Lucy’s pov “How dare you! How dare you let my son lose a billion-dollar opportunity in San Francisco because of you!” The strident voice cut through the thick air like a knife. I flinched where I stood in the sitting room, spine straight, palms sweaty. My chest burned as I gazed at the woman who had once warmly called me her second daughter. Now she was fire and poison. Marcus’s mother towered over him in all her fashionable fury, designer purse swinging from her hip as she paced back and forth. “You must think you’re clever. You must think you’re special. My son—my only son—decided to stay in this godforsaken city instead of leading the expansion department of our firm in San Francisco. And why? You.” “Ma’am, I didn’t ask him to stay,” I said quickly, voice trembling. “I even said he should go if—” “Shut up!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to hear one word from you, you gold-digging, manipulative little—” “Mum!” Marcus’s voice thundered. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his jaw clenched so tightly I was sure his teeth would crack. “Don’t you ever speak to Lucy like that.” Her mother whirled to face him. Her impeccably drawn eyebrows arched in outrage. “Marcus—” “No. Enough!” He stormed in, shutting the door behind him. “This is my life, and I remained because this city holds some meaning for me. Because Lucy holds some meaning for me.” My heart jumped to my throat. “So now you’re confessing?” his mother sneered. “You’re in love with her? Is that it? You’d rather forfeit your inheritance for some no one with pretty eyes and a sob story?” Marcus’s fists tightened. He exhaled through his nose like a bull ready to charge. “Don’t insult her. You don’t know what she’s been through. You don’t know her.” I didn’t stir, frozen, torn between defending myself and disappearing completely. I felt small, a spark in a hurricane. His mother scoffed. “You think I don’t know girls like her? Girls who sneak into a man’s heart so subtly he doesn’t even realize it until she’s the cause of everything he built crumbling around him.” Marcus stepped forward, his voice softer now, but with a steely edge. “You will not speak to her that way. Not in my house.” His mother breathed as if he’d hit her. “Your house? Your house? Marcus, I built this house! Everything in your name was provided by me and your father. And this is how you repay me? Taking up for some ungrateful leech—” “Stop it!” he roared, and I jumped in shock. “Lucy is not a leech. She’s the finest person I know. I don’t care what you think, Mother. I’m not going to leave her. And if you can’t honor her, you can go.” There was silence. Cold, raw silence that made the air feel heavier. Marcus’s mother blinked. Her lips twitched in disbelief. “You’re choosing her over your family?” “No,” Marcus said. “I’m choosing me. For once in my damn life.” She shook her head, chest heaving. “You’ll regret this.” “Then I’ll regret it.” He turned to me. His voice softened. “Lucy, go wait in the study. I’ll talk to her.” I hesitated. I wanted to stay, wanted to protect him even though I knew that I couldn’t. But I nodded and departed, my heart pounding in my ears. From the hallway, I could still hear the sound of their battle. Marcus was trying to talk, trying to fix what could not be fixed in a single evening. And I. I just sat silently, gripping the arm of the chair as though it was the one true thing in the world. All because I existed. Because I had the audacity to be close to him. Because Marcus—my best friend—chose me. He showed up a half hour later, tie loose, hair mussed. He fell into the chair opposite me and buried his face in his hands. “She’s never going to accept this, is she?” I whispered. “Probably not,” he muttered. “But that’s her problem, not ours.” I hated how much that comforted me. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t the end of the matter. This was the beginning of war. I was the girl that his mother hated,because of how low I sat in the finance ladder. And the worst? I hadn’t even told him how I really felt. Not yet and she already wanted nothing to do with me. The world seemed small and everything seemed to echo around her words My throat hitched and everything seemed to spin. I open my eyes. Another nightmare. Shit. This one was strange, too, The last thing I want to do is encounter Marcus’ mum again What the hell? I glance up at the ceiling, my mind still foggy. The sun slants between the blinds, making pale stripes across the room. How late is it? I glance at my phone. 5:45 AM. I roll over and moan. Time to start another day. I drag myself through my usual routine—brush my teeth, brush my hair, shower, and throw on my black-and-white uniform for work. A few minutes later, I’m out the door, locking it behind me. The streets are still quiet, the morning air fresh. I’m a little earlier than usual, but that’s fine. Gives me time to settle in before the rush starts. Then, out of nowhere, a black Mercedes slowly pulls up alongside me. Oh no.
Lucy’s pov Hello, the most beautiful woman on earth.” I roll my eyes and keep walking. The car keeps tailing me. “Lucy, my dear, if you could just take a minute out of your valuable time, I know you’re over 30 minutes early.” I glance at him and keep walking. A theatrical sigh. “Lucy Cheng, jump in the car right away and let the man of your dreams drive you home.” I burst out laughing, shaking my head. I swing open the door and get in, where I find Marcus, grinning like a fool. Marcus has changed over the years—dramatically. His once unruly hair is now perfectly styled, a little longer, falling over his shoulders. His chiseled jawline and stupidly blue eyes render it generously hard to look at him for longer than a second. And that suit? Bespoke perfection, clinging to his form in ways that surely have to be illegal. “Stop staring, Luce,” Marcus teases, snapping his fingers in my face. I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “I wasn’t staring.” “You were staring.”. “I was checking out.” “You were salivating.” I slap his arm. “Shut up.” He laughs, the same reckless, heart-stopping laugh he’s always had. Marcus pulls up in front of sevenCafé, the city’s go-to breakfast joint, and I grab my bag. “Bye, idiot,” I say, pushing the door open. Marcus bends over his chest like I’ve just wounded him. “What an unwarranted way to speak of your own personal Uber driver.” I eye-roll. “I didn’t ask you for a ride. It’s literally down the block. Get to work, Marcus.” “Sure, sure, sure,” he promises me, but I can hear the smile of teasing in his voice. I leave, slamming the door behind me before I can let myself stare at him some more. But my heart is already behaving like an idiot in my chest. Marcus wasn’t that messy-haired boy I grew up with any longer. He was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, stupidly handsome, and completely unaware that I’d helplessly loved him for years. The worst part? Not being able to tell him. Keeping it bottled up was starting to hurt. I gnaw on my nails, a habit of nervous ritual I just cannot break. Suppose I reveal to him and ruin everything. Suppose he feels otherwise? The cafe was buzzing with noise by the time I got there, but that was to be expected. It opened at 7 a.m. on the dot, providing breakfast for the early birds, businesspeople, and students who were attempting to get something to eat before they left for their day. At 12 p.m., the menu opened up to full meals—anything from plain pasta to seafood plates that looked more complicated than the paycheck I got every two weeks. Of course, none of it had mattered when you were the one operating the counter, running around like your life depended upon it. The kitchen staff was underpaid, the waitresses were overworked, and the manager—well, he was the worst of them. I wiped down a table, my mind still idling on the car ride I’d just taken. “Go to work, Marcus.” I’d said it so matter-of-factly, shoving him away like I always did, but as soon as he pulled away, my heart squeezed like a water-soaked towel. When would I ever confess? That I loved him since we were kids, since he constructed me my first sandcastle, since he handed me that silly blue hat. But suppose I told him and destroyed everything? I chewed on my nails absent-mindedly as I stacked away the chairs, my nervousness rising up again. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t there, to just go through the motions. “Cheng!” I was yanked back into reality by one of my coworkers, Angela, rushing past with a tray of stacked-up plates. “You’re working the floor today, aren’t you? The kitchen’s in chaos already, and I’m not dealing with Todd’s meltdown again.” I sighed. “Yeah, yeah, got it.” “Good, because table four is already questioning why they don’t have their coffee yet.” This was typical for me. Getting yelled at from every direction, being the person that everyone relied on to do it all without whining. I didn’t really have a choice. I had to have the job. Rent was due soon, and my check hardly covered anything. The day passed in usual chaos—orders piled on the counter, plates shattering, my manager yelling at the backroom staff about money. I never had a moment’s rest, didn’t get time. It was almost three hours into the shift before he showed. Middle-aged man, dirty suit, slick hair, smug grin that crawled on my stomach. Sitting at the counter, slowly stirring his coffee with a spoon, looking at me like he had nothing better to do. I could sense his gaze before he even said a word. “Hi, sweetie,” he said as he passed by. I ignored him. Not the first time a client has tried something like that. “Come on,” he slurred. “Don’t play dumb like you didn’t hear me. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so rude.” I spun, stiffening my smile into courtesy. “Can I get you something else?” He grinned. “What about your number?” I stayed cool. “I don’t feel right providing that.” His grin twitched, but he leaned in, unashamed. “Oh, come on. You don’t want to be rude, do you?” I took a step back. “I have other tables to serve—” “What’s the big deal? Just a number, sweetheart.” My muscles tensed. “Sir, I’m sorry, but—” He grasped my wrist with quickness. My breath was caught. “You think you’re too good for me, huh?” His fingers tightened just a little. “A little Vietnamese waitress thinking she’s above a real man.” Vicious anger flared in me. “I’m Chinese,” I spat. He guffawed. “Same difference.” I jerked my hand back, my heart pounding. “Please don’t touch me.” “Or what?” He smiled. “You’ll call your manager?” “Yes,” I declared. “Then go ahead,” he challenged. “I’d love to see how much they care about you.” I faltered, my stomach roiling. I knew my boss. He cared about profit, not people. But I still spun on my heel and strode straight for his office. It took a moment before he grumbled a response. “What is it now, Cheng?” I clenched my fists. “A customer just grabbed me.” He barely looked up from the receipts in his hands. “And?” I blinked. “And?” He sighed, setting the papers down. “Was he buying something?” “What—?” “If he’s a paying customer, just deal with it,” he said lazily. “Smile, be nice. Don’t lose me business.” My stomach dropped. “You’re not serious.” “Do you think customers like to be yelled at?” He glared at me. “I thought I was going to have to regret bringing you on. Always looking for something to complain about.” “Something to complain about?” My voice shook. “I was attacked—” He waved a discouraging hand. “Then quit if you don’t like working here.” My mouth dropped open, then shut again, my ribs compressing. I needed the job too much to quit. So I swallowed the wad in my throat, turned around, and went back outside. The clerk behind the counter still had that smirk on his face. “So? What’d your boss tell you?” I picked up his vacated cup with shaking fingers. “Nothing.” “Figured,” he snickered, putting a crumpled bill on the counter. “Keep the change, sweetheart.” I wanted to fling it in his face. But I bit back, stored my pride, and walked away.
Lucy’s pov I clutched my phone to my ear as Marcus talked, his tone light as ever. “Sorry, Luce, I’m in the middle of a business meeting. I won’t be able to pick you up tonight, but how about takeout? My treat.” A soft sigh left my lips. How did one human being have so much consideration in all that he did? Marcus had been like this forever—kind, dependable, always watching out for me in ways that I didn’t feel I deserved. How could I not adore him? “Yeah, sure,” I grumbled, tightening my purse. “That’s my girl. Get home safe, okay?” I smiled despite myself. That’s my girl. Only if he spoke as I had hoped he would. I clocked out with Angela, easing my aching arms. My own shift ended at 4, but as usual, I had been stuck until 7. Twelve hours of racing back and forth, for a paycheck that was barely enough to cover my rent. I wished I could gripe, but what was the point? At least I was still getting paid. Cool night air I took the corner off the alley home. The most direct route—typically abandoned with the exception of stray cats and the infrequent drunk stagger too far off of the main thoroughfare. I then encountered a person. Large. Imposing. Oafish cologne that narrowed my lungs. Memories of past asthma attacks rushed to the front of my mind. My breathing hitched, and I turned immediately, forcing myself to breathe purer air. A hand closed on my wrist. “Hello, Vietnamese.” Every nerve in my body shrieked. I knew that voice. Slowly, I pushed my glasses up, jamming my face into a neutral look. “Please, I have to go home, sir.” I attempted to keep my voice light, hoping to defuse whatever nasty thing was about to happen. Then I saw them. Two other men. They weren’t here to chat. My stomach roiled. “I’m going to fuck you till you switch races, you hear me?” Ice-cold fear seeped down my back. I moved back, another, but too late. They were faster. I barely had time to react before I was shoved to the ground. A body—too heavy—came down on top of me, slamming me against the cold concrete. My glasses were knocked away, my vision becoming hazy as the rough texture of the ground scraped into my flesh. “Please,” I whimpered, but the word barely passed. Laughter. My skirt ripped. I struggled, my heart thudding like a mad drum against my ribs, but I was too thin, too small. A fist twisted in my hair, yanking my head back. The room spun dizzily, my head throbbing from the shock. Through blurred eyes, I saw it—his belt undone, his shaft out, precum glinting at the head. “Leave me alone, please!” I screamed. More laughter. “Oh no, don’t lose your fire now. It makes me horny.” A jarring crash—my head striking concrete. Pain scorched through my skull, white-hot and blinding. Then— “She told you to let go of her, you fucking asshole.” The voice was deep. Unknown. English-accented. A whirl of motion. A struggle. The crush was lifted off my shoulders. I breathed, spasming limbs trembling as I strained to push myself upward. My head spun, my eyes oscillating between light and dark. And then I gazed at him. A man. Wearing a suit. Towering. A goddamn force of nature. One of my attackers dangled in his hold, gagging, choking, clawing at the iron-hard fingers closing off his air. The other guy—the one who’d been pinning me—lay motionless, blood trickling from a wound on his head. Dead. I didn’t know why, but I inched toward my merciless savior. My body refused to stand, but my hands clung to the fabric of his pants, clinging weakly. “Please,” I whispered. “Please… let him go.” He didn’t move. I swallowed hard, my voice cracking. “Please. Please let him go.” Finally, he let the man go. The man fell on the floor, face an unnatural blue. My breathing was hard, my body still trembling when he knelt in front of me. His eyes—grey, metallic, cold. “Is this how you let people who have hurt you get off scot-free? You are a madman.” My body trembled. Then, he smiled. “Oh, bunty.” My vision came back as my glasses settled into resting on my face once more. He picked them up for me. He literally bent down, picked them up, and put them carefully on my nose. All was clear again, and I could finally see him properly. And—oh. I almost gaped. He looked like someone out of a fantasy novel—the kind I used to read in marathon sessions on Wattpad when I was twelve. He had short but long enough hair so that it could probably be pulled back into a miniature man bun. His features were delicate but sharp, an easy mix of refinement and danger. He was… gorgeous. Far more handsome than the fuzzy figure I had seen before. “Stop staring at me and get up.” His voice was brief, apathetic. I tried to comply, but my head swirled. Black spots blotted on the edge of vision. My body tilted. The biting coldness of fabric wrapped around my knees made me leap. His jacket coat. His arms were around me before I could react. He lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing. “Where do you live?” His cologne wrapped around me. It wasn’t as potent as the guy earlier. It was rich, earthy, like chocolate and something else… something that made my head spin. I blinked hard, trying to focus. “I… I live a few blocks down from here.” He nodded curtly and exited the alley. Outside the entrance waited a jet-black car—glittering, sleek, threatening. Two tuxedo-clad men guarded it, their sunglasses glinting off the dim streetlights. Who was this guy? My senses returned in an instant. I struggled despite the pounding in my head. “Put me down!” I wriggled in his arms. He barely winced, merely raising an eyebrow. “Why?” His tone was flat, emotionless. “I don’t know you!” I spat, fighting to keep the nausea in my throat. He breathed slowly, as if I was being ridiculous. As if I was a child throwing a tantrum. “I saved you from three idiots who were going to send your virgin self to the gods or something.” His accent thickened slightly on the word virgin, his tone dry. He wasn’t wrong.He put me down gently to the ground,with a kind of softness that felt like I was going to break. I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. I didn’t want to think about that. I gasped in sharply and made my legs go. One step, then another, and another. I walked away, ignoring the thudding in my head. I didn’t glance back. The sedan revved quietly, then moved forward, passing me with slow, unhurried ease. Behind the tinted glass, his eyes met mine. For an instant, neither of us blinked. Then, just as fluidly, he brought the window all the way up.
Lucys pov Marcus’s hiss was repeated, his eyebrows knitted together as he dabbed antiseptic on the cut in my head. I shuddered, the burning sting pulsing through me. “Keep still.” His voice was curt, his irritation barely concealed. I hadn’t even made it through the doorway before he arrived. One minute I was fumbling with my keys, the stranger’s suit jacket still around my waist, and the next, Marcus appeared—eyes scouring me, voice strained with repressed anger. I barely had time to breathe before he pulled me in, closing and locking the door behind us. Now, as he gently bandaged my wounds, he was calm again. But in a way that was far more threatening than his outburst. “I wish you’d quit that restaurant, Luce. Please.” His tone was quieter now, but the desperation in it could not be missed. This was not the first time he’d spoken this to me. And every time, I told him no. I clenched my fists in my lap, the guilt I knew so well creeping in. Marcus had the money. Hell, he was a billionaire, the CEO of one of Chicago’s most successful companies. He could take care of me. He had begged me—begged me—to let him help, but I was too proud, too needy to prove I could do it myself. “I don’t want to need you,” I whispered. Marcus exhaled sharply, reaching for the nape of his neck as though he was physically restraining himself from losing his cool. “Why didn’t you call me, Luce?” His tone was rough now, tense. Pained. I swallowed. “You should have damn well called me.” Marcus’s jaw worked as he prowled the perimeter of my apartment, his fists tight at his sides. “The thought of some other guy nearly getting their way with you—” he exhaled roughly, voice trembling with tightly contained rage. “And that moronic cunt who tried to get you into his vehicle… Lucy, you could’ve been badly hurt.” The blatant worry in his tone caused my heart to expand with a known warmth—one that I had no right to feel. Then his voice dropped, lower, more devastated. “What would I tell your mom? I promised her I’d look after you always after her accident. It’s barely been five years, and already… I almost let her daughter get raped.” Oh. So that was why he cared so much. Not because I was something more to him,besides a friendship of over a decade, Not because he felt anything for me except guilt and duty. Just a promise. I swallowed, forcing the bitter lump in my throat down with a weak smile. “It’s okay, Marcus. I’m fine.” His head snapped in my direction, his eyes frustrated and dark. “You’re not fine, Luz. Heck, you haven’t been fine in years.” I flinched at his tone, but then he gestured around the apartment, forcing me to really look. And damn it, he was right. The walls were rotting, pieces of paint and plaster crumbling off like dead skin. Water was dripping from at least six spots in the ceiling, the damp smell mixing with the faint aroma of stale coffee and something I did not wish to identify. My couch—if it could even be called that—looked as if it had been through war, beaten black and blue by the sun, rain, and every other extreme weather factor. And yet… this was mine. My life. My struggle. My independence. Marcus sighed heavily, then kneeled in front of me, grasping my hands in his. His touch was soft, too soft, and warmth rushed through me, unwanted, undeniable. “Please, Lucy. Let me help you. I’m begging you.” His voice was quiet, almost desperate. “Work for my company. Be a bloody cleaner if you like and work your way up. Just let me help you.” I pulled my hands back slowly, forcing my voice to stay even. “So I can be what? Your charity case? Your pity project?” I shook my head. “So your mother can validate everything she’s ever suspected about me?” His face twisted in frustration, hands pulling through his hair in frustration. “Lucy, that’s not—” “I don’t want to get where I am because my best friend gave me a leg up.” His frustration boiled over. He leapt to his feet, dragging his hands over his face. “Fine.” His tone was bitter, abrupt. “Then borrow money from me. Or something. I don’t know. Let me at least push you in the direction of what you actually want to do.” And still, I said no. I said no. I said I had to be independent. I said I could do this on my own. And he just stood there, staring at me like I was the most frustrating person in the world. Then something in his expression changed. “Alright,” he said slowly, like an idea had just struck him. “Let me suggest another company to you.” I blinked, surprised. “What?” “They’re a competing firm to my own. Their CEO is an asshole, and we don’t see eye to eye, so I won’t be able to put in a good word for you. Whatever job you get will be on your merit, and whatever he pays you as salary will be his choice—not mine.” My mouth opened. “If you can keep the job, great. If not. you can go back to working at the café.” He maintained eye contact, tone steady. “Just promise me you’ll take the offer.” He was negotiating. And for some reason, I couldn’t refuse. I exhaled, then nodded decisively. His entire body sagged in relief. “God damn it, Lucy, you drive me crazy,” he muttered, his forehead pressed against mine. My heart skipped a beat. And then, before I could even respond, he kissed my cheek—softly, hardly there. “Try to sleep,” he whispered. “I have some work to take care of.” And just like that, he was gone. I let out a soft sigh and rose to my feet. Putting on my glasses, I walked to the cabinet in which I kept most of my medications. I reached inside and pulled out the aspirin, taking it dry despite the unpleasant taste. Not even bothering to dress, I climbed onto my makeshift bed, the springs creaking beneath me. The pounding in my chest would not subside, but I suppressed my mind. I was not going to think about Marcus. I wasn’t going to think about him. I said it over and over, forcing my mind to go anywhere else. And yet—his face ran through my mind. The handsome stranger. His metallic grey eyes. The way he spoke—like he didn’t care what came next. He was the opposite of Marcus. Cold, detached, dangerous. And yet, the way my body responded to him… that disturbed me the most.
Lucy’s pov Stepping into coleIndustries was stepping into a different realm. The luxuriance of the place surrounded me like a second layer, my nerves thrilling. The floors gleamed under the light fixtures’ glare, and the smell of expensive cologne and newly ground coffee Beans permeated the atmosphere. One month had passed since that incident in the alley. One month of Marcus constantly checking up on me, lurking over me like an attentive specter. He’d had me banned from the café and then sued them for damages. I didn’t ask how much, and I didn’t want to know. He’d also taken my last bit of money to pay my rent, which had left me with hardly enough to survive until I got a new job. Not that it was required—most nights, I didn’t have to spend a penny. Marcus provided for that, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, despite my protests. And whenever I had gone to argue, he would just shrug and say, “You’re going to pay me back anyway.” For some reason, that had made me feel slightly better. Now here I was, standing in front of the receptionist’s desk, clinging to my bag like a lifeline. The woman behind the desk was stunning. Red lipstick, bold and perfect. Eyes the color of sapphires, framed by lashes long enough to reach heaven. Blond hair was pulled into a severe, no-nonsense knot that screamed power and danger. She looked like the kind of woman who could kill me with a single glance. And then she smiled. “Hello, what can I help you with today?” Her voice was smooth, polite, but there was a snap to it—like she was already sizing me up. I swallowed, shoving my glasses higher. “I have a job referral from Stanley Corporations.” Her eyes flickered. For a nanosecond, her lips twisted in disgust, like the name itself was something dirty on her desk. Then, just as quickly, she slapped on a perfectly fake smile. “Of course.” She picked up the receiver, dialing a number with immaculately manicured nails. She waited a few moments before talking into the receiver. “Sir, the Stanley referral is here.” A pause. Then her gaze sliced to me. “Go ahead. He’s expecting you.” I faltered, my heart pounding. He? I drew a deep breath and walked toward the double doors, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I knocked, and when a deep voice inside the room told me to enter, I pushed open the door— And stalled. Sitting behind a shiny black desk, smiling at me like I was a gift he’d been waiting to unwrap, was the man from the alley. The man who’d saved me. The man who had murdered for me. His icy blue eyes glinted with humor as he lounged in his chair, one hand resting lazily against his jaw. “Welcome, Bunty.” His voice was every bit as smooth and dangerous as I remembered. “I’ve been waiting for you.” I couldn’t catch my breath. He was sitting there. Behind that enormous desk, looking at me like a predator looking at prey. I’d gone over our alleyway encounter in my mind too many times during the past month, but I never figured I’d ever see him again. And here he was. Dustin Riot. My mouth was opening and shutting. Opening and shutting again. The words were there—Good morning, sir—but they stuck on my lips, barely above a whisper. His eyes didn’t waver from mine, but the look of condescending amusement twisted my stomach. “Don’t stammer.” I swallowed hard. “I—I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize.” I bit down on my lips. He extended a hand, waiting. “Where’s your resume?” I dug into my bag, frantically pulling out the neatly typed sheet and laying it on his desk. He didn’t even glance at it. Instead, he grasped the paper in his hand, ripped it into half, and tossed it into the trash can beside him as if it was nothing. I blinked. My mind went blank. What… “I’m not going to need that,” he replied calmly, and my skin crawled. He indicated the chair in front of him. “Sit down. I have a couple of questions for you.” I obeyed immediately, smoothing my skirt a hundred times as I sat, my fingers curling into a knot in my lap. His blue eyes pinned me. “You’re going to be one of them, aren’t you?” I blinked, surprised. “One of—?” “One of the little pity things that drift up here pretending to be the most innocent pieces of the world.” His voice was smooth, with a touch of mockery. My hands curled tighter. “Let me tell you something, Lucy Cheng.” He inched forward, his movement slow, calculated. “I don’t care what becomes of you.” My breath halted. “You could have died that night, and finding you was a matter of luck.” His lips curled into something that would have been a smirk if it wasn’t so cruel. “So don’t stare at me like I’m some kind of messiah. Because I will kill you before you ever get the chance to worship me.” I shut down completely. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my chest burned from the lack of oxygen. This wasn’t the same man that man. That man, despite how frightening he’d been, had still stood up for me. This man? He couldn’t have cared less. I opened my lips to respond, but before I could say one word, he stepped back, eyes scanning me as if I were nothing. “Anyway, Miss Cheng.” His tone shifted, becoming cold, detached. “Come back in two weeks.” I blinked. “What?” “Now, you’re not ready for this job.” My stomach dropped. Not ready? My fists tightened in my lap. “But… you didn’t even look at my resume. You tore it up. How can you—” “Decide whether you’re worth my time?” He tilted his head to one side, goading me with his eyes. “I already did.” It seemed like the room just dropped a few degrees. I should have been mad. I should have gotten up and stood up and walked out. But all I could manage was just sit there, stunned, as Dustin Riot leaned back in his chair and looked at me like he had already planned out exactly how my life was going to go from here. I barely noticed the taxi drive away as I walked to my apartment, my head in a knot of rage and something else I refused to name. The conversation replayed itself in my mind, repeating over and over, each word sinking deeper into my skin. I don’t care what happens to you. I will kill you before you ever have the chance to worship me. A shiver ran down my spine, but not from the night air. There was a well of heat in the pit of my stomach, making my legs stagger. What’s the matter with me? I detested men like him. Men who thought they could patronize women, men who had an unchecked ego, men who wielded power as a bludgeon. And yet…. My hands clenched into fists as I swallowed hard. He was so damn gorgeous. The curve of his lips shaping every word, every syllable flowing from his lips like something forbidden. The curve of his dark brows rising in perfect, effortless disdain, daring me to resist—to rebel against him. The timbre of his voice surrounding me, rough and smooth at once, like something dangerous. Like something that would consume me whole. And God have mercy on me, I couldn’t wait to be consumed.
Lucy’s POV Thin curtains let sunlight stream in, casting golden stripes over my dirty floor studio apartment. I was on the bed, staring at my phone screen, the time moving slowly like molasses. I’d been lying awake all night, tossing and turning, rehearsing Dustin Riot’s words in my head. “Come back in two weeks.” Two weeks of waiting? Getting ready? For a job that I hadn’t gotten ready for? I didn’t know what. But I knew I needed to go tell Marcus. He’d want to know. Slipping on jeans and a messy grey sweater, I pulled back my hair in a bun and grabbed my battered leather bag, and stepped out into the steamy city morning. The brief walk to Marcus’ flat was a burdensome one, each step laden with possibility. At the high metal gate, the guard did not stop. He simply pressed the intercom and let me in with a brusque nod. Whether he knew me from all the times that I had hung around wasn’t clear. Probably. I walked between neat hedges and marble water features to the elevator and pressed the button trembling. My guts were tight little knots of fear, nausea churning at the back of my throat. By the time I reached his penthouse floor, the door was already open. Marcus never locked when he was expecting me to come by. “Morning,” I breathed as I went inside. The air was heavy with the scent of roasted coffee beans and burnt toast. The living area, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, was immaculately tidy, the external skyline defined by the glass panes, light casting from glass surfaces and cream sofa. Marcus stood at the kitchen counter, his hair wet from the shower, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked up directly in my direction, his dark eyes letting go when he saw me. “Hi.” His voice was husky with sleep. “Come here.” I slid into his arms automatically. He wrapped them around me, holding me hard against him, lips planting against my hairline. “You didn’t sleep well,” he muttered against my scalp. “No,” I panted, my voice cracking. He withdrew enough to look down at me, his thumb tracing under my eyes. “Tell me.” I took a shaking breath. “I went to Cole Industries yesterday. For the referral job.” And?” He raised his eyebrows, waiting. I bit my lip, my eyes filling with tears. “I… I did. I think. He told me to report in two weeks.” “That’s terrific news.” “No, Marcus.” I was trembling my voice. “You don’t understand. He despises me. He—he ripped my resume up. Told me I wasn’t ready. Told him he didn’t care if I died.”. Marcus’ jaw locked, his dark eyes blazing with something feral before he masked it with calm. He cupped my face, held me steady so I couldn’t turn away. “Listen to me, Lucy. You’re going to take that job.” The words clung in my throat. “But—” “No.” His tone was stiff, unyielding. “You’re going to go back there in two weeks and do what you have to do.” I stared at him, shocked. “Why? ” “That’s why,” Marcus interrupted, releasing me and moving back to grab the coffee pot and pour himself a cup. He didn’t move quickly, but rather with a deliberate slowness. “Guys like Dustin don’t do anything without motive. If he invited you to come back, it’s because he needs something. And whatever that is, you’re going to learn.” My gut dropped, my knees buckled. “Marcus??” “I’m telling you to stay alive,” he growled, then took a rough breath, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Lucy. this guy isn’t just your boss. He’s half-owner of half the underground syndicates in this city. He’s volatile, yeah. But he’s also somebody you don’t cross. And I need you near him, now.” “Why? His gaze met mine, dark and bottomless. “Because he’s the one that I can’t control.” The words sent a cold finger tracing down my spine. Marcus had always protected me. Loved me, in his own strange way. But this. this was not love. This was control. I swallowed. “What if he discovers the truth?” “Then he’ll kill you.” That was nearly casual, like forecasting the weather. “But he won’t. You’re smart. You’ll keep him safe.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes again. “Marcus… I don’t want to do this.” He drew closer to me, his arms around me again, his mouth against my temple. “I know, I know. But you must.” There was a rustle in my pocket and my phone leapt out, breaking the stifling silence. I pulled it out, my heart thudding as I glanced at the name on the screen. Unknown Number I glanced up at Marcus, who nodded once. “Answer it.” Shaking hands, I swiped to answer and held it up to my ear. “Hello…?” Silence. And then a menacing low laugh that had every muscle in my body freeze with terror. “Don’t get too cozy, Bunty.” I stood stock-still, my mouth dry. “Mr… Mr. Dustin?” “You thought I’d let you disappear for two weeks without a string?” His voice was smooth, like velvet running over razor blades. “Check your email an hour from now. You’ll see your first assignment.” “A-assignment?” I gasped. His laughter became raspy, the shivers running down my arms. “Don’t panic, Lucy. It’s not more than you can handle. Yet.” The line fell silent. I was standing there, phone held to ear, my heart racing so hard I could hardly hear anything else. Marcus rested back and watched me, sipping his coffee as if nothing was wrong. “Want to know what he said?” he inquired. I gulped. “He… he’s assigning me a task.” Marcus smiled, but the joke wasn’t there. Only shadow. “Good. Let the game start.”
Lucy’s POV The sun had long since set by the time I finally got up from where I had sat curled up on my old couch, knees pulled into my chest, staring at the blank television screen. The lights in my apartment were off, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside my window, casting long, linear shadows on the peeling paper and cracked ceiling. My head rested against the rough fabric of the couch as ideas raged inside me, a ceaseless storm battering every recess of my brain. How did I get to this place? I imagined waking up tomorrow morning and walking back to that little café on 7th Street, asking if they would give me the old job back as a cleaner. They would most likely. They were always short of workers to clean tables, wipe up spilled coffee, disinfect the bathrooms after closing. I could all but imagine myself again in that little bathroom, scrubbing urine stains from cracked tiles, my knees aching, my hands red and raw from harsh chemicals, the air heavy with bleach. At least there, nobody gave a damn who I was. Nobody expected anything of me. Nobody could hurt me. A sardonic laugh escaped my lips. But Marcus would never allow anybody to do that. I shut my eyes and pictured his face—serene, inscrutable, with that flash of ownership in his dark eyes. He’d never do it aloud, but to him, me cleaning was a slap in the face. A humiliation. His little Bunty, on her knees for other people. His pride wouldn’t permit it. But if I worked for him—okay, worked with him at his company—I’d be vindicating his mother. The same woman who’d stood in front of him and told him, to his face, that a girl like me wasn’t worth the air we breathed. A burden. I recalled what she had said when we initially met, statuesque in her cream-colored Chanel suit, pearls glinting at her throat, gazing at me as dirt on the heel of her red-bottomed shoes. > “Don’t bring your filth into this house, Marcus. She will only destroy you.” No. I wouldn’t give it to her. I wouldn’t legitimize her by running to Marcus for a job. I was independent. I had survived in this city alone since I was sixteen. I wasn’t about to let that start now. My stomach bunched up in torment, the bitter truth of my decisions seeping into my marrow like cold, weighty stone. There was only one other option left. Dustin. My own breath was taken at the thought of him. His icy blue eyes. The way his voice slid under my skin like silk stretched to the snapping point with knives. Why would a man like him need me for his secretary? He’d thought so little of me. That much was certain. To him, I was a disposable little girl with trembling fingers and no backbone. He’d told me himself: You could have died that night, and discovering you was an accident.” And why… Why go to the trouble of hiring me? To have me on stand-by. It did not make sense. Unless it was exactly what Marcus had explained. Control. Or maybe humiliation. A game to him, to see how far he could push me before I finally snapped in two. A tear slid down my cheek, tracing over the curve of my chin before it dropped onto the couch cushion. But even as I shook with fear and confusion, another consideration whispered its way through the back of my mind. He had saved me. I shut my eyes and let the memory wash over me, stark and sharp as if it had happened yesterday. That alley. The metallic flavor of blood in my mouth as I screamed, the cold concrete against my arms as I tried to wriggle away, the heavy reek of sweat and cheap alcohol from the man pinning me down. His laughter echoing in my head. And then. silence. A shadow falling across me. The bitter smell of gunpowder. Welts of warmth on my cheek that I had not realized were blood until I opened my eyes, blinked, and saw his body lying over me, still. And standing over us, looming, was Dustin Riot. Calm. Cold. His gun hanging at his side, smoke curling from the muzzle, his face a mask as he looked down at me. That was the first I had seen his eyes. Those same cold eyes that scared me now. But then. at the time, they were salvation. They were the sole assurance that I existed. That someone cared for me enough to stop a monster from annihilating me. My heart writhed in torment. Why does it make my chest ache just to remember that? I hated him. I hated everything that he symbolized. Power. Violence. Condescension. But he had bought my heart that night, with blood and silence and one glance that said I see you. And now… now I was going to allow him to destroy it. My hand trembled as I lifted my phone and the splattered coffee table. The broken screen radiated blue light in the dark living room, illuminating my pale face and matted hair and red-lined eyes. A broken girl already. My breathing rose and fell in rapid gasps as I opened my email software. His letter waited, dark and cold, its words unblinking. I clicked “Reply.” My fingers danced over the keys, the words wavering in front of my drunken eyes. What do you even say to a person like that? My thumb descended, typing slowly, each word a nail into my own coffin. > Subject: Re: Assignment Mr. Dustin I’ll be there at midnight. I accept the job. – Lucy Cheng I read it twice, my stomach twisting with ill. Then, before I could wimp out, I pushed Send.
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