The safehouse was quiet in a way the city never was.
No humming lights, no clicking keyboards, no meetings to attend no crazy family to worry about.
Just rain tapping softly on the metal roof…
and Cyrus.
Damien had swept the place twice before disappearing outside to "stand guard," which I knew was code for "give us privacy before Cyrus loses his composure completely."
I sat on the edge of the old wooden table, trying to steady my breathing. My palms were still shaking from the gunfire, but I refused to let him see it.
Cyrus stood a few feet away, pacing, running a hand through his hair a movement so frustrated, so raw, I almost didn't recognize him.
He wasn't the calm CEO anymore.
He wasn't the unshakeable strategist.
He was a man who almost lost something he wasn't prepared to lose.
"You're hurt," he said suddenly.
"I'm not," I replied.
"You're lying."
I rolled my eyes. "You can't keep depending on your instincts and call it proof."
He crossed the space between us before I realized he'd moved.
His hand gently caught my wrist warm, steady.
"Sienna," he said, voice low, "you were almost shot."
I swallowed. Hard.
His thumb brushed a streak of dust off my skin, slow and careful, and the breath I'd been holding finally escaped me.
"I'm fine," I whispered.
He didn't let go.
"Don't do that," he murmured. "Don't pretend nothing happened just because you think you have to be the strongest person in the room."
I looked up.
Dangerous move.
His eyes were softer than they should've been warm, protective, terrified in a way he'd never admit.
"And don't do that," I said.
"Do what?"
"Look at me like that."
His voice barely dropped. "Like what?"
"Like…"
I stopped, because saying it felt like stepping off a ledge I wasn't sure I'd survive.
But he waited patient in a way he never was with anyone else.
"Like you care," I finished.
Cyrus exhaled, something unguarded flickering across his face.
"Sienna," he said quietly, "I've been caring for a very, very long time."
My heart stalled.
He stepped closer close enough that I felt the heat of him, the storm he carried under his skin.
"I tried to hide it"
Another step.
"I told myself protecting you was enough."
Another.
"That you weren't ready yet ."
My fingers curled around the table's edge. "And now?"
His answer was barely a breath.
"Now I know I was lying to myself."
The room was too small.
Too quiet.
Too intense.
And for the first time, the fear in my chest wasn't the kind that came from bullets or Blackwood.
It was the kind that came from realizing I wasn't as indifferent as I pretended.
"You scared me today," he said.
"You scared me more," I whispered. "Cyrus, you you threw yourself in front of a bullet."
"Of course I did."
His voice was fierce, like it cost him something to hold back.
"I'd do it again."
That shouldn't have shaken me the way it did.
But something inside me cracked the part I hid, the part I armored, the part that tried to stay untouched.
And suddenly I wasn't looking at a man who controlled everything.
I was looking at the man who would burn the world down if something happened to me.
He reached out slow, giving me space to pull away.
I didn't.
His hand brushed my cheek, fingertips warm against skin still cold from fear.
He stopped there, searching my face.
Almost asking.
Almost.
I didn't kiss him.
But my body leaned in, just slightly, just enough for the truth to slip through my guard.
And he felt it.
Oh, he felt it.
His breath hitched barely, but real.
And for the first time, I didn't look away.
Something was changing.
And we both knew it.