Chapter 3

The bus was chaotic.

Someone brought a Bluetooth speaker blasting party music, someone brought a cooler full of beer, and pet carriers were shoved into the aisle.

Julian sat in the first row, wearing a crisp light-blue blazer, his hair styled to perfection. When I stepped onboard, he gave me an approving nod.

"Chloe, thanks for setting this up today."

"Don't thank me yet," I replied evenly. "You'll see soon enough."

He blinked, clearly missing the warning in my voice.

After a forty-minute drive, we reached the foot of Pine Ridge.

The city skyline faded into low-rise cottages, then dense pine forests.

As we rounded the final curve, the stone gatehouse of Cloud Crest Manor loomed into view.

Charcoal slate tiles, whitewashed walls, and heavy wrought-iron gates flanked by carved stone pillars.

Towering oak and sweet osmanthus trees peeked over the high wall, showing glimpses of traditional pavilion roofs.

The bus erupted.

"Holy shit! This looks way more insane in person!"

"Chloe, you kept this hidden? Living here and pretending to be broke?"

"Open the gates! I'm jumping in the pool right now!"

The coach pulled into the private, tree-lined driveway. My coworkers poured out, phones in hand, snapping photos left and right.

Stacy stepped off the bus, admiring the massive arched entrance, unable to contain her grin.

"Julian, what do you think? Good enough for you?"

Julian nodded slowly, a smug curve on his lips. "Very impressive."

Stacy turned and barked at me, "Chloe, open the gates!"

I stood by the bus door, arms folded.

"Stacy," I said loudly, "I'm telling you for the last time. This is not my house."

Stacy's face darkened. "Chloe, we're literally standing at the front door. Stop playing games—"

Before she could finish, the iron gates creaked open.

Not just a crack—both heavy leaves swung wide open with a deep, echoing groan.

Four men walked out.

Leading them was a man in his forties with a military buzz cut, dressed in a sharp black jacket, his face an emotionless mask.

Behind him were three muscular men in matching black crewnecks, looking like they spent every waking hour in a combat gym.

The crowd instantly fell silent.

Stacy's smile froze, and she instinctively took a half-step behind Julian.

The buzz-cut man walked straight up to me and nodded respectfully. "Miss Vance."

"Ray," I said, nodding back. "Is Mr. Sterling around?"

"Mr. Sterling is waiting for you in the courtyard." His cold gaze swept over the bus and the chaotic crowd. "And who are these people?"

"Colleagues from my company," I replied. "They're here for a team retreat."

Ray glanced at me, a flicker of amusement passing through his eyes.

He tilted his chin toward the men behind him.

The three men in black moved instantly, fanning out around the chartered bus. Each pulled out a heavy tactical baton, standing with their hands behind their backs, dead-eyed and unmoving.

Someone gasped.

Stacy's face went completely pale.

Julian's expression soured, but clinging to his managerial authority, he cleared his throat:

"Excuse me, sir. We are Chloe's colleagues. We came here because—"

"Miss Vance," Ray cut him off cleanly, turning only to me, "Mr. Sterling instructed that you may enter. As for the rest of them—"

He paused, his eyes landing on the coworkers holding leashed dogs.

"Pets are strictly prohibited. Furthermore," he pulled a folded laminated document from his pocket, "trespassing on private property is a criminal offense."

He held it up for everyone to see.

"Our perimeter is monitored by high-definition cameras and an integrated alarm system," Ray said, his tone flat and icy.

"If any of you attempts to force your way in, I strongly suggest you look up who Scott Sterling is first. In this city, nobody enters his estate uninvited."