Chapter 2
Lucian Blackwood did not sleep.
The doctors told him he needed rest. The machines said his body was stabilizing. His security chief hovered at the foot of the bed, speaking softly, like Lucian might break if spoken to too loudly.
Lucian listened to none of it.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the same fragments over and over. Rain on asphalt. The smell of blood. The girl's hands were shaking as she pressed fabric into his side. The way she hesitated before kneeling, like she was weighing the cost.
That hesitation mattered.
People liked to pretend kindness was simple. It wasn't. It was a decision. A calculation. Elara Wynn had calculated and chosen him anyway.
That was nothing.
"Who signed off on tonight's route?" Lucian asked quietly.
The room stiffened.
His security chief cleared his throat. "Internal leak. We're narrowing it down."
Lucian smiled faintly.
That smile meant someone was already dead. They just didn't know it yet.
"And the girl?" Lucian asked.
"She left before we arrived," the man said. "No attempt to contact media. No traceable communication."
Lucian turned his head slowly. "Find her without frightening her."
"Yes, sir."
"And if she's already frightened?"
Lucian's gaze hardened. "Then make sure she has a reason to feel safe."
Elara Wynn was already late.
She'd overslept in a way that left her disoriented, like she'd been pulled too quickly from deep water. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. She'd dreamed of blood and headlights and a man who wouldn't die no matter how still he lay.
She showered fast, ignoring the bruise blooming along her forearm from dragging him out of the car. The water ran cold halfway through. She didn't bother fixing it.
The city didn't care about small inconveniences.
On the bus, she tried not to think about the man in the clinic. Tried not to imagine who he really was. She hadn't asked. She hadn't wanted to know. Expensive suit, armored car, men with guns, those details had filed themselves away whether she wanted them to or not.
Danger had a smell. He smelled like it.
At the café, her manager pulled her aside before she'd even clocked in.
"You're fired," the woman said flatly.
Elara blinked. "What?"
"Corporate cutbacks. Effective immediately."
"But, you didn't even."
"Take it up with headquarters."
Headquarters didn't answer her calls.
By noon, her phone buzzed with another notification. The clinic called. Her mother's treatment plan had been "reassessed." Payment was due upfront now. No exceptions.
Elara sat on the curb outside the café, phone heavy in her hand.
This was how it worked. Always. You lifted your head too high, and something came down to remind you where you belonged.
She thought of the man's blood on her hands.
A black sedan rolled to a stop in front of her.
The door opened.
"Ms. Wynn," a man said gently. "We'd like to talk."
Lucian watched the security feed from his hospital bed.
He didn't like the way she sat, too rigid, shoulders pulled in, like she was bracing for impact. He didn't like that she looked smaller than she had in the rain. He didn't like that fear was already written into the way she held herself.
He liked even less that he was the reason.
"Too much pressure," he said. "Pull back."
The man on the other end hesitated. "Sir, the job offer."
"Not yet," Lucian said. "Let her breathe."
Let her understand.
Elara didn't scream. She didn't cry. She listened.
The man across from her spoke calmly, professionally. He knew her name. Her schedule. Her mother's diagnosis. He spoke as if this were all a coincidence, as if help simply appeared when it was needed.
A job. A real one. Benefits. Immediate pay.
Elara felt the trap closing.
"Why me?" she asked.
The man smiled. "You helped someone important."
There it was.
Her stomach twisted. "I don't want money for that."
"No one said it was payment," he replied. "Think of it as an opportunity."
She thought of her mother's pale face. Of the clinic's voice on the phone. Of the café door locked behind her.
"I need time," she said.
The man nodded. "Of course."
The sedan didn't leave until she accepted the card.
Lucian closed his eyes.
She would come.
Not because she wanted him.
Because the world had already taught her what happened when you said no.
That knowledge settled something in him. Not guilt. Not pride.
Certainty.
Elara stood in the bathroom of her apartment, staring at herself in the mirror. The card lay on the sink like a dare.
Blackwood Group.
The name made her chest tighten. She'd heard it before. Everyone had. The company that swallowed smaller ones whole. The one tied to scandals that never stuck.
The Devil's company.
Her phone rang.
The clinic again.
She answered.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I understand."
She hung up and slid down the wall, hands covering her face.
When she stood, her decision was already made.
Lucian was discharged that evening.
Against medical advice. Against everyone's objections.
He stood at the window of his penthouse, the city spread out beneath him, alive and indifferent. Somewhere down there, Elara Wynn was packing a bag she didn't own, preparing to step into a world that would chew her up if he didn't intervene.
He told himself he was preventing that.
He told himself many things.
"Prepare the contract," he said. "Entry-level. Non-threatening."
"And her proximity?" his assistant asked.
Lucian didn't answer right away.
"Close enough," he said finally. "That I can see her."
Elara arrived at Blackwood Tower the next morning.
The building rose like a challenge. Glass and steel and arrogance. She felt small walking through the doors, her reflection swallowed by polished floors.
They took her phone. Gave her a badge. Led her through corridors that smelled of money and silence.
When the elevator doors opened, she knew.
She felt it in her bones.
Lucian Blackwood stood by the window, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that meant danger. He turned when he heard her steps.
Their eyes met.
Recognition flickered across his face.
Slow. Controlled.
"Ms. Wynn," he said. "We meet again."
Elara's heart slammed into her ribs.
"You," she whispered.
"Yes," Lucian said calmly. "Me."
She took a step back.
"Relax," he said. "If I meant you harm, you'd already be gone."
That wasn't reassurance.
That was a reminder.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
Lucian studied her like a problem he intended to solve.
"Because you saved my life," he said. "And because debts don't stay unpaid."
Something in his gaze shifted, sharp, intent, and unsettling.
"And because," he added softly, "I don't like unanswered questions."
Elara realized, standing in that office, that the night in the rain hadn't ended when she walked away.
It had only started.