Ariana hadn't expected to sleep. But when she woke up wrapped in warm sheets, tangled in soft blankets she didn't remember pulling over herself, sunlight bleeding through tall windows—she realized she had.
She'd slept. In his house.
She sat up too fast.
The room was unfamiliar and far too perfect. Modern with cool-toned decor, gray and cream walls, floor-to-ceiling windows with blackout drapes half drawn. A subtle scent lingered—cologne, faint spice, clean cotton.
His scent.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slid out of bed. Her bare feet sank into the plush rug as she tiptoed across the hardwood, quietly opening the bedroom door.
Silence.
She moved down the long hallway. Her phone still had no signal, and all the windows had remote shutters half-closed.
Cage.
The word struck her again.
This place was a cage. Beautiful, yes. But a prison just the same.
She wandered until she found the kitchen—sleek and spotless, with every appliance more expensive than anything she'd ever owned. A full breakfast was set out already: eggs, toast, fresh fruit, a pot of black coffee still steaming.
He'd known she'd wake up.
She didn't eat. Not yet.
Footsteps.
She froze.
Brandon entered from the side hallway, dressed in all black again—fitted sweater, dark slacks, a watch that probably cost more than her entire year's rent. He looked fresh. Controlled. Sharp.
And he carried a file.
"You slept longer than I expected," he said, voice neutral.
"I didn't plan to sleep at all," she replied.
He set the file on the counter and walked to the coffee pot. "Your body knows what it needs. Even when your mind doesn't."
She watched him pour coffee into a delicate ceramic mug, then push it toward her. "Thanks for the breakfast. Didn't know you played housewife."
He didn't smile. "You're not a guest, Ariana. You're an asset. Assets are taken care of."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not your property."
"No," he agreed calmly. "But you are under my rules. And that means I don't let you starve."
She sat reluctantly, sipping the coffee.
He pushed the file toward her. "This is what I was working on last night."
She opened it. Inside—photos. Charts. A map of the city. Red Xs. Notes scribbled in tight handwriting. Most of it made no sense. But one name stood out, circled in red ink.
Ember Cruz.
"Who is she?"
Brandon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "She was Nicole's cousin. Used to run with a small crew tied to one of my enemies. She disappeared two months ago."
"And?"
"She was seen near your building. Three times. The last time was the night someone tried to break into your apartment."
A chill crept down Ariana's spine. "You think Nicole's involved in this?"
"I think you underestimate how connected people can be."
"I haven't spoken to her since I caught her in bed with my boyfriend. Why would she care what happens to me?"
"Guilt," Brandon said. "Jealousy. Or maybe she wasn't working alone."
He took the file back and flipped to another page.
A name she hadn't heard in months jumped out at her.
James Nick.
Her hand curled into a fist before she could stop it.
"I thought you said he doesn't come in until the middle," she whispered.
"I said you wouldn't see him until the middle. That doesn't mean I haven't been tracking him."
Her stomach twisted. "Where is he?"
Brandon hesitated, then met her gaze. "Back in the city."
"No," she breathed. "No, he can't be—he wouldn't…"
"He's asking questions about you," Brandon said quietly. "Visiting places you used to go. Trying to find out if you're seeing anyone."
Ariana stood suddenly, the chair scraping back.
Brandon didn't flinch. "He's not the same man you left. Something happened to him. I don't know what yet. But I'll find out."
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You don't get to watch every piece of my past and play judge."
"I'm not judging," Brandon said. "I'm eliminating threats."
"And James is a threat now?"
Brandon walked toward her, slow, deliberate. "Anyone who touches you without permission is a threat."
She took a shaky step back. "You're insane."
"I'm focused."
"You're obsessed!"
He stopped just inches from her. "Yes. I am. But not in the way you think."
His voice dropped to a murmur. "I don't want to control you, Ariana. I want to protect what I care about. Because people like me don't get soft things. We destroy them. And I won't let the world destroy you before I ever get the chance to see who you really are."
She looked up at him.
And for the first time, she didn't see the monster.
She saw the man behind it.
The part of him that was desperately trying to hold back something darker.
He stepped back before the moment could stretch too far.
"There's a room on the third floor I want you to see," he said. "But it's locked. For a reason."
Her brows pulled together. "Why?"
"Because it's the part of me no one gets to see. And if I show it to you, you can't unsee it."
She hesitated.
Then: "Show me."