The marbled bathroom had a soaking tub and a standing shower made of pure thick glass. By nightfall, after Stefan had left, I walked out of the lavender-scented bathroom, drying the water out of my hair with a towel. I couldn't remember the last time I soaked in a tub. It felt amazing and I'd stayed in there until my skin began to wrinkle.

Now I was out and making my way toward the walk-in closet in search of a night dress. In here was like another dimension of its own. It was filled with so many clothes that I wasn't sure I would have to repeat any.

I picked out the red satin mid-dress with velvet spaghetti straps and lace appliqués at the hem. I'd never owned something so luxurious before. Standing in front of the mirror, I tossed it over my head.

I admit it was a little unusual going to bed like this. I was used to my overalls and oversized dingy Yankees shirt but this was an upgrade and something told me one of these could most likely buy half of the clothes in my old wardrobe.

Turning slightly to the side, I ran my hand over it. My curves were on display and my breasts jutted up, showcasing my healthy cleavage. It looked so pretty I would consider wearing it out.

Shaking my head and laughing softly, I moved away from the mirror and stepped back into my astonishingly decorated, but utterly unfamiliar bedroom. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Looking to the window, I noticed the rain had begun to patter against the pane, and accompanying it were distant thunder grumblings.

It grew closer with every passing moment, intensifying my anxiety.

Choosing to ignore it, I settled between the warm sheets and forced myself to sleep.

I jerked awake, gasping for breath, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, and for a disorienting moment, I sat there, looking into the darkness of my unfamiliar room frantically.

The soft drizzle of rain outside had escalated into a furious downpour that hammered against the glass, echoing the storm that had just raged through my nightmare

Another deafening clap of thunder rattled the windows, sending me jerking forward and clenching the sheets.

Oh God.

"Ava," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. "Please turn on the lights."

"Good evening, Sienna," hearing her automated voice bounce off the bedroom walls soothed my frantic nerves. "Turning on room lights."

Bright white lights twinkled on, instantly chasing off the darkness and dispelling the remnants of my nightmare that had clung to me like a heavy fog.

God, I hated it when it rained.

I tried to swallow but my throat was as dry as the desert. There was no way I was falling back asleep like this.

Maybe sleeping on the couch was a better option. First I needed to pacify my parched mouth with a glass of water.

Slowly, cautiously, I crept out of bed. Outside, my steps were barely audible against the backdrop of the pouring rain and thunder.

The house had two floating stairs, one leading to the kitchen and the other to the living room. I grabbed the railing of the floating stairs leading to the kitchen and continued my travel down the stairs. The automatic lights flicked on once I reached the kitchen. Thank God. It was a chef's dream in here; a huge space complete with a large island, marbled flooring, shiny counters, chrome sinks, and A-grade stainless steel appliances.

I pulled the handle of the black refrigerator flanked by two wine coolers in between. Maybe water wasn't the best option. Tempted, I grabbed an already-opened bottle of wine and read the label out loud.

"Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru 1945."

That sounded way too expensive for me.

Then again, everything in this house seemed way too expensive for me.

Oh, whatever.

Taking it with me, I closed the fridge. The wine glasses were stacked neatly on a showcase. I grabbed one and perched myself delicately on the stool before pouring myself a generous glass, but just as I twirled the burgundy liquid and lifted it to my lips for my first taste, a distant sound past my ears, halting me midway.

Returning my glass to the island, I listened carefully and waited to hear the sound again.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just my ears and the loneliness of the house playing tricks on me. With a sigh, I leaned forward on the island and took the first sip.

My eyes widened.

Woah!

The wine's unique taste enveloped my senses. It was a complex tapestry of flavors. I raised the glass again, ready for another indulgent sip when the sound of footsteps echoed from another part of the house.

My body instantly tightened with anxiousness, and my senses went on high alert.

I tried to dismiss whatever I had heard as a trick of my imagination, but it was unmistakable and too real to ignore.

Someone was here with me.

Heart in mouth, I set my glass down with meticulous care and slowly hopped down from the stool. My eyes shifted to the knife holder. My paranoia made me reach for one. It was for safety, just in case it was an intruder, there had been instances like this when a burglar had broken into my apartment and stolen the little cash I had. One even took the last piece of apple in my fridge.

If anything, I'd learned not to take my chances, so even if I didn't have any idea what I was doing and there was a small part of my brain that screamed for me to stop being an idiot and return to my room, I slowly tiptoed and hid behind the kitchen door.

The distinct rhythm of footfalls against the floor intensified, edging nearer, each one an echo in my racing heart.

Swallowing thickly, I clutched the knife like it was my lifeline.

What if it really was an intruder?
Doubt gnawed at me as sinister possibilities raced through my mind.
Oh my God, how did whoever it was get in here? What do I do if-

The kitchen door swung open and a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.

My heart raced. In a state of sheer panic, I lunged out of hiding and swung my knife, ready to defend myself, but in the blink of an eye, whoever it had been swiftly caught my wrist, fingers closing around the blade's edge, and before I could take my next breath, I found myself being slammed into the nearest wall, a large hand curling around my throat, my knife on the floor.

I gasped sharply, eyes expanded.

You know those TV moments when you meet the love of your life for the first time and all of a sudden everything slows? This was one of those moments, except this guy wasn't my soul mate, he was the sexiest thing I'd set my eyes on since I last saw Christopher Hemsworth in tighty whities.

"Sienna?" His deep, dark voice thundered, sending crippling shivers down my spine. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

And then, the realization hit me.

Those mesmeric eyes shooting daggers at me didn't belong to just any intruder, they belonged to Tristan Larsen, my soon-to-be fake husband, and he was standing in front of me, a mix of anger and surprise on his beautifully sculpted face as his veiny hand around my throat continued to flex, stealing the last bit of air from my throat, and maybe the world didn't slow, maybe it was just my consciousness slipping away from me.

The edge of my vision went dark.

Yep, it was definitely my consciousness.