The marble counter felt cold against my palms. Flora had been moving quietly for the last ten minutes, the soft rhythm of her steps steadying in a way I hadn't realized I needed. The smell of tomato broth filled the room — light, familiar, grounding.
"Try to eat," she said softly. "It's still warm."
I nodded. My hands trembled a little when I picked up the spoon. I could still feel the adrenaline in my bloodstream — the echo of that empty floor, the sound of footsteps behind glass, the voice that had called my name.
Flora didn't press. She just leaned against the counter, watching me like she would a daughter trying to find her breath again.
When I finished half the bowl, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're safe now. Mr Vancourt made sure of it."
My throat closed up. "I know," I whispered, but my voice cracked on the word.
"Then let the body catch up to what the mind already knows," she murmured. "Eat, shower, sleep. You don't have to be strong every minute, Miss Elara."
Her gentle hand on my shoulder guided me to the bedroom. I showered and changed on autopilot, the soft cotton of the sleep clothes feeling like a mockery against my skin. The bed, our sanctuary, felt vast and exposed. I curled into the smallest possible ball on my side, dragging the pillows around me like a barricade.
The door opened. I didn't need to look; I knew it was Flora. The edge of the mattress dipped under her weight.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, though the answer was screaming in the tense line of my back.
A tear escaped then, hot and traitorous, seeping into the pillow. I shook my head, a tiny, broken movement.
"Mr Vancourt called," she said softly. "He's checking on you."
And that was what broke me. A sob ripped from my throat, harsh and ugly. "I was so s-scared," I choked out, the confession torn from a place deep inside I'd tried to bury. "I was back there. In the dark. I couldn't breathe. I thought they had found me again. I thought I was back at the warehouse."
Her warm hand settled on my back, a steady, grounding pressure. No empty words. No shushing. Just a presence. "Let it out, child. You've been so strong for so long. You can be strong again tomorrow. But tonight, it's okay to just be scared."
So, I cried. I cried for the warehouse, for the cold fear, for the feeling of the hands on me. I cried for the violation of tonight, for the way an unknown voice in the dark had sent me spiralling back into the past. I cried until my throat was raw and my body was hollowed out, until exhaustion pulled me under into a black, fitful sea.
I surfaced from a nightmare of whispering voices to the soft hiss of the elevator. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. The bedroom door opened, silhouetting a tall, familiar frame in the hallway light.
Kaelen.
He moved with a predator's silence, placing a laptop bag and a thick file on the chair in the corner. The scent of night air and rain clung to him. He didn't speak. He just-toed off his shoes, lay down on top of the covers, still in his clothes, and gathered me into his arms.
I stiffened for a second, a remnant of the terror, before my body recognized its home. I melted back against the solid wall of his chest, a broken sigh escaping me as his warmth seeped into my cold bones.
His arms tightened, a secure, unbreakable band around me. His chin rested on my head. I could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against my back, a rhythm slowly syncing with my own.
"I thought you said you had to go to your office," I murmured, voice still hoarse.
"I did. Then I realized I'd rather work here."
I turned and stared at him for a moment, unable to find words. "You don't have to—"
He shook his head. "Flora's making more tea. You should rest."He spoke gently but with that quiet finality I'd come to recognize — the kind that meant no more arguments.
"Kaelen—"
He met my eyes. "I can work anywhere, Elara. You need me here tonight. And there's where I'll be."
The exhaustion hit me then — all at once, heavy and absolute. I nodded. He brushed his thumb against my temple, brief, grounding. Then he gave me a peck and went to the table where he turned on his laptop, the light from the screen spilling across the room as I opened my eyes slightly, to make sure he was still there.
The last thing I saw before my eyes closed was Kaelen at the desk — sleeves rolled, jaw set, the hum of the city below.Working in silence, keeping watch.
The space beside me was cold, the sheets smooth and vacant.
My eyes flew open, heart seizing for one terrible, disoriented second before the rational part of my brain caught up. Pale, grey morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed 7:14 A.M. I was in Kaelen's bed. I was safe.
But he was gone.
I pushed myself up, the sheets pooling at my waist. The armchair in the corner was empty, the files gone. A sudden, childish panic clawed at my throat. Had it been a dream? His presence in the night, the anchor of his arms?
Then I saw it. On his pillow, a single, crisp note, folded once.
I'm right outside.
His bold, slashing script was a tangible piece of him. I clutched the paper, the simple words a balm to the raw, frightened parts of me. He hadn't left. He'd just moved.
The rituals of the morning felt like reclaiming pieces of myself. Brushing my teeth, the minty taste cutting through the lingering fear. The shower, hot water sluicing away the phantom smells of cologne and dust, the steam clearing my head. I dressed in simple, comfortable clothes—soft trousers and a sweater.
Pulling the bedroom door open, I was met with the rich, dark scent of coffee. And there he was.
Kaelen sat at the dining table, the morning light carving out the sharp lines of his profile. He was already immaculate in a tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled precisely to his forearms. His laptop was open before him, the screen glowing with charts and documents, but his focus was on the tablet in his hand, his thumb scrolling slowly.
He looked up the moment I stepped into the room. His gaze was a physical touch, sweeping over me, assessing, cataloging. There were faint shadows under his eyes, a testament to his own sleepless night, but his expression was composed, intense.
"Elara," he said, his voice a low rumble that filled the quiet space between us. He gestured to the seat beside him, where a second cup of coffee sat, steam gently curling into the air. "I had Flora make it the way you like it."
I moved toward the table, my bare feet silent on the cool floor. I slid into the chair he'd indicated, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. The first sip was bitter, strong, and perfect. It felt like the first real thing I'd consumed since the raid.
I watched him over the rim of my cup. He was watching me back, his grey eyes missing nothing.
"Did you sleep at all?" I asked, my voice still rough with sleep and spent tears.
"Enough to go on," he deflected, his attention returning to his tablet for a moment before looking back at me. "The more relevant question is, how are you this morning?"
The concern in his voice was so carefully controlled, so at odds with the ruthless CEO the world saw.
I took a slow, steadying breath, setting my cup down. "The world feels… sharper. Less like a nightmare I can't wake up from." I met his gaze, willing my voice not to shake. "I'm still… unsettled. But I'm here."
A look of profound satisfaction, fierce and protective, flashed in his eyes. It was the look of a general seeing his most vital asset secured.
"Good," he said, the single word laden with meaning. He turned his laptop screen slightly toward me. It displayed a complex corporate structure chart, with "Helios" at the center, red lines striking through it. "Because we have work to do. And I," he said, his voice dropping, "need my partner."
He pushed the tablet toward me. On the screen was a contact sheet—grainy security footage captures, a name, aliases, known associates.
Jax.
My breath hitched, but I didn't look away. This was no longer a ghost in the dark. This was a file. A target.
Kaelen's finger tapped the screen, right over the man's face. "We found him. Now, we find who sent him."
The fear was still there, a cold knot in my stomach. But as I looked from the face of my tormentor to the determined, unwavering man beside me, something else stirred. It was colder, harder.