THE CONTRACT (The Chosen Series #2)

HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

Glancing at my Rolex, I note the time: 4:45 PM. With a stretch of my shoulders, I guide Isla back up to the second floor.

Our tour of the ground and subfloors has already consumed over two hours, and we haven't even touched the 3rd or 4th floors yet. The Manor boasts an expansive footprint of over 200,000 square feet, and exploring every room would take us well over a week.

Opting for a condensed version, I breeze past several rooms, many of which I haven't explored myself. We focus on the main areas, such as the underground parking garage, housing more vehicles than I care to count, the indoor Olympic-sized pool, and the fully equipped gym.

We spent extra time exploring the massive room filled with every imaginable fitness apparatus, enough to make any gym junkie ecstatic. Admittedly, it's not a space I frequent, but the excitement in Isla's eyes at the sight of some equipment suggests I might be inclined to start.

Our journey took us past multiple cellars, a conservatory the size of a football field, two music rooms, and several guest parlors, all immaculate yet unused.

I even guided Isla through the wing designated for the men, essentially a bachelor pad. The rooms were adorned with billiards tables, an old-fashioned art deco bar, a cigar lounge, and who knows what other debaucheries men indulge in—perhaps even blow-up dolls!

Isla's expression shifts from wonder to confusion as we continue to pass each room. I can't help but roll my eyes when we come across one of the ballrooms currently under renovation, with several scaffoldings scattered around the room. As if one ballroom isn't enough!

When we stroll past yet another formal hall, this one branching off from the main gallery where the most extravagant grand staircase imaginable resides, I halt and turn to look down at Isla. I pause as her puzzled expression deepens. "What are you thinking?" I ask, prompting her to furrow her brow further.

"Why does someone need so many rooms?" Isla's question rings out in the cavernous hall.

I chuckle, "Fuck knows, I usually only bother with the main kitchen and my room." Then, with a shrug, I add, "Honestly, I haven't set foot in most of these rooms myself, and today's tour is the first time I've seen some of them."

Arching her head, Isla nibbles on her bottom lip before glancing up at one of the ventilation shafts—a recent addition for better climate control. She then turns back to me, a grin spreading across her face. "Kitchen?"

"Yep, there are like 3 of them, but I only go to the one where Cook is."

"Cook?"

"OMG, come with me, you're about to meet someone that I swear can make you orgasm just by eating her food."

"I don't see how that would be practical," Isla replies confused.

I laugh at her comment. For someone so bright, she's certainly naive. "I didn't mean that literally," then on second thought, I wink, "but it's pretty close."

I tug on her hand and head to the kitchen, locating Cook immediately, who is busily preparing the evening meal.

"Erin," Cook beams, looking up from the dough and coming around the bench covered in flour, pulling me into a massive hug. Thankfully she removed her apron before we embraced. Otherwise, I would look like a ghost with the amount of white stuff that is everywhere. "You look too thin. Are you not eating?" She questions, her accent as thick as the others, being Russian. Cook has also been with the family her whole life.

"I have, but my friend over there," I start and point towards Isla, lowering my tone, "has been making me run."

"Run? Oh well, I will fatten you back up. Just leave it to old Cook to get you sorted."