs dialysis, medication, specialists, and tests that apparently cost more every month. We’re managing.”
“Are you?”
She met his eyes.
For the first time since waking, Chloe did not look frightened of him.
She looked angry.
“We’ve managed without Victor Russo for five years.”
Victor should have been offended.
Instead, something inside him respected her.
“Fair enough.”
She seemed surprised.
He stepped away.
“You can keep your private life private.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re still taking forty-eight hours off.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Russo—”
“With pay.”
“That’s charity.”
“No. It’s infection control.”
“That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then exhaustion won.
“Guest room?”
Victor opened the door himself.
“Across the hall.”
Chloe took three steps before stopping.
She turned.
“Did you really sleep five hours?”
Victor’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
“How do you know?”
“Your clock. It was almost three when I woke for a second. It’s after eight now.”
He said nothing.
Chloe studied him.
“You don’t sleep much, do you?”
His gaze hardened.
“You’re asking questions.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to.”
“You’re learning.”
She smiled faintly.
Then disappeared into the guest room.
Victor remained in the hallway.
He should have returned to work.
Instead, he looked back at the bed.
The indentation where Chloe had slept remained in the pillow.
For almost six years, Victor had protected that room from intimacy as if loneliness itself were a security system.
No woman entered.
No woman stayed.
No woman became necessary.
Yet that morning, Victor sat on the edge of the mattress and realized something deeply inconvenient.
For the first time in years, silence no longer felt peaceful.
May you like
It felt empty.
And across the hall, Chloe Bennett was sleeping.
