Maya’s POV

Ethan has been gone for hours.

His men — two silent shadows in tailored suits — stand posted by the penthouse entrance, expressionless, almost statues carved to obedience.

Each time I approach the door, their eyes sharpen. A silent warning.

Don’t.

I pace the giant living room, staring out at the skyline. New York looks smaller from up here. Fragile.

Like one push could shatter the whole thing.

I jump at the sound of the elevator unlocking. Ethan strides in — tall, dangerous, colder than he left. His jaw looks carved from marble. His shirt sleeves are rolled up… stained with something dark.

Something red.

I freeze. My voice trembles. “E-Ethan… is that… blood?”

His eyes meet mine — and they aren’t the eyes of the man who held me all night. These are predator eyes. Black ice.

“Not mine,” he says simply.

The pit of my stomach twists. “What happened?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shrugs out of his coat, tossing it aside like it weighs nothing. His hands… knuckles split and bruised. My pulse spikes with fear I can’t hide.

He notices.

He always notices.

“Turn around,” he orders softly.

“What? Why?”

“You don’t need to see this.”

But I already do.

Every smear. Every splatter. A story written in violence.

“I want to understand,” I whisper.

His stare hardens — a fortress slamming shut. “There are things you don’t ask me. This is one of them.”

“No.”

The word leaves before I can stop it.

His head tilts. “No?”

“You promised to keep me safe,” I say, voice shaking. “How can you do that if I don’t even know what you’re protecting me from?”

He steps closer — each stride slow, controlled, terrifyingly calm.

“Do you really want to know?” he asks, voice lethal silk. “Do you want to see the parts of me that rip men apart for threatening what’s mine?”

I swallow. “I’m not… yours.”

His gaze drops to my lips, jaw ticking. “You keep saying that like it’s true.”

My knees weaken.

Before I can respond, his phone rings. He answers without looking away from me.

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Bring him inside.”

Him?

The elevator opens again.

Two of his men drag someone inside — bloody, beaten, arms tied. The man spits blood on the expensive floor.

“This her?” the intruder snarls, eyes landing on me. “The little waitress you’re playing house with?”

My breath stops.

Ethan turns slowly. “He talked,” one of his men says. “But not enough.”

The air thickens with dread.

The intruder’s eyes widen when Ethan approaches. “It was just a job — I swear—”

Ethan backhands him so violently the man crashes against the table, gasping.

My body jolts.

Oh god.

This isn’t movie violence. Isn’t exaggeration.

This is raw. Real. Fatal.

“Ethan,” I manage. “Don’t—please—”

He ignores me entirely.

Ethan crouches, gripping the man’s jaw with iron fingers. “Who sent you? Which Colombo rat wants to die next?”

Colombo.

That name again.

The man whimpers. “L-Leonardo— he heard you took an interest in some girl— he wanted leverage—”

Leverage.

For me.

Because of me.

Ethan stands, drawn to his full, terrifying height. “Maya,” he says quietly, without looking at me. “Go to my room.”

“No.” My voice cracks. “I’m not leaving while you—”

He shifts — just one fraction of a movement — but it pins me harder than hands ever could.

“Maya…” That voice. A low growl. “I’m trying not to terrify you.”

“You already are.”

His chest rises — once, sharply. A flicker of something like pain crosses his expression —

Then he masks it.

He nods to his men. “Take him downstairs. I’ll finish this later.”

As they drag the bleeding man away, Ethan wipes his hand on a towel and tosses it aside like filth. He finally turns back to me.

I can’t breathe.

“You wanted to know the truth?” he asks quietly.

I nod, despite every part of me screaming to run.

His eyes lock onto mine. No shields. No charm. Just brutal honesty:

“I am the heir to the Blackwood syndicate. Every family in this city fears us. And they should.”

A step.

“I deal in blood and power.”

Another step.

“And the only reason you’re still alive is because you belong to me.”

Belong.

To him.

My heart is chaos. Terrified. Thrillingly alive.

He reaches me — takes my shaking hand and presses it to his chest. The steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat grounds me and destroys me all at once.

“I kill threats, Maya,” he murmurs. “And anyone who looks at you the wrong way becomes one.”

His breath fans my lips. Our mouths are a breath apart.

“You wanted to see the real me… and now you have.”

A shiver rakes through me.

I should fear him.

I do.

But under that fear… lies something far more dangerous —

want.

He watches every emotion flicker across my face. His voice drops to a whisper meant for no one but me:

“Are you going to run?”

I swallow hard. “You wouldn’t let me.”

He smiles — dark, victorious, devastating.

“No,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t.”

His thumb lifts, brushing my bottom lip slowly — like claiming.

“And the terrifying part?” he breathes.

“You don’t want to run.”

My heart answers before my mouth can.

He leans in — lips almost touching mine —

A knock slices through the tension.

“Sir,” Adrian calls from behind the door. “We have a situation.”

Ethan goes still.

Then he pulls away — just enough to make me feel the loss like a wound.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he says.

He leaves me there — trembling, breathless, throat dry — surrounded by the truth:

Ethan Blackwood is a monster.

And he has already chosen me.