Chapter 4

I wore a pure white dress, its sheer fabric perfectly outlining my figure, while my expression struck that careful balance between innocence and allure.

When one didn't know what type of woman a man liked, this look never failed.

It was called the universal trap.

To my surprise, William looked better than I expected when I saw him.

He wasn't nearly as worn down as I'd imagined.

Money really could keep a man well.

After chatting with him for a while, I made an excuse to leave. The timing was just right.

But William reached out and tugged at my dress. "Stay, okay?"

At that moment, the maid stepped in, asking me to stay and look after William for a while. They offered three thousand dollars a day.

That was an offer too tempting to refuse.

"Mr. Sterling dismissed the last maid," she explained. "He won't let any of us near him. It's all up to you now, Miss Carter."

I played the part of reluctant, but eventually nodded.

After all, this was exactly what I had planned.

I continued slipping small doses of medicine into William's food, just enough to ensure his suffering made him cling to me.

One night, he spiked a high fever.

I called Richard three times, but he never answered.

Upon watching me dial again and again, William's face darkened. "Stop. He'd never leave work just for me."

So, I rolled up my sleeves and helped him. "Let's go to the hospital. I'll carry you downstairs."

But William refused.

Instead, he hooked his pinky around mine and lay back down.

His voice was hoarse in the darkness, heavy with command. "No hospital. You stay here to serve me."

Serving him?

I almost laughed.

I leaned close, my cold palm pressed to his fevered forehead, and placed a kiss against my own hand where it touched him.

"This is care, William. Serving isn't an equal word. I don't like it," I said.

His lashes trembled. "Sorry."

It was a rare thing—William apologizing.

If one day I could make him say he loved me, then I'd have every reason I needed to kill him in the name of love.

I gave a soft laugh, letting his apology stand.

Within days, our bond tightened rapidly, so quickly that it felt like only the smallest push would shatter the barrier between us.

But I didn't expect the moment to come so soon.

Late one night, I was drinking water in the kitchen when I heard the front door open.

I turned and met Richard's exhausted eyes.

The flicker of tension in the air, the subtle pull between us, was undeniable.

In the dim light, I gave him a gentle smile. "You look tired. Want a little midnight snack?"

Richard proved easier to bait than I'd imagined.

One smile, and he set his briefcase aside, stepping into the kitchen.

As I turned, my strap slipped off my shoulder.

I feigned shock, flustered. "Y-You can wait outside—"

Richard's gaze darkened. He reached out and lifted the strap back into place with his fingertip. "Careful not to catch a chill."

Then he turned and walked out, making no further move.

But the warmth of his touch lingered on my skin.

It seemed, while I was trying to lure him, he was testing me, too.

In Richard's eyes, young college girls were the easiest to sway—always prone to worship and longing for men who were older, richer, and more powerful.

But my sights weren't set on him alone. No, I wanted to watch him squirm.

I sat at the dining table, sharing a midnight snack with Richard, seizing the chance to probe if he knew about the vile things his son had done.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Richard's gaze. "Such as?"

I wet my lips. "For example, a few months ago, there was a girl who jumped—"

Before I could finish, Richard cut me off, "She was too fragile. Kids these days can't take a joke. I've already handled it. Since you're William's friend, don't bring it up again."

His tone carried effortless dominance. Even as he chewed the food I'd prepared, there was no softness for me.

I nodded, feigning meekness.

So, he knew. He knew everything.

Then what about my mother? Surely, he knew about that, too.

Richard wasn't just covering for his son. He was helping him bury crimes.

When the food was cleared, I followed him upstairs, just a step behind.

Suddenly, my foot slipped. I nearly fell—until two strong hands clamped hard around my waist.

I looked up, not hurrying to pull away, letting our eyes lock.

Only when Richard's throat bobbed did I finally scramble to my feet. "Sorry."

He shook his head, unconcerned. "Be careful."

I nodded obediently, lowering my lashes, pretending to blush. "I'll head back now."

But just as I turned, his hand closed around my wrist again. "Mr. Sterling?"

Something flickered in his eyes, a storm gathering on his tongue. His lips parted, but no words came.

Then, a voice, sharp as a blade, rang out, "What are you doing?"

At the end of the hall, William stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous as his eyes bore into the sight of me and his father.

I tore my hand free and bolted, only to stop at the corner, listening in.

Richard looked calm, almost bored, compared to William's fury.

Richard didn't even bother with excuses. "You running a fever?"

William stalked closer with a bitter laugh. "Do you care?"

Richard massaged the bridge of his nose, weary, dismissive—like brushing off a barking dog. "I came back, didn't I?"

William snapped, "You know damn well why you came back."

Annoyance flickered across Richard's face. His eyes sharpened. "Can't we ever talk like men?"

That stare alone forced William back a step. He gave a derisive snort, turned as if to leave.

"Do you want me to deal with Charlotte for you?" Richard said suddenly.

William froze mid-step.

"Samuel's closing in to discover what you had done," Richard added smoothly.

"Then let her die," William muttered.

He paused, then turned back, glaring at his father. "One more thing—stay away from her."

Richard's brow lifted, a sly smirk tugging his lips. He didn't deny it.

"You really do need a stepmother," he mused. "She takes good care of you. She fits."

William exploded. "She's twenty years younger than you."

Richard only shrugged, all charm and arrogance, the kind of man who believed the world already lay in his palm. "So what? I'm rich. Who cares about age?"

William stormed off in rage.

And me? I leaned against the wall, eavesdropping, smiling to myself.

Yes, Richard was right. As long as a man was rich, no one cared about anything else.