Chapter 6 The Trap

Stellan POV

The penthouse took up the entire top floor of the tallest residential building in the financial district. Eight thousand square feet of raw, unfinished concrete, exposed steel beams, and long glass.

I stood near the edge of the massive living area, looking out over the city skyline. From up here, the cars on the street looked like toys. If I looked slightly to the left, I could see the curved, metallic roof of the arena where Hayes played his hockey games.

I took a sip of my black coffee, the bitter taste matching my mood.

I had bought this place three months ago purely as a tax write-off. My wealth manager told me real estate in this zip code was a bulletproof investment. I hadn't even planned on furnishing it, let alone living in it. I spent ten months out of the year traveling the globe for Formula 1. I lived in hotels, motorhomes, and private jets. Never for once did I need a home base.

But after last night’s dinner, my plans had changed.

I couldn't get her out of my head.

I had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling of my hotel room, replaying

the look of absolute panic on her face when she walked into the dining room. I thought about the way she had pressed herself against the wall in the hallway, her chest heaving, begging me to protect her secret.

She was terrified of losing Hayes.

The thought made my jaw clench. Hayes was a reckless, arrogant idiot who didn't even realize what he had sitting right next to him.

The soft ding of the private elevator echoing through the empty apartment pulled me out of my thoughts.

My wealth manager, David, stepped out into view. Right behind him was a woman in her late forties wearing a suit and carrying a leather briefcase. She looked around the raw, concrete space with hungry eyes.

"Mr. Mercer," David said, walking over to me. "This is Valerie Thorne, senior partner at Thorne Architecture."

I turned around, leaning my hips against the glass window. I didn't bother offering my hand. "Ms. Thorne. Thanks for coming on such short notice."

Valerie didn't seem to mind the lack of a handshake. She was too busy analysing the place. "Please, call me Valerie. And it is absolutely no trouble. When your team reached out this morning, I cleared my schedule. This is an incredible property. The natural light alone is staggering."

"It's empty," I replied. "And I want it finished. Fast."

Her lips widened as she set her briefcase down on a stack of drywall near the center of the room and clicked it open.

"Of course. My firm specializes in high-end, rapid-turnaround residential projects," she said, pulling out a sleek tablet. "I took the liberty of bringing the portfolios of my top three senior designers. We can have preliminary sketches to you by the end of the week, and…"

"I don't want your senior designers," I interrupted.

She paused, her finger hovering over the tablet screen then blinked, clearly thrown off her script. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't want them," I repeated, taking another slow sip of my coffee. "I already know who I want to design this place."

Valerie recovered quickly, her professional smile snapping back into place. "Oh, I see. If you have a specific partner in mind, I’m sure we can accommodate. Who were you thinking of?"

"Merritt."

The name hung in the empty, echoing room.

She stared at me. For a second, I thought she hadn't heard me correctly. Then, her perfectly drawn eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

"Merritt?" she repeated, her voice losing its edge. "You mean Merritt Lawson? The junior architect?"

"That's the one."

She let out a short, dismissive laugh. "Mr. Mercer, I think there must be some confusion. Merritt is a junior employee. She drafts blueprints and handles minor administrative design tasks. She has absolutely no experience managing a project of this magnitude. This penthouse requires a seasoned professional."

"I'm aware of her title," I said, my voice dropping to a colder tone. "I don't care."

Her smile completely vanished. She crossed her arms, her posture turning defensive. "With all due respect, it is my firm's reputation on the line. Merritt is prone to careless mistakes. Just yesterday, I had to reprimand her for a structural miscalculation. I cannot, in good conscience, hand a multi-million dollar contract over to an entry-level girl."

I could see exactly why Merritt looked so exhausted when she talked about her job.

I walked away from the window, closing the distance between us until I was

standing right in front of her. I towered over her, and I used every inch of my height to make sure she felt it.

"Let me make this very simple for you, Valerie," I said quietly.

I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulled out a folded piece of heavy cardstock, and dropped it onto her tablet.

Her eyes moved down. It was a contract drafted by David this morning.

"That is a blank check," I told her. "I will pay double your firm's usual rate for a project this size. I will cover all material costs upfront. And when it's finished, I will allow you to photograph the space and use my name in your firm's promotional materials."

Her eyes widened. She stared at the contract like it was made of solid gold. The amount of money and PR value I was offering would secure her firm's financial future for the next five years.

"However," I continued, my tone turning to ice. "There is one non-negotiable condition. Merritt is the lead architect. Her name goes on the final blueprints. She makes the design choices. And she is the only person from your firm who is allowed to step foot in this penthouse to meet with me."

She looked up, her greed clashing with her ego. "Mr. Mercer, I really must insist…"

"If you interfere with her work, or if you try to swap her out for one of your senior partners, I will pull the funding immediately," I cut her off. "And I will make sure every developer in this city knows exactly why I fired you. Do we have an understanding?"

Valerie swallowed hard. She looked at the contract, then back at me.

"Merritt will be the lead architect," she said, her voice tight but compliant. "I will personally oversee her files to ensure quality control, but she will be your direct point of contact."

"Good." I stepped back, picking up my coffee. "Have her here tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Tell her to bring her measuring tape."

She nodded stiffly, packed her tablet back into her briefcase, grabbed the contract, and walked back toward the elevator with David.

I watched the doors slide shut, leaving me alone in the massive, quiet space.

She wanted to pretend last night didn't happen. She wanted to hide behind Hayes and play it safe.

I smiled, taking the last drink of my coffee.

She was about to find out that I didn't play safe.