Chapter 7

A cold sweat broke out on my back.

I knew James was involved in shady business, but I never expected he would just throw these core money-laundering accounts right in front of me.

Was this a test? Or a warning?

I looked up and met James's eyes.

"What did you see?"

This was a deadly question.

If I said I didn't see anything, that would question my professional ability, and last night's deal would fall apart.

If I said I did see it, that would expose his secret, and I might get killed.

My brain was racing.

I'm an accountant. My job is to handle taxes and avoid risks.

"The logistics costs are unusual."

I closed the file, met his gaze, and kept my voice calm.

"The fuel consumption to cargo weight ratio in the fourth quarter is at a critical threshold. If there's a strict tax audit, this high-cost, low-cargo situation will be heavily scrutinized."

"I suggest adding more detailed real shipping documents, like third-party weighing records and port berth receipts along the route. Make the evidence chain solid, or the Internal Revenue Service will cause trouble."

I didn't mention money-laundering, and I didn't mention empty containers. I only pointed out the tax risks.

This was my professional boundary and my survival wisdom.

I saw through it, but I kept my mouth shut.

James stared at me for five seconds, then suddenly smiled.

This time, the smile came from genuine pleasure.

"Smart."

James said, not just because I spotted the problem, but because I knew my limits.

He casually tossed me a new blue folder.

"What's this?" I caught it instinctively.

"A job offer." James stood up, walked around the desk, and came in front of me.

He placed both hands on my chair's armrests, trapping me in that small space.

The familiar cedar mixed with tobacco surrounded me again.

"Starting next week, you'll be my personal financial advisor." He looked down at me. "Name your salary. If you want, I can give you 0.05% commission on The Smith Group."

I immediately realized that 0.05% commission at a large company like The Smith Group would be a very substantial amount.

This money could save Mary a dozen times over, and still keep us living like royalty anywhere.

But I felt a chill. Once I accepted, I'd be completely tied to The Smith Family. I couldn't clear my name.

And besides, I already had Matthew.

Matthew promised me that after finishing these few deals, we'd get married and live a stable life.

I couldn't betray him any further.

"No."

I looked up and met his eyes directly.

"I have my own firm and principles. Mr. Smith, last night was a transaction; today is work. I only do what I'm supposed to do."

James narrowed his eyes, a flash of danger in them.

"Rejecting me?"

He reached out and stroked my cheek, his fingertips ice-cold.

"Ms. Thorne, I think you've misunderstood something."

James leaned forward slightly, his shadow instantly covering me.

"I'm not asking for your opinion."

"I'll personally invest five million dollars into Thorne Accounting Firm."

I gasped.

Five million dollars—this wasn't an investment; it was clearly a takeover.

"I don't need it."

"You do." He cut me off. "I'll have your office expanded to three times its current size, equipment upgraded to top-of-the-line. I can even give you any privilege you want in this city."

"On one condition." James suddenly reached out and tapped my forehead with his fingertip.

"You have to stay where I can see you at all times."

"I don't like my things being out of my sight for too long."

This sick possessiveness was suffocating.

I wanted to argue, to throw that file in his face.

But I held back. My hands clenched into fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. The pain kept me clear-headed.

For Mary, I have to endure this.

And I endured for thirteen hours.

When I closed the last ledger, the wall clock showed 2 AM.

The long hours of work made my temples throb with pain.

I rubbed my aching temples, gathered my things, and prepared to leave.

I grabbed my laptop bag and rushed toward the door.

The lock turned. I pulled open the heavy door and rushed out with my head down.

I ran right into James's arms, that familiar scent of cedar and tobacco filling my nose.

"I'm sorry!"

I cried out. My high heels wobbled on the carpet, and I lost my balance, falling backward. But a strong hand caught my waist precisely.

That hand was burning hot, and even through my thin shirt, it made me shiver.

"Where are you rushing off to?" James's low, lazy voice came from above.

I looked up in panic.

James was wearing a black bathrobe, the collar wide open, revealing his solid chest muscles, still glistening with water droplets.

His tall figure stood in the doorway, completely blocking my way out.

My heart thudded so hard it felt like it might jump out of my chest. Instinctively, I wanted to break free from that overwhelming embrace.

"Mr. Smith, the work is done." I tried to keep my voice steady. "I want to go home."

"Go home?"

James didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his arm, pulling me even closer.

"Isn't this your home?"

"No."

"I told you, you're mine."

James lowered his head, his nose almost touching mine, those silver-gray eyes flashing with danger.

"Since you're mine, naturally you should sleep in my den at night."

Before I could react, my body was lifted into the air. James picked me up effortlessly with one arm.

I let out a small cry and instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Put me down!"

I struggled and kicked.

"James! Are you crazy!"

He completely ignored my protests and carried me down the hallway with long strides.

He didn't head toward the bedroom. Instead, he carried me straight to the dining table covered with a white tablecloth.

He set me down on the cold dining table.

The marble's chill seeped through my skirt, making me shiver involuntarily.

James stood between my legs, hands on the table edge on either side of me, completely trapping me.

This position forced me to look up at him, enduring his dominating gaze.

"Honey, are you hungry?"

His fingers lightly traced my cheek, finally stopping at my lips, his fingertip rubbing against them.

I turned my head away, avoiding his hand.

"I'm not hungry." I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "I have a boyfriend. Matthew is waiting for me. He'll be worried."

The smile on James's face faded bit by bit. "Matthew."

"Regional manager at The Wilton Group, annual salary of $150,000, refined and polite, promising future."

He knew everything about him.

"So you've investigated him." I looked at him warily. "You know me. You know I'd never do something like that."

James suddenly laughed, full of mockery and pity.

"Ella, you really think he's just an ordinary manager?"

He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

"Your perfect boyfriend has more blood on his hands than I do."

I froze.

"That's impossible." I reflexively argued. "Matthew doesn't even dare to kill fish. He's a law-abiding person!"

"Law-abiding?" The mockery in James's eyes deepened.

"He's the Moore Family's right hand, specializing in 'cleaning' their dirty money. And you—you're the washing machine he found."

"You think you're helping him with tax optimization? That's dirty money from The Moore Family's arms and human trafficking!"

With each word he spoke, my heart sank lower.

Impossible.

This was absolutely impossible.