Maya’s POV

The elevator ride feels endless.

Ethan hasn’t said a single word since he drove me here—since he demanded I get in his car like it was the only option I had.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and my heart stutters.

The penthouse isn’t just big—it’s unreal.

Tall windows stretch from marble floor to black-steel ceiling, revealing a skyline of glittering skyscrapers and endless night. New York glows like a living heartbeat, pulsing beneath us.

“This is your home?” I breathe, unable to pretend this isn’t awe-inspiring.

“It’s where I sleep,” he replies, stepping past me. “Home is… complicated.”

Of course it is. Nothing about him is simple.

My shoes click nervously against polished stone as I move deeper inside. Everything is expensive, dark, and sharp-edged—like him.

Like danger disguised as luxury.

He watches me with that same burning stare, one that makes my pulse trip over itself.

“You’re pale,” he says, voice low. “Still shaken?”

I lift my chin in defiance. “You nearly killed a man in front of me. Of course I’m shaken.”

His expression doesn’t change. “He put his hands on you.”

“He grabbed my arm. You almost—”

“I did what was necessary.”

He steps closer. “I would do it again.”

The blatant truth in his tone steals my breath.

Before I can respond, his hand finds the small of my back—firm, guiding—and suddenly I’m facing the wall of windows.

“Look,” he murmurs, his chest brushing my shoulder blades, heat radiating through my thin blouse.

“The city. That’s what you deserve. Not cheap buses and dark alleys.”

His breath ghosts my neck. I close my eyes, swallowing hard.

“You don’t know what I deserve,” I whisper.

He leans in—too close, too intimate. “I know exactly what you deserve.”

Lightning flickers behind the clouds over the Hudson, reflecting in the glass—and in the faint outline of us. His hand rises, slow and deliberate, tracing down my arm.

I should move. I should shove him away.

But my body betrays me—leaning, yearning.

“How did you find me?” I ask, voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I was never lost.”

A chill sweeps through me.

“What does that even mean—”

“It means you need to stop pretending you’re invisible.”

His thumb brushes my wrist, feeling the panic in my pulse. “I see you, Maya.”

My name in his mouth sounds like possession.

I fight to keep my voice steady. “You can’t just control people because you want something.”

He laughs—quiet, dark. “Control is how I survive.”

“And what am I? Another thing you want to control?”

He doesn’t step back. Not an inch.

“You are the first thing I’ve ever wanted,” he corrects, “that I refuse to lose.”

My heartbeat is a loud, reckless drum. “You don’t even know me.”

His gaze drags over my face, memorizing.

“I know you work hard. That you walk home alone because you’re too proud to accept help. That you hide bruises with makeup and heartbreak behind sarcasm.”

He tilts my chin up with two fingers.

“And I know you’re terrified of how much you want this.”

My knees weaken. My lips part. I can’t breathe.

But before anything else can happen—before I do something I can’t undo—his phone buzzes sharply from his pocket.

His jaw clenches. Something shifts—danger cracking through the polished exterior.

He steps away and answers. “What?”

A pause.

His eyes darken. Voice drops to lethal.

“Tell him if he tries to touch what’s mine again, I’ll cut off his hands.”

My stomach drops.

Mine.

He ends the call, silence humming like a wire stretched too tight.

“We’re not safe here tonight,” he says finally. “Someone found out about you.”

My blood runs cold. “About me? Why would they—”

“Because you’re with me.”

His eyes lock onto mine, fierce and frightening.

“And that puts a target on your back.”