The black car glided down the road, making Naomi's gut churn. Holding her bag tight, she sensed its weakness - nothing could shield her from what waited ahead. Neon lights smeared across the windows as Eastwood zipped by, wild and bright. But inside, everything stood still. Just the faint drone of the motor disturbed the quiet, a low throb that felt planned - not natural, more like silence shaped on purpose.
She took a breath, hoping to calm her pounding chest. Her whole frame tightened up, bracing for something unreal - since deep down, no explanation needed, the guy ahead wasn't like anyone else.
He lived up to it.
Lucian Storm appeared when the car came to a halt. Not rushing, not easing in - just showing up, solid and sudden. The rain had vanished hours ago, yet something about him felt damp with its memory, tucked into the clean edges of his jacket and the tight shape of his haircut. Each motion seemed planned. No gesture wasted. His cologne lingered soft but clear, while the flash on his wrist drew her eye - not loud, just there, doing exactly what it meant to do.
Naomi shrank inside. Never known fear like this one - never anything close. Bills scared her, sure. Failure terrified her. Medical costs piling high while cash ran low - that shook her. Yet Lucian Storm? That was another level entirely. A mix of dread and wonder sparked something raw, unnamed, buzzing under her skin.
Miss Naomi Hart?" He spoke softly, his tone low yet clear - steady like a slow drumbeat. Each word measured, not rushed but deliberate - as if choosing every syllable with care.
Yeah..." She spoke so softly that it was almost silent.
"Mr. Storm would like to see you," said the bodyguard quietly, stepping aside.
Naomi's legs wobbled. A sharp pause in her breathing kicked in. Everything shifted a bit, throwing off her balance. She squeezed the strap of her bag - like that might keep her steady.
Lucian stayed stone-faced. No warmth showed. Just stared at her with deep black eyes - the kind that cut through to what she really thought, tearing down every wall. She couldn't say whether he was intrigued, irritated, or just sizing her up. Maybe a mix of everything.
The car door swung open, so she climbed inside, her fingers shaking. Inside looked way roomier than she thought it would - spotless, really, with soft leather chairs giving off a hint of wood oil mixed with fresh cleaner. She made an effort not to gawk; still, every little thing - the seat shape, how quiet it felt - just shouted that this wasn't her usual kind of trip.
Lucian climbed in, taking the seat opposite. He sat up straight - no slouching at all. Despite the tight quarters inside the vehicle, he carried himself like someone you couldn't ignore, steady but edged with warning. It hit Naomi then - she'd been holding her breath without knowing it.
"Why did you push me out of the way yesterday?" he asked quietly.
Naomi froze. Her heart thumped against her ribs. "I I… because you were going to get hit by a car."
He didn't blink. "That is not what I asked."
She opened her mouth once more, yet nothing came out - her throat sore and rough. "I... I helped you 'cause it just seemed fair."
Lucian's eyes studied her. "You expect nothing in return?"
Naomi bobbed her head fast. "No way."
The quiet after felt thick, nearly crushing. A stillness so deep it seemed like the room filled up with pressure instead of air. Beyond the windows, traffic rushed forward. But in there, everything dragged.
Finally, Lucian tilted his head. "Everything happens for a reason. You were meant to be there."
Her stomach sank. Supposed to meet him? She'd just been pacing, caught up in fears about her mom and everything going on, mind elsewhere. Still, there he stood - like she was always meant to show up right then.
She hadn't answered yet when he said something else, quieter this time. "Quentin."
"Sure thing," the helper replied, clear and steady.
"Prepare."
Naomi felt more puzzled by the second. "Get ready... for something?" she said, her voice shaky.
"You will see."
Her heart thumped faster. What was she stepping into now? No clue at all. Life before this meant grinding through hardship, just daily pain - juggling shifts to cover her mom's meds, living paycheck to paycheck. This situation? Totally outta left field.
The car eased down, then swung into a property so huge Naomi almost couldn't believe her eyes. Up ahead, the gates looked like they were poking the sky, guarded by men who showed no emotion but watched sharply. Every step was caught on camera, followed without pause. Stone floors, shiny walls, streams of water winding through - each piece shouted money, grip, and distance from everyone else.
Naomi sank into the chair, arms tight around her bag. She seemed tiny, as if stepping into a place where nothing followed her usual way of doing things. Not a house - more like a stronghold. Like some kind of realm.
"This... your place?" she whispered, so quiet it almost faded.
Lucian stayed quiet. Just being there said enough. No surprise - he owned this place. After all, he lived in a scene she'd seen just in glossy pages, rags, or finance write-ups.
The vehicle pulled up near the big entrance, then the door slid open by itself. Quentin pointed at the huge gates - "Over here."
Naomi moved forward cautiously, the stones slick beneath her feet. Inside, the atmosphere felt odd - chillier, denser, somehow stricter. Everything seemed too spotless, quiet, almost threatening. Her heart kicked up as they went through a passage shining like glass. Art hung along both sides - strange shapes, shadowy tones, clearly costly - watching without speaking, part of a life she'd never touched.
At last, they got to a secluded part of the clinic. Inside the huge property sat this quiet spot - a clean, tight space, running like a ward. Out came one medic.
"Miss Hart, please sit. Mr. Storm informed me of your situation," he said politely, though his eyes briefly flicked toward Lucian.
Naomi started to speak up. "I'm fine without - "
Lucian just stood there, quiet, but it shut her up fast. Leaning in a bit, his gaze locked onto hers like glue. Suddenly, she got it - arguing wouldn't help at all. Not a question, not an excuse. Just demand, silent and heavy.
"You cannot go home," he said softly. His voice was low but forceful. "It is not safe. Not for you. Not yet."
Naomi's stomach churned. "But my apartment, my things—"
"Preparations have been made," he interrupted. "Everything you need will be provided."
The doctor moved close fast, looking at her pulse and breathing. While he checked, Naomi's fingers trembled, trying to stay still. "Don't worry," she said low. "Honestly, everything's okay."
Lucian's eyes didn't waver. "You were reckless. You interfered. And that makes you a liability."
Naomi flinched. "A liability? I—I saved you."
"Yes." His voice was quiet, almost a statement, not a question. "And that is why you are here. Because those who wish me harm have now seen you."
Her heart thudded painfully. "Seen me? Why—why would they care about me?"
He stayed quiet at first. Then, he looked her over, measured how she responded, what scared her, and even her heartbeat. Being seen like that made Naomi feel bare, more than ever before.
"Because," he finally said, "you are now connected. And the world I live in does not forgive connections lightly."
Naomi's hands trembled, clutching the bag at her side. "I… I don't understand any of this. What am I supposed to do?"
"You will stay. You will follow instructions. You will survive," he said, voice as precise as a blade.
Her legs wobbled. Thoughts fired fast. A month left. Safety slipping. Threat creeping in. This can't be real. All I've lived through - wiped out.
His gaze eased - only slightly, barely noticeable. Just for a second, she felt like he seemed real, alive. Then it slipped away, swapped out with that steady coolness he'd always had from day one.
"For thirty days, Naomi Hart," he said, stepping slightly closer, "you will live under my protection. You will remain here. And you will survive."
She tried to speak, yet her voice stuck. A sob rose, but it faded fast. She opened her mouth, but still no sound escaped.
She didn't have any options.
Not once did it hit her what was really going on:
Lucian Storm gave an order, not a request. From that moment on, her life revolved around him - no questions asked, no exceptions allowed.
The car door shut after they left.
The storm trailed her from Eastwood's sidewalks - yet now, it waited within, circling close. In a big house. In a world she'd never heard of before.
Naomi Hart got it now - suddenly, clearly - the coming month wouldn't merely shift things; instead, it'd reshape everything from the ground up.