The city hadn't calmed by the time Courtney reached her apartment that night. Friday evening in Chicago was alive with noise—horns, laughter spilling from rooftop bars, the pulse of nightlife—but none of it touched her.
She closed her door and leaned against it, her body trembling as though she'd been running for miles. The argument with Ethan replayed in her mind, sharp and raw. His voice, sneering and cruel. The way his hand had grabbed her arm. The public humiliation of it.
And then—Dwayne.
She could still hear his voice, low and cutting, telling Ethan to back off. The sound of fists colliding, Ethan crumpling to the ground, Dwayne standing over him like a storm barely contained. For a moment, it hadn't felt like she was watching her cold, calculated boss. He had been something else entirely—something dangerous, protective, almost primal.
