The city lights flickered beneath the penthouse windows, casting long, restless shadows across the sleek marble floors. Cynthia Brooks stood at the threshold, hand gripping the doorframe, heart hammering in her chest. The hotel room had been suffocating. Every sound—each creak of the old floorboards, each hum of passing traffic—made her pulse spike. Sleep had been impossible. The images of Lydia West, the messages from the unknown number, and the knowledge that someone had thought she was the target haunted her every thought.
She had tried to convince herself to stay in the hotel, to obey Alexander Voss's orders. She had tried to follow his rules. But fear—raw, gnawing, persistent—had won. She couldn't stay there. She couldn't be alone.
She took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer to the penthouse floor. The elevator hummed silently, taking her up to the top. Every second felt longer than the last, each tick of the floor indicator echoing in her skull.
When the doors opened, she hesitated at the hall. Alexander's penthouse door was slightly ajar. A warm, amber glow spilled into the hallway, cutting through the darkness like a beacon. She stepped inside.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. She could see the outline of Alexander standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to her, silhouetted by the city lights. He didn't turn immediately.
"Alexander…" her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried.
He stiffened, then turned, his piercing gray eyes locking onto hers. Relief, annoyance, and something unreadable flickered across his features.
"Cynthia," he said carefully, his voice steady but with a hint of caution. "It's late. You shouldn't be here."
She stepped closer, hands trembling slightly. "I know… I know I shouldn't have come. But I couldn't sleep… not in the hotel. Not knowing… not with everything that's happening." Her voice cracked. "I can't be alone, Alexander. I just… I can't."
He studied her for a long moment. His usual mask of cold control softened ever so slightly. The tension between them—the distance he always kept—seemed to waver in the dim light.
"You're afraid," he said simply. No accusation. Just the observation of someone who knew her too well.
"I am," she admitted, stepping closer. Her fingers curled nervously at her sides. "I can't stop thinking about… about Lydia… and the messages… and whoever is out there. I just…" She swallowed hard. "I just don't want to be alone tonight."
Alexander exhaled slowly, a quiet, controlled sound that betrayed nothing yet suggested everything. He glanced at the hallway, then back at her, as if measuring the consequences of his decision. "This is reckless," he said, but the edge in his tone had softened. "And dangerous."
"I know," Cynthia whispered. "But… I trust you. I trust you to keep me safe. I know it's not easy. But I can't do this by myself."
His jaw clenched. The shadows across his face deepened, revealing the conflict behind his eyes—the man who had survived the Black Vipers, who had escaped death countless times, was wrestling with his own rules and fears. Protecting Cynthia meant putting her in the line of fire, yet he also knew that sending her back to the hotel would leave her alone, terrified, and vulnerable.
Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable. "Fine. But you stay close. You don't leave this apartment, and you don't go near the windows. Mr. Heathcliff is outside the building, and I've asked him to keep watch. One wrong move, Cynthia, and…"
"I know," she interrupted softly. "I won't."
He gestured toward the bedroom. "Then come in. But stay on your side of the bed. No surprises."
Cynthia's lips twitched in a small, relieved smile. She stepped inside the bedroom, her eyes tracing the luxurious space: the king-sized bed, the soft, muted linens, the city lights streaming through the tall windows. Everything about this room radiated power, control, and danger—the perfect reflection of Alexander Voss himself.
She noticed the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the room, subtle yet intoxicating. It made her heart race. She wanted to tell herself it was just the scent, that it didn't mean anything—but it did. Every instinct in her body told her she wanted to be closer to him, even though her mind screamed caution.
Alexander sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, every muscle taut. "Get ready for bed," he said, his voice low and calm, though there was an unspoken intensity in his gaze.
Cynthia hesitated. Her pulse thundered. "Alexander…" she whispered,
Her stomach tightened. There was a raw honesty in his words, a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to reassure herself that he was real and that he was here, guarding her.
The room was quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of her shallow breathing. She climbed onto the bed, keeping a careful distance, and settled on her side. Alexander didn't move immediately. He lingered for a moment, watching her, as if weighing a thousand possibilities. Then, slowly, he sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"I'll keep you safe," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. "No one is getting to you tonight. Not the gang, not anyone. No one."
Cynthia's heart fluttered, a mix of fear and relief washing over her. "I… I trust you," she admitted, her voice barely audible.
He glanced at her, and for a moment, his usual cold, unreadable expression softened. The mask of control slipped, revealing the man beneath—the man who had survived danger and loss but who had never let anyone close enough to see the cracks.
"You can sleep," he said finally. "I'll stay awake. Watching. Always."
She felt a shiver run through her body—not from fear, but from the intimacy of the moment. He was letting her into his world, letting her share his space in a way he had never allowed anyone before.
Cynthia lay back, letting the warmth of the bed and the quiet strength of his presence soothe her frayed nerves. Alexander shifted slightly, close enough that their shoulders touched. Her breath hitched at the subtle contact, the closeness, the unspoken tension that filled the room.
The city lights flickered across their faces, casting a golden glow. Outside, the world was dangerous, unpredictable, filled with unseen threats. But here, in this room, there was a fragile sanctuary, a momentary peace amid chaos.
Cynthia closed her eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of Alexander's breathing beside her. She let herself relax, trusting him completely.
And though sleep didn't come immediately, for the first time in days, she felt… safe.
Safe in his presence. Safe in his care.
And as the night deepened, the tension, the fear, and the darkness outside seemed just a little more manageable—because Alexander Voss was there, and she was no longer alone.