VALERIE

"That was unnecessary," he says once we're out of earshot.

"What? Making friends?" I challenge, still very aware of his hand on my waist. "That's what college is for."

His fingers tighten around me again before he releases me, but the feel of his touch lingers like a brand on my skin.

"Get whatever you need to study tonight," he says instead of arguing. "We're staying in."

The ride back to the apartment is tense and silent. I stare out of the window, trying to ignore both my anger and Brian's proximity in the confined space of the car.

When we arrive, dark clouds are already gathering on the horizon, hinting at a storm. It’s quite fitting for the atmosphere between us.

Inside the apartment, Brian immediately goes to his office, closing the door with a kind of control that only emphasizes his anger. I retreat to my room, throwing myself onto the bed with a frustrated groan.

***

Two hours later, I'm deep into an essay for Economics when the lights suddenly flicker and go out.

For a moment, I sit in complete darkness, listening to the rain now pounding against my window. Then my door opens, and light spills into my room from a flashlight.

"Power's out in the whole building," Brian says. His silhouette frames the doorway. "It’s probably because of the storm. The backup generator should kick in for security systems, but not for amenities."

I set my laptop aside, saving my work. "How long will it last?"

"There’s no way to know. Could be minutes, could be hours." He gestures with the flashlight. "I've got candles in the kitchen. No sense sitting in the dark."

I follow him reluctantly, watching as he efficiently lights several candles around the living area. The flickering light softens his features, making him seem less intimidating somehow.

"I'm still mad at you," I say, settling onto the couch.

"I'm aware." He lights one final candle before sitting on the couch across from me with the coffee table between us.

Thunder crashes outside, making me jump slightly. Brian notices but he doesn't say anything.

"Tell me about the new threats," I say after a moment of silence.

He studies me in the candlelight before answering. "Someone has been documenting your movements. The photos are being sent directly to your father's personal email. They're meant to demonstrate vulnerability, and show that they can get to you anytime."

A chill runs through me despite the apartment's warmth. "And today? When I went to class alone?"

"As far as I know, there are no new photos from today." His expression remains neutral. "But that doesn't mean they weren't watching."

I pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite being safely inside. "Who do you think it is?"

"It’s definitely someone with resources," he replies. "The surveillance is professional-grade. We're looking into rivals of your father, former employees with grudges, and basically anyone who might have both motive and means."

"And what happens when you find them?"

"They get handled." Something cold flashes in his eyes before disappearing.

I've never thought about what Brian's job truly entails, like what he might have done in the military or what "security specialist" really means. Looking at him now, with his dangerous side barely concealed beneath his controlled exterior, I realize there's much more to him than I've acknowledged.

"Were you always like this?" I ask quietly. "So controlled?"

The question seems to surprise him. He leans back in his chair, thinking.

"Military training deals with discipline," he finally says. "Control can be the difference between life and death."

"But you're not in the military anymore."

"Old habits die hard,” he says. A small smile crosses his lips. "And in my line of work, control is still an asset."

Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the room more brightly than the candles. In that instant, I catch a glimpse of something vulnerable in Brian's expression before the ever present darkness returns.

"Why photography?" he asks unexpectedly.

The subject change throws me. "What?" I ask, stunned.

"You're taking photography. You seem passionate about it. Why?"

I hesitate because I’m not used to personal questions from him. "I like capturing moments people don't normally see. I like finding beauty in ordinary things." I shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "And it's something that's just mine, you know? It’s not connected to my father or his expectations."

Brian nods slowly. "I understand that need for something of your own."

"Do you have something that's just yours?" I challenge gently.

He's quiet for so long that I think he won't answer. Finally, he says, "I restore classic motorcycles. Old Triumphs, mainly."

The image is so unexpected—Brian in a garage with his hands covered in grease, working on vintage bikes—that I can't help but smile. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"Most people don't see beyond the job," he admits.

"Including me," I acknowledge quietly.

Another crash of thunder sounds, and it’s closer this time. The storm is directly overhead now as rain streams against the windows. Despite the warmth of the apartment, I shiver slightly.

Brian notices immediately. He stands, shrugs out of the light jacket he's still wearing, and moves around the coffee table. "Here."

He drapes the jacket over my shoulders, and his fingers brush against my neck as he adjusts it. The casual touch sends a wave of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the newly added layer.

"Thanks," I murmur softly. I’m oddly touched by the gesture.

Brian's hands linger on me a moment longer than necessary before he steps back. Our eyes meet in the candlelight, and something shifts in the air between us. The anger and frustration from earlier dissolves into something more complex, and more dangerous.

"I should check the circuit breakers," he says abruptly, cutting the moment short. "See if there's any change in the power situation."

As he walks away, I pull his jacket tighter around my shoulders, breathing in the scent of his cologne that clings to the fabric. The warmth that spreads through me has nothing to do with the jacket and everything to do with the man who offered it.

I'm suddenly afraid, not of the threats against me or the stranger watching from the shadows, but of these unwanted feelings developing for the man who was assigned to protect me. A man who, despite our brief moment of connection, remains largely a mystery.

Outside, lightning illuminates the city starkly before plunging it back into darkness. I watch the storm rage, feeling a similar turbulence building inside me, and I wonder which is more dangerous: the threat lurking outside, or the attraction growing within.