Chapter 29

Summer's POV

Even through the lingering haze of the previous night, I could feel a steady, grounding presence nearby. When consciousness finally returned, the first thing I noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling—all clean lines and modern elegance, a stark contrast to the cozy simplicity of my own apartment.

My head felt heavy, and my muscles ached as if I’d been through a physical marathon. Fragments of the night before rushed back: Grandpa’s birthday party, the bitter taste of the tea, the unsettling smiles of the Windsors, and Brandon... Brandon lifting me out of that nightmare.

The room was a masterclass in masculine luxury—muted grey and white tones with impeccably crafted furniture. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked down, realizing I was wearing an oversized white dress shirt. It was crisp and cool against my skin, carrying the subtle, refreshing scent of cedarwood that I now associated with Brandon.

"Ms. Taylor?"

The deep voice startled me. I sat up quickly, pulling the duvet higher around my shoulders. Brandon stood in the doorway, looking perfectly composed in dark loungewear. His dark eyes studied me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken, though his expression remained professionally calm.

"Mr. Stark!" I tried to steady my voice, but it came out a little breathless. "Where... where am I?"

"You’re at my estate," he said, stepping into the room. "There’s medication on the side table. Dr. Sean was here earlier to monitor your recovery. How are you feeling?"

"I... I think I'm okay." I glanced at the pills arranged with precision on the table. "You saved me last night. Thank you."

"It was the only logical course of action," he replied matter-of-factly.

I hesitated, looking down at the shirt. "About... the change of clothes..."

"The medical staff ensured you were comfortable and treated for the fever," he said, his tone neutral, immediately easing the spike of panic in my chest. "Your dress was ruined; it’s being handled by a specialist service."

I clutched the sheets, the weight of the previous night’s betrayals settling back onto my shoulders. My mother’s calculation, my father’s silence... they had been willing to trade my future for an investment. The memory sent a chill through me that no amount of sunlight could warm.

"Hungry?" Brandon’s voice pulled me back from the edge of those dark thoughts.

I nodded slowly. "Yes. A little."

"The ensuite has everything you need. Freshen up and join me downstairs for breakfast."

The bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and high-end fixtures. Everything was laid out with care—new toiletries, plush towels, and a selection of products that felt like a quiet indulgence. After washing away the last traces of the night’s trauma, I made my way down the sweeping staircase.

Brandon was waiting at the bottom, his focus shifting to me as I descended. "I hope the guest suite was to your liking?"

"It’s more than I expected, Mr. Stark. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble."

"It was necessary," he said, leading me toward a sun-drenched dining room. "I live here alone, so the house is usually quiet. I thought you’d appreciate the privacy while you recovered."

The breakfast spread was surprisingly thoughtful—fresh fruit, light pastries, and protein to help me regain my strength.

"Dr. Sean mentioned the fever might break early this morning," Brandon said as he pulled out a chair for me. "I kept the meal light to help with your recovery."

"Thank you." The simple domesticity of the scene felt surreal. Here I was, sitting across from one of the most powerful men in the city, while my own family was likely already calculating the fallout of my disappearance.

He’s the only one who can actually help me, I realized. He’s outside my parents’ reach, respected by my grandfather, and clearly has no fear of the Windsors. The proposal he’d made at the Manhattan Club—the one I’d dismissed as a move in a power game—suddenly looked very different. It looked like a shield.

"Mr. Stark?" My voice was quiet but clear.

He looked up from his coffee, his eyebrow arching slightly. "Yes, Summer?"

"That day at the Manhattan Club... you made a suggestion. A proposal." I paused, meeting his gaze. "Does that offer still stand?"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of a life-changing decision. Brandon didn’t answer immediately; instead, he studied me with that unsettling, brilliant intensity. A small, dangerous smile touched his lips—not of triumph, but of profound interest.

"I don't make offers I’m not prepared to honor," he said, his voice a low velvet rumble. "The question is, are you ready to accept what comes with it?"

I took a breath, feeling the ice of the past few days finally begin to melt. "I think I am."