Claimed By The Coldhearted Sterling Heir

Faith Vance knelt on the warped linoleum of the trailer, her knees pressing into the grit that never seemed to sweep away. The air inside smelled of stale beer and damp insulation, a scent that had coated the inside of her lungs for nineteen years. She shoved a faded flannel shirt into the black garbage bag, her fingers trembling so hard she nearly tore the plastic.

Outside, a low rumble vibrated through the thin aluminum walls, shaking the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. It wasn't the rattling cough of a pickup truck. It was deeper, smoother. A predatory purr.

The neighbor's dog, a mange-ridden beast named Buster, started barking. It was a frantic, terrified sound that cut through the humid West Virginia heat.

Faith crawled to the window, careful to keep her head below the sill. She peeled back a single slat of the yellowed blinds.

Three black SUVs sat on the gravel road like hearses waiting for a funeral. They were massive, pristine, and completely alien against the backdrop of rusting siding and overgrown weeds. The mud on the tires looked like a mistake, a blemish on perfection.

The door of the middle vehicle opened.

A man stepped out. He didn't look at the mud pooling around the sole of his Italian leather shoe. He stood tall, adjusting the cuffs of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the entire trailer park. He wore sunglasses that hid his eyes, but Faith could feel the weight of his gaze even through the dark lenses.

Julian Sterling.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a painful, erratic rhythm. He looked like salvation wrapped in a warning label.

The trailer door groaned open behind her. Faith flinched.

"Who the hell is that?" Her stepfather, Ray, stumbled into the small living space. The neck of a whiskey bottle clutched in his hand was the only clean thing about him.

Faith scrambled up, clutching the garbage bag to her chest. "Don't go out there, Ray."

"I'll go where I damn well please. This is my property." Ray pushed past her, kicking the screen door open. It slammed against the metal siding with a gunshot crack.

Faith followed, her bare feet sinking into the damp earth of the front yard.

A large man in a suit-a bodyguard-stepped in front of Julian, his hand hovering near his waist. Julian didn't flinch. He just raised a hand, a small, dismissive gesture that stopped the bodyguard in his tracks.

Julian took off his sunglasses. His eyes were the color of a winter ocean, cold and indifferent. He looked at Ray, then at the trailer, and finally, his gaze landed on Faith.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just assessed her, like an appraiser looking at a house with a cracked foundation.

"Miss Vance?" His voice was a low baritone that seemed to suck the sound out of the air around them.

Faith nodded. Her throat felt like it was filled with sawdust.

"I'm Julian Sterling.