Chapter 1The Guardian's Trap: Claiming His Little Ward

When I was eighteen, Vaughn Sterling, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, hooked his finger into the back tie of my dress and dragged me out of hell.

"You guys don't want her?"

"Fine, I'll keep her."

Later on, he trapped me against his chest, deliberately tempting me:

"I'm getting sick of hearing you call me 'Uncle Vaughn.' Want to change it?"

I suppressed my frantically beating heart: "C-change it to what?"

The man's voice carried a wicked smile:

"We're not related by blood anyway. What do you think?"

* * *

My first meeting with Vaughn Sterling was far from pleasant.

That day, I was watching the family shop as usual. Exhausted, I had just rested my head on the counter and fallen asleep.

Hearing a noise, I jolted awake and stood up.

The first thing I saw was a face that was far too handsome. It was aggressive. Seductive. He looked exactly like the beautiful, dangerous immortals described in fantasy novels.

I stared at him in a daze, not realizing he had already called out to me several times.

"Tsk," Vaughn’s eyes glinted with a layer of disgust. "Little girl, you're drooling."

The moment he said that, I snapped out of it.

Muttering an apology, I sprinted to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I returned, my messy braids were undone, falling loose down my back, and my face was washed clean.

"Are you looking to buy a bottle, or do you need a room?"

I looked at the man sitting in the wicker chair, biting down on a cigarette. My eyes were glued to his long, crossed legs; I couldn't look away.

My family originally just ran a small local liquor store, but because we were near a scenic national park, my dad had converted the second floor into a motel to host tourists.

Vaughn only wanted a bottle of our craft bourbon.

But as his eyes swept over my face, he suddenly pulled back the hundred-dollar bills he had laid on the counter.

He changed his mind. He said he was staying the night.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Avery," I answered honestly.

"Got a boyfriend?" It was phrased as a question, but the man clearly didn't care about the answer.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward.

Vaughn’s legs trapped mine, and his long, elegant fingers effortlessly slipped under the hem of my shirt.