Aiden Knight's POV
The fluorescent lights of the police station cast harsh shadows across the interrogation room where I've spent the last three hours. Isabella Reed sits across from me, her laptop open, fingers drumming against the metal table. She's been waiting for something, checking her messages every few minutes with growing frustration.
"Your background check is taking longer than expected," she says finally.
I lean back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "Disappointing?"
"Interesting." Her green eyes study my face. "Most people don't have files that require federal clearance to access."
The door opens and a junior officer enters, carrying a tablet. He whispers something to Isabella that makes her eyebrows rise. She takes the tablet, studies the screen, then looks at me with new understanding.
"Well, Mr. Knight," she says slowly. "It appears the hotel's security footage corroborates Ms. Pierce's account."
I remain silent, waiting.
"The video shows you acting in clear self-defense. The bodyguards drew weapons first, initiated physical contact, and made verbal threats." She pauses. "Curiously, there's some static interference during the actual fight. Technical malfunction, apparently."
Of course there is. The energy I channeled during the confrontation would have disrupted any nearby electronics. But I don't need to explain that to her.
"Am I free to go?"
Isabella closes the tablet with a sharp click. "You are. We'll need you available for any follow-up questions, but no charges are being filed at this time."
She stands, straightening her uniform. "Mr. Knight, a word of advice. Powerful families like the Graves don't forget slights. Watch yourself."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Twenty minutes later, Chloe and I walk through the station's front doors into the cool night air. She's been quiet during the release process, but I can feel the tension radiating from her.
"I'm sorry," she says suddenly.
I glance at her. "For what?"
"For dragging you into this mess. The charity auction, Oscar Graves, the police..." She runs a hand through her hair. "You came to Everbrook City for business, and now you're caught up in my problems."
We reach the curb where a taxi waits. I open the door for her, studying her profile in the streetlight. There's genuine guilt in her expression, mixed with something else. Gratitude, perhaps.
"The Graves family won't let this go," she continues as we settle into the backseat. "Oscar's pride took a beating tonight. He'll want revenge."
I give the driver Chloe's address, then turn to face her. "Are you worried?"
"About myself? No. About you?" She meets my eyes. "Yes."
The admission surprises us both. She looks away quickly, her cheeks flushing.
"I mean, you don't know how these families operate. They have connections, resources. They can make life very difficult for people who cross them."
"And you're concerned about my welfare?"
"Don't let it go to your head," she says, but there's no bite in her words.
The taxi pulls away from the curb, merging into late-night traffic. Through the rear window, I catch a glimpse of someone watching from the police station steps. Isabella Reed, her phone pressed to her ear, her eyes tracking our departure.
"You're staying at the Grand Plaza Hotel, right?" Chloe asks.
"I was."
"Was?"
I smile slightly. "I have a feeling the Graves family has enough influence to make my stay there uncomfortable. Cancelled reservations, maintenance issues, that sort of thing."
Chloe frowns, clearly not having considered this possibility. "That's... that's petty and vindictive."
"That's power."
She's quiet for several blocks, staring out the window at the passing cityscape. Finally, she turns back to me with a look of determination.
"Stay at my place tonight."
The words hang in the air between us. I can see her processing what she's just offered, surprise at her own boldness mixing with resolve.
"Chloe..."
"I'm serious. It's my fault you're in this situation, and I won't have you sleeping on a park bench because of Oscar Graves' wounded ego." She straightens in her seat. "Besides, my apartment has good security. Better than most hotels."
I study her face in the passing streetlights. This is a significant gesture from someone who was throwing water at me just this morning. The shift in her attitude tells me more about her character than hours of conversation could.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely." She pauses, then adds with a hint of her earlier sass, "Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't get into any more fights."
"I don't go looking for trouble."
"No, but trouble seems to find you anyway."
The taxi turns onto a tree-lined street in one of Everbrook City's upscale neighborhoods. Modern apartment buildings rise on either side, their facades lit by elegant street lamps.
"This is it," Chloe says as we pull up to a sleek high-rise.
I pay the driver while she gathers her purse. As we step onto the sidewalk, that familiar sensation crawls up my spine. We're being watched.
I don't turn around immediately, instead helping Chloe with her jacket while scanning the area with my peripheral vision. Across the street, a figure stands in the shadow of a large oak tree. Too distant to make out details, but the posture is familiar.
"Something wrong?" Chloe notices my hesitation.
"Just admiring the neighborhood."
We walk toward the building entrance, and I resist the urge to look back. Whoever is watching will either follow or they won't. Either way, I'll deal with it when necessary.
The lobby is all polished marble and modern art, with a security desk manned by a professional-looking guard who nods respectfully to Chloe.
"Evening, Ms. Pierce."
"Good evening, David."
The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor is quiet, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. Chloe seems lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me with an expression I can't quite read.
Her apartment surprises me. I'd expected something cold and corporate, matching her business persona. Instead, I find warm colors, comfortable furniture, and personal touches that speak to a life beyond board meetings and profit margins.
"Nice place," I comment, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city.
"Thank you." She sets her purse on a side table, suddenly seeming nervous. "The guest bedroom is down the hall, second door on the right. There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and I think there might be some of my brother's clothes that would fit you."
"Your brother?"
"He's overseas. Military. Leaves stuff here sometimes when he's on leave." She walks to the kitchen, opening cabinets with unnecessary precision. "Are you hungry? I could make something..."
"Chloe."
She stops moving, her hands gripping the counter edge.
"Thank you," I say simply.
She turns around, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. Gratitude for what I did tonight, concern for the consequences, and something else. Something that makes her look away quickly.
"Don't mention it," she says. "Besides, now you owe me. When I need a bodyguard, I know who to call."
She's deflecting with humor, but the underlying offer is serious. In her world, owing favors is how relationships work.
"I should warn you," I say, moving to the living room windows. "Having me as a guest might complicate your life."
"More than it already is?"
Fair point. Through the glass, I can see most of the street below. The figure from across the road is gone, but that doesn't mean we're not still under surveillance.
"Chloe, when was the last time you felt safe?"
The question catches her off guard. She joins me at the window, her reflection ghostlike in the glass.
"Safe?" She considers this. "I don't know. Maybe when I was a kid, before I understood how the world really works."
"That's not a way to live."
"It's the only way I know."
I turn to face her fully. In the apartment's soft lighting, with her hair falling loose around her shoulders and her business armor set aside, she looks younger. More vulnerable.
"It doesn't have to be."
Something passes between us in that moment. An understanding, perhaps. Or a promise.
"I should let you get some rest," she says, but she doesn't move away from the window.
"Should I be worried about your reputation? Having a strange man spend the night?"
She laughs, and the sound is lighter than I've heard from her before. "My reputation can handle it. Besides, after tonight, I think the rumors about my mysterious companion will be far more interesting than the truth."
"And what's the truth?"
She meets my gaze directly. "That you're the most dangerous man I've ever met, and somehow that makes me feel safer than I have in years."
The admission hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is quite ready to address.
"I should say goodnight," she says softly.
"You should."
But neither of us moves. Outside, the city sprawls in all directions, full of people who have no idea that their carefully ordered world sits on foundations far more fragile than they imagine.
In her apartment, protected by fifteen floors and security systems, Chloe Pierce stands close enough that I can smell her perfume and see the pulse at her throat.
"Aiden?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow, when this all seems like a dream, will you still be here?"
The question reveals more about her fears than she probably intended. How many people in her life have proven temporary? How many have left when things became complicated?
"Where else would I go?"
She smiles then, real and unguarded. "Goodnight, Aiden Knight."
"Goodnight, Chloe Pierce."
I watch her walk down the hallway, noting the way she moves with unconscious grace even in her exhaustion. Her bedroom door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone with the city lights and my own thoughts.
But as I settle onto her comfortable couch, I can't shake the feeling that someone is still watching. And tomorrow, the Graves family will begin planning their revenge.
The game is just beginning.