Morning broke over Crescent City in pale gold, but Riley Styles was already awake.
He always was.
4:30 a.m. sharp.
His internal clock had been carved into him long before he ever became a billionaire—long before the boardrooms, long before the empire. It was a habit from the military that not even civilian life could wash away.
He sat up immediately, no grogginess, no hesitation. Sheets folded back with clinical neatness. The room was minimalist—quiet, steel-toned, and everything exactly where it belonged. Order was safety. Order was logic. Chaos had taken too much from him once.
He moved straight into his morning routine:
Five minutes of controlled breathing.
Twenty-five minutes of bodyweight training—push-ups, core rotations, slow combat forms.
Ten minutes reviewing surveillance updates.
And precisely one cup of black coffee.
Not two.
Not one and a half.
One.
He didn't question the ritual. It was simply the shape of his mornings.
But today… there was something new in the quiet.
A moment—just a flicker—of his mind straying toward the image of a soaked girl on a dark road, eyes wide with desperation, voice trembling as she begged him to help her mother.
Stephanie Rogers.
He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the thought out.
Distraction. Unacceptable.
He finished his routine, showered, dressed in a crisp black shirt and tactical-cut blazer, and stepped into his office wing.
Ethan Hale was already waiting.
Perfect posture. Glasses reflecting the morning light. Tablet in hand. Efficient as always.
"Good morning, sir," Ethan said, falling into step beside him. "I've prepared your brief for the day."
Riley nodded, giving the smallest gesture for him to continue.
Ethan swiped his tablet, pulling up graphs and reports. "Firstly, production at D-3 Manufacturing is back on schedule after last week's equipment malfunction. The engineers resolved the fault without needing outside contractors."
"Good," Riley said. "And the prototype models?"
"Testing begins within seventy-two hours. Early simulations are promising."
Riley's expression didn't change, but internally he marked that as a victory. Weapons weren't just his business—they were his battlefield, his language, his sense of power in a world spiraling with corruption.
"And the board?" Riley asked.
Ethan's jaw twitched—just faintly. "Some members believe your sudden appearance in Crescent City is… unexpected. They're requesting reassurance that your priorities remain aligned with company growth."
"They'll get results," Riley answered coldly. "That's all the reassurance they need."
Ethan nodded, then lowered his voice slightly as they walked down the polished hallway toward the private elevator.
"There is one more thing, sir. Regarding last night's events."
Riley stopped.
Just for a second.
Ethan adjusted his glasses. "Stephanie Rogers and her mother settled in with no issues. Their medical follow-up is scheduled for tomorrow. Security has been assigned, discreetly."
"Good," Riley replied quietly.
But the way he said it held weight Ethan noticed.
Riley stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut with a soft hum.
He thought he was done thinking about her.
But he wasn't.
Not even close.
———
Stephanie rarely slept well, but last night's exhaustion dragged her under deeper than she expected.
When she finally opened her eyes, soft sunlight was filtering through the unfamiliar curtains.
For a moment… she didn't know where she was.
Then everything rushed back.
The attack.
Taylor collapsing.
Her mother screaming.
The rain.
Riley Styles stepping through the storm like a silent force of nature.
And the relocation — fast, efficient, unbelievable.
Stephanie rubbed her eyes and slipped quietly out of the room. Her mother was still asleep. Good. She needed it.
She stepped outside.
The air was cool, fresh, scented faintly with trimmed hedges and morning dew. The small garden beside the house was simple yet beautiful — flowers planted with precision, a tiny stone path looping around a single shade tree. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Almost unreal.
Stephanie sat on the edge of the stone path and hugged her knees.
Her mind churned.
"We owe him… so much."
Medical bills.
Transportation.
Security.
A fully furnished home beside his estate.
No matter how many times she replayed it, one thought looped in her head:
"Why? Why would a man like him help us?"
Just because her father once served with him?
That couldn't be enough. It didn't make sense.
She needed to repay him. Somehow.
She didn't want to be a burden. She didn't want to be a charity case. And she definitely didn't want Riley Styles — cold, unreadable, intimidating — thinking she was ungrateful.
While she was still grappling with her thoughts, movement caught her eye.
Across the trimmed lawn, just past the low fence separating her home from the larger estate, Riley Styles appeared — walking with Ethan Hale toward a black SUV. Workers were already prepping it: doors open, engine ready, communications checked. Clearly, this was standard for him.
Stephanie hesitated.
Her heart thudded once.
Then again.
Before she could overthink it, she stood up.
"Go. Just talk to him."
Her feet were moving before fear had a chance to stop her.
Ethan noticed her first, tugging lightly at Riley's sleeve. Riley turned, his expression unreadable — as always. Storm-gray eyes fixed on her with quiet intensity.
She swallowed.
"Um… Mr. Styles?"
Her voice trembled despite her efforts.
Riley paused, giving her space to speak.
Stephanie clasped her hands together to hide the nervous shaking.
"I just… I wanted to thank you again. For everything. For saving us. For the house. For… all of it."
Riley's gaze flickered, but his face remained stoic.
"Your father earned my respect," he said. "I owed him that much."
Stephanie nodded, but something in her pushed further.
"Even so," she said quietly. "I don't want my mother and I to just live here and rely on your generosity. I want to repay you. I want to work for you. Please… let me."
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted how desperate they sounded.
Riley blinked once. Not surprised — just calculating.
"You don't need to repay me," he replied. "Focus on your mother. That is enough."
"But—"
"No."
The single word was sharp, final.
He turned toward the SUV.
Ethan gave Stephanie a small, sympathetic dip of the head before following his employer. The rear door closed, the engine stirred, and the black vehicle rolled down the private road without a backward glance.
Stephanie stood there in the quiet morning, breath trembling, her heart heavy with rejection she hadn't expected to sting so much.
But she also felt something else.
Determination.
If Riley Styles wouldn't let her repay him…
She would find another way.