Amelia walked the remnants of her apartment floor, her own heart still racing from the assault. Shards of wood from her broken door covered the floor, and the quiet after violence closed in around her like an oppressive shroud.
She gazed at Alexander, standing in the center of the room like a master. His fingers thrust deep into his pockets, his face sculpted from metal. He didn't seem to be winded, didn't seem to be shaken—he seemed to be a man who'd waved away an irritation.
"I didn't require your help," she snapped finally, her words sharp, trembling.
"You didn't have to," he answered quietly, his gaze scanning the ruined apartment. "But whether you care to admit it or not, you needed to be saved."
Her cheeks burned with fury and humiliation. "You can't just march into my life, fight my battles, and then—should I be grateful?"
A muscle tightened in his jaw. "I don't need your gratitude. I need your cooperation."
"Cooperation?" she said, crossing her arms.
His eyes locked on hers, unblinking. "Pack your things."
The air was thick. "Excuse me?"
"You can't stay here. It's unsafe, it's unsuitable, and it's accessible to men who will just come back over and over again until they do what they want. You're coming with me."
Her laughter exploded out, bitter and acrid. "Unbelievable. You think I'm going to just move into your mansion like some—some waif you've saved?"
His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. "This isn't about pride. It's about survival."
Amelia's throat tightened. Survival. That word cut deeper than any insult.
"I can take care of myself," she whispered, though even she didn't believe it anymore.
"No, Amelia." His voice was low, almost gentle. "You don't have to take care of yourself. Not when I'm here."
The confession agitated her more than the danger she'd so barely avoided. His words wrapped around her like a shackle—warm, protective, hideously seductive.
She turned away, placing her hand on her forehead. "Why are you doing this? Why me? You don't even know me.".
Behind her, she heard the faintest sigh, laden with hidden truth. "Because I know you," he whispered. "And whether you will admit it or not, your fight is now mine." Her heart pounded. She wanted to argue, to throw his condescension back at him, but the broken door mocked her defiance. The truth was unavoidable—she could not stay. Not here. No more.
Nevertheless, pride roughened at her breast. "And if I don't?"
Alexander stepped closer, his presence surrounding her like the power of gravity. "Then I'll stand outside this building every night until you comply. Do you want me haunting your doorstep?"
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. The sheer audacity of him, the stubbornness… it was infuriating. And yet, in a secret recess of herself, a small, fragile part of her wanted to surrender.
She hated him for safer than she'd been in years.
"Fine," she finally replied, her voice shuddering with reluctant surrender. "But until I think of something better."
A shadow of a smile passed across his lips for an instant. "Of course."
But Amelia didn't miss the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. As though he already understood that this was only the beginning of her entry into his world.
The ride to Alexander's mansion was stifling in its quiet. Amelia sat rigidly in the back of the sleek black limousine, her hands clenched in her lap. Beyond the windows, silvered as they were, the city lights dissolved into streamers of gold and silver. She was being transported to another universe, one where she didn't fit.
Alexander sat across from her, lounging in his element, scrolling through whatever it was on his phone as if he hadn't just turned her entire life upside down. His calmness infuriated her.
"Is this your solution to everything?" she growled at last, her voice colder than she intended. "Just toss money and power at the problem until it disappears?"
He raised his eyes slowly, meeting hers with unnerving composure. "My plan is to keep you alive. You're welcome."
Her chest tightened with rage. She wanted to argue further, but the validity of his words hung between them like a challenge, unrefutable. So she sealed her lips together and turned to the window again.
When the car finally rolled through wrought-iron gates taller than her apartment building, Amelia took a breath. A crescent-shaped driveway stretched out before her, lined with lanterns and carved gardens glowing under gentle lights. At the far end of the road, a mansion rose like something from a fairy tale—gigantic, elegant, and commanding.
It was no house. It was a kingdom.
The limousine stopped at the entrance, the driver opening her door with a bow. Amelia stepped out carefully, the sound of her heels on shiny marble steps. Her throat was dry as she looked at the magnificence of the building, its soaring pillars and sparkling windows reflecting the sky at night.
"Welcome home," Alexander drawled, falling into step beside her.
"This isn't my home," she said to herself, barely above a whisper.
He heard her nonetheless. "It is for now."
A crisp breeze blew through, bringing with it the subtlety of jasmine. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, throwing golden light on a sweeping staircase and hallways lined with priceless works of art. Excess and beauty were everywhere Amelia turned—shiny floors, velvet drapery, sculptures that cost more than her entire part of town.
She wrapped herself in her arms, feeling embarrassed over her muddy boots and ripped coat. She was a fraud, a fragile specter stumbling into a world of diamond-crafted brutality.
Alexander strode as one who not only owned the house, but the air within it. He led her through double doors that were tall to a sitting room where furniture seemed unoccupied, as though to be gazed upon but not sat upon.
"This is crazy," she spat, turning to face him. "I don't belong here. Look at this place—this is a palace. You expect me to just move in here? Pretend everything is fine?"
His expression didn't shift. "Normal is relative. You belong here because I've brought you here."
Her own breath hitched, heat rising to her cheeks. "You can't do that!"
"I can," he said quietly. "And I did."
The condescension in his voice made her anger burn, but beneath her anger simmered something more dangerous—something she would not admit. Because the thing was, a part of her wanted to slouch into the security of this room, to lose herself in the promise of security and comfort.
But she wouldn't. She couldn't.
"Take me to my room," she snapped, folding her arms.
For the first time, his lips twisted into the faintest smirk, as if her defiance amused him. "As you wish."
He led her up the curving stairs, his long legs eating distance easily, while Amelia tried her best not to gawk at the shocking opulence around her. Every corridor was lined with ancient vases, dripping crystal chandeliers, and doors that each could have led to a secret world.
When Alexander finally opened a door at the end of a quiet hall, Amelia stopped.
The room was larger than her entire apartment. A king bed covered in satin sheets dominated most of the room, surrounded by gold-trimmed furniture and a balcony that swung out over a city-wide view of the sparkling city lights below.
It was lovely. It was intimidating. And it was utterly foreign.
"Sleep," Alexander said softly, his voice soothing now. "You are safe here."
Amelia swallowed hard, her emotions warring between exhaustion, rage, and something she did not want to admit might be gratitude.
She rose from the balcony, her eyes staying on the glittering city beyond. "Safe," she whispered to herself. The word tasted strange, like a dream she could not wake up from.
She walked away, and behind her, Alexander lingered a moment longer, his gaze heavy upon her before he finally left the room, closing the door behind him softly.
For the first time that night, Amelia let herself collapse onto the bed, her heart wracked with torment between relief and fear. For she was well aware—nothing about this situation was simple. And nothing about Alexander Gold was safe.
The quiet of the mansion pressed on Amelia after Alexander left. She lay in the enormous bed, looking up at the chandelier above, trying to sleep. The sheets were softer than anything she had ever experienced, the pillows clouds—but she tossed and turned, confined and misplaced.
She rolled over, turned, and finally sat up, kicking her legs over the edge of the bed. Her stomach cautioned her not to get comfortable. This was not her territory—it was his, and it was held in by invisible shackles.
Curiosity proved too strong. She swung off the bed and padded barefoot toward the door. The hall beyond was quiet, with only the faraway humming of voices echoing through the sweeping halls.
She hesitated. She knew she had no right to ask. But something about Alexander—something in the way he'd walked, something in the way he'd spoken with such authority—twitched her for answers. Who was this man who'd caught her in his gilded cage?
Eavesdropping, she descended the stairs, remaining near the darkness. The voices grew more distinct as she crept to a study with the door left open by a sliver.
It was Alexander. His low, commanding voice was unmistakable.
".I don't care what it costs," he was growling curtly. "Keep digging. I want it all—her contacts, her past, her history. No rock is too unturned."
Amelia's blood congealed. He was talking about her.
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp, her heart slamming in her ears. She pressed hard against the wall, listening as hard as she could.
"She doesn't know the truth yet," Alexander continued, his voice gentler now, threatening. "And she stays that way until I tell her otherwise."
Her stomach churned. What truth? What was he talking about?
There was a moment of stillness, then his tone shifted, became gentler in a way that only made her feel more ill at ease than his insistence. "She's not ready. If she finds out now, it will destroy her."
Amelia's knees turned weak. A thousand ideas fought in her head. Was this the reason he'd rescued her? Was she some pawn in a larger game? Or worse—did he know something about her family that she didn't?
She stepped back, racing pulse, but the wooden floorbetrayer creaked softly.
In the study, there was sudden quiet.
Then—"Who's there?" Alexander's voice cut through the air, cold and deadly.
Panic overcame Amelia. She spun and hurried down the corridor, her bare feet flashing on the shining floor. She didn't slow until she crashed into her room, her back against the door, her chest heaving.
She only barely got in. In another moment, the handle was turned.
"Amelia?" His voice was peaceful, but there was an edge to it, as if steel was wrapped in silk. "Are you awake?"
She clenched her eyes shut, praying he wouldn't come in.
There was a stillness before she heard the deliberate, slow footsteps of his departure.
Not until quiet had come back around did Amelia finally let out the breath she was holding. She slumped onto the ground, her knees wrapped in her arms, her mind spinning.
Safe. He'd said that word just a short time before. But if she was safe, why was he looking up her life? What could he possibly learn that she didn't know even herself?
Something was for sure—Alexander Gold was not a ruthless billionaire with a golden empire. He was a man with something to hide… something that had everything to do with her.
And Amelia vowed on the spot—she would find out the truth, if she had to blow up the tenuous arrangements holding them together.