Maya’s POV

By morning, I almost convinced myself last night was just adrenaline and blurred emotion. That I hadn’t fallen asleep tangled in the arms of a man who could start a war with a single phone call.

But then I wake to the scent of him — dark, masculine, consuming.

A heavy arm is draped across my waist, holding me against a solid, unyielding chest. Heat flushes my skin as memories flicker:

Ethan carrying me…

His voice whispering you're safe with me...

His presence like a wall around me.

My pulse trips over itself.

Carefully, I try to shift away.

His grip locks tighter.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice deep with sleep.

That voice should not do what it does to me.

“I… I need to go home,” I manage.

A slow, dangerous silence stretches.

He lifts his head, eyes still shadowed. “Your home isn’t safe.”

“I can’t just disappear,” I argue. “I have a job, rent—”

His jaw ticks. “You’re not going anywhere alone.”

I open my mouth — but I already know it’s pointless. He’s a storm wrapped in flesh, and reason doesn’t tame storms.

Thirty minutes later, I’m in the back of a sleek black SUV with tinted windows while Ethan sits beside me, crisp suit replacing last night’s chaos like violence is just another outfit he slips on.

Two men drive ahead. Two more follow behind.

I try not to think about what that means.

When we arrive outside Café Verona — my workplace — the morning sun feels laughably normal. Customers chatting. Laughter spilling out the door.

I don’t belong in Ethan’s world.

And he doesn’t belong in mine.

But he still escorts me inside.

Every head turns. Because of course he stands out — tall, lethal beauty wrapped in a $10,000 suit. The kind of man who shouldn’t even breathe the same air as a struggling barista.

My coworker, Brandon, spots me from behind the counter — blond, boy-next-door smile, freckles, the human definition of harmless.

“Maya! Hey, we were worried—”

His gaze flicks to Ethan and falters. “…Wow. Uh… is this your boyfriend?”

“No,” I blurt. Too fast.

Ethan’s hand rests on the small of my back.

Possessive. Claiming.

“She’s with me,” he says — low, cool, unforgiving.

Brandon forces a polite smile. “Right. Got it.”

I elbow Ethan slightly. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even pretend to soften.

While I get my apron, Ethan stays planted near the corner — watching.

Not a look leaves me without passing through him.

Eventually, Brandon walks too close. Too comfortable. He leans in, whispering:

“So… is everything okay? That guy looks like a hitman.”

“He’s just… a friend.”

Brandon lifts a teasing brow. “Yeah? He looks like he wants to shoot me just for standing here.”

“No— he’s not like—”

I freeze because Ethan is suddenly there, a shadow swallowing all light.

“Do you have a problem with how close you’re standing to her?” he asks.

Brandon pales. “N-No, sir.”

Ethan steps closer — slow and calm, which somehow makes it worse.

“Then step back,” he says softly.

“Before I give you a real reason to be afraid.”

Brandon retreats so fast he bumps into a stack of coffee cups.

My heart is in my throat.

I pull Ethan aside.

“You can’t threaten people for talking to me!”

His eyes blaze with something possessive and unrepentant.

“If someone wants you, they become a problem.”

“I’m not your property,” I hiss.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

The words land like a shiver down my spine — terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.

Before I can respond, the bell above the door jingles. A customer in a black jacket walks in — but something in the way he looks around sends a chill through me.

His gaze finds Ethan.

Recognition flickers.

And he leaves. Quick. Too quick.

Ethan’s demeanor shifts — predator awakened.

“We’re done here,” he says.

“What? My shift—”

“Ends now.”

He grabs my hand — not rough, but absolute — and leads me outside as if any moment could be the moment everything explodes.

A car door shuts. The lock clicks.

Ethan turns to me, eyes burning like sin:

“No more hiding in the open.”

His thumb glides over my knuckles — deceptively gentle.

“You stay where I can protect you.”

I try to breathe, but want and fear are tangled in my lungs.

“You can’t control everything,” I whisper.

He leans in — breath brushing my lips — voice a vow carved in iron:

“I can control anything that threatens you.”

“And what if the real threat is you?” It slips out — too honest.

A dark smile, amused and tragic.

“Then stay close, little dove,” he says.

“Because I’m the only monster who wants you alive.”

He opens the car door.

I step inside — not because he forces me.

Because every part of me already knows:

I’m not running from Ethan Blackwood.

I’m falling.

And if he catches me…

I may never touch the ground again.