His Rival's Daughter: A Stalker's Love Story by VeloraQuill05 at Inkitt

Chapter 1

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NATASHA’S POV

The pen felt like a lead weight in my hand, cold and final against the marriage contract that would bind me to my father’s greatest enemy.

Silas Vance’s office was a glass cage sixty stories above Manhattan, all sharp angles and icy perfection. The air hummed with expensive silence, each breath I took feeling like theft from his rarefied air.

“Sign here, Miss Sterling.”

His voice shouldn’t have made my stomach clench with something that felt suspiciously like anticipation. Nothing about this should feel like anything but dread.

I looked at the line waiting for my signature. Right above where it said Natasha Elara Sterling in crisp, impersonal font. My name. My freedom. All reduced to ink on paper.

“My father—” I started, my voice betraying me with a tremor.

“Is irrelevant to this transaction,” Silas cut me off, not even looking up from the documents. “This is between you and me now.”

I forced myself to really look at him. Silas Vance. The man who’d been a shadow at every family event. Older than I remembered—mid-forties with silver threading through dark hair. But those intense, almost black eyes that had always seen too much.

“What happens after I sign?” The question felt pathetic even as I asked it.

“You become Mrs. Vance,” he said, finally looking up. His gaze pinned me to the velvet chair. “We maintain appearances for one year. Your father’s debts are cleared.”

And then we go our separate ways. His tone suggested this was the most obvious thing in the world.

My hand shook as the pen touched paper. Scratch. The sound echoed in the silent room. I signed my future away.

Silas took the document, his fingers brushing mine. The contact was brief, electric, and I could have sworn his eyes dropped to my dimples as I nervously pressed my lips together.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Vance,” he said, the words dripping with irony. “You’ve just saved your family’s legacy.”

He stood, moving around the desk. Taller than I remembered. Broader. He smelled like expensive whiskey and something darker.

“There are rules,” he said, stopping just close enough that I had to tilt my head back. My honey-brown hair fell over my shoulder, and his eyes tracked the movement. “You live in my home. You attend events on my arm. This is business, Natasha. Nothing more.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “And what about... us?”

His lips curved into a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “There is no ‘us.’ Your bedroom is down the hall from mine. You will not disturb me.”

But as he said it, his gaze dropped to my mouth—to the dimples that appeared when I was nervous. And I saw it—the faint tremor in his hand as he adjusted his cufflink.

This man, who presented himself as ice-cold and completely in control, was lying.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

SILAS’S POV

Don’t look at her dimples. Don’t remember how they appeared that first time you saw her laugh at that charity gala three years ago. Don’t think about how you’ve been obsessed with them ever since.

Her hand trembled as she signed the contract. Natasha Sterling. My wife. The scent of jasmine and fresh rain that always followed her filled the office, making it hard to breathe. I could pick her scent out in a crowded room blindfolded. Had done, more times than I cared to admit.

She was even more beautiful up close. Those honey-brown eyes wide with fear she tried to hide. That honey-brown hair she kept tossing over her shoulder in a nervous gesture that was slowly killing me.

When her fingers brushed mine, electricity shot through me. I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from grabbing her hand, from telling her this was all a tragedy.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Vance.” The words tasted like betrayal. I wanted to say something else entirely. I’ve wanted you since you were twenty-one. I created this entire situation just to have you.

I moved around the desk, needing space before I did something insane. Like bury my face in her hair and breathe in that jasmine scent that haunted my dreams.

She smelled like innocence and spring rain. It was absolute torture.

“There are rules,” I said, making my voice colder than ice. I had to be cold. If I showed even a fraction of the obsession burning through me, she’d run. “Your bedroom is down the hall from mine. You will not disturb me.” The biggest lie I’d ever told. I wanted nothing more than for her to disturb me every second of every day.

When she asked about “us,” my control almost shattered. That word on her lips—us—nearly broke me.

I forced a cold smile. “There is no ‘us.’”

But my eyes betrayed me, dropping to her mouth—to those dimples. I’d destroy empires to see those dimples when she smiled. For me.

I could feel my control slipping, my hand trembling as I adjusted my cufflink. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

She knows I’m lying.

And that terrified me more than any business disaster. Because if she knew I was lying about not wanting her, she might eventually discover the truth.

That I hadn’t ruined her father to win a business war.

I’d ruined him to win his daughter.

And I’d do it again a thousand times just to see those dimples one more time.

NATASHA’S POV

The car ride to Silas’s penthouse was silent except for the hum of the luxury engine and the pounding of my own heart. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at me, just stared out the window as if I were cargo he’d acquired.

The limousine hit a pothole, jolting us both. My knee brushed against his thigh.

Silas flinched as if electrocuted, his entire body going rigid. His hand slammed against the divider, hitting the button to raise the glass between us and the driver.

“Don’t,” he growled, the word torn from somewhere deep and raw.

I froze, my heart hammering. “I didn’t—”

“Just don’t touch me.” His voice was low, dangerous, but his eyes... his eyes showed pure panic. Like my accidental touch had nearly unraveled him completely.

He turned back to the window, but I saw his hand shaking where it rested on his knee. Saw the way his breathing had gone shallow.

This wasn’t anger. This was fear.Hewas afraid. Of me. Of my touch.

What kind of man was terrified of an accidental brush against his wife’s knee?

When the car stopped, he finally turned those intense dark eyes on me. “Remember the rules, Natasha.”

The words were ice, but his gaze… his gaze felt like fire. I could have sworn it dropped to my dimples as I nervously pressed my lips together.

The penthouse was exactly what I expected of Silas Vance—cold, modern, and breathtakingly expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed Manhattan spread out like a jewel box below us. Everything was shades of gray, black, and steel. No personal photos. No warmth. A beautiful, empty cage.

“This way,” he said, his voice echoing in the vast space.

He showed me to a bedroom that was more hotel suite than home. King-sized bed with crisp white linens, a bathroom with marble everything, a walk-in closet empty except for a few expensive-looking garments already hanging there.

“Your room,” he said, standing in the doorway like he didn’t dare enter. “Mine is down the hall. Do not disturb me.”

The way he said it felt like a challenge. Or maybe a plea.

He turned to leave, then paused. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” The words were stiff, like he’d forced them out.

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the silent, sterile perfection.

I walked to the window, pressing my hand against the cold glass. Sixty floors up. Isolated. Trapped with a man who looked at me like I was both his salvation and his damnation.

The scent of jasmine from my perfume seemed absurdly out of place here. Too soft. Too alive. Too much like me in this cold, dead space.

SILAS’S POV

Don’t look at her in the rear view mirror. Don’t memorize the way the city lights catch her honey-brown hair. Don’t wonder if she’s terrified. Don’t care.

Don’t react. Don’t let her see what that did to you.

Her knee brushed my thigh and I nearly came apart. That simple, accidental touch sent fire racing through my veins. I had to raise the divider before the driver saw me lose control.

“Don’t.” The word came out harsher than I intended, but Christ, if she touched me again I might actually break.

Just don’t touch me .I meant I can’t handle you touching me. I meant if you touch me again I’ll forget every reason this is a bad idea.

I turned to the window, praying she couldn’t see my hand shaking. Praying she didn’t notice how that simple contact made my heart feel like it might beat out of my chest.

One accidental touch. Sixty seconds in a car. And I was already coming undone.

What the hell was I going to do when we were living under the same roof?

The silence in the car was agony. I could smell her jasmine scent filling the enclosed space, making it hard to think.

When we arrived at the penthouse, I had to force myself to be cold. “Remember the rules, Natasha.” The words tasted like ash.

Her eyes widened, those beautiful brown pools filled with confusion and fear. And when she pressed her lips together, those dimples appeared. I almost lost my composure right there.

Showing her the bedroom was torture. Watching her take in the sterile perfection I’d created for her. This wasn’t a home; it was a museum. A beautifully curated prison.

“Your room. Mine is down the hall. Do not disturb me.” The biggest lie I’d ever told.

I almost made it out when some pathetic part of me made me turn back. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Why did I say that?

I retreated to my study, closing the door and leaning against it. My hands were shaking. I could still smell her jasmine scent on my clothes.

Through the security monitor, I watched her. She went to the window, pressed her hand against the glass. So small against the vast city. So alone.

I’d done this.

My phone vibrated. Marcus.

“I answered, my voice ragged. “She’s here.”

“Christ, Silas. You actually did it.”

“I had to.”

“Bullshit.”

I watched her sink onto the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I thought I could control this.”