The next few days passed in a haze. I went back to the club. Kyler didn't mention Zane again—but something had changed.
He started walking me to the back door every night. Made sure I got into the car safely. Asked if I'd eaten.
Small things. Quiet things. But they meant more than grand gestures ever could.
It was confusing.
Because every time I caught him looking at me when he thought I wasn't watching, my heart didn't just race—it begged for something I didn't understand.
And I hated it.
Because I was still supposed to hate him.
One night after closing, he found me in the storage room, sitting on a crate with my head in my hands.
"Ash?"
I didn't answer.
He stepped closer. "What's wrong?"
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered. "This pretending. The weight. The danger. My life used to be quiet. Safe."
He crouched in front of me. "You think I wanted this for you?"
"No. But it's what I have now. Because of you. Because of my dad. Because I was too weak to stop any of it."
Kyler didn't speak for a long moment. Then his hand touched my knee.
Not possessive. Not cold.
Just… warm.
"You're not weak, Ash," he said. "You're the only person I've ever seen walk through hell and still ask for light."
My throat burned. "Don't talk like you care about me."
"What if I do?"
I looked at him. Really looked. And I didn't see the mafia boss. I saw a boy who had grown up too fast. A man who had learned to survive by never needing anyone.
And I wanted to touch that pain. Just for a second.
I reached out, brushing my fingers against his jaw.
He closed his eyes—like no one had touched him that gently in years.
But before anything else could happen…
His phone rang.
He stood immediately. His entire body snapped back into steel.
"Stay here," he said sharply.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
I waited. For minutes that felt like hours.
When he came back, he was different. Eyes dark. Voice flat.
"Someone broke into your house."
My blood turned to ice.
"What?"
"They trashed everything. No one was hurt. But this wasn't random."
"Zane," I breathed. "It has to be him."
Kyler's jaw tightened. "He's crossing a line I won't let him cross again."
"No," I said quickly. "Kyler—please. No more violence."
He looked at me, and something in his expression cracked.
"You want me to protect you without blood?" he asked.
"Yes," I whispered.
And for the first time, he nodded.
"I'll find another way."
That night, he didn't leave me alone.
He drove me to a small apartment he owned on the other side of the city—far from danger.
He didn't touch me. Didn't try to stay close. But he stood by the door all night, silent, like a soldier guarding what he couldn't name.
And I lay in bed… with a heart that no longer knew whose name it beat for.