- D O M I N I C • P O V -
The door closed behind her.
Not slammed.
Not rushed.
Just a quiet click that landed heavier than any noise ever could.
The blackout blinds were still draped down, sealing the office off from the city, while the lights stayed on-bright, unforgiving. The kind of light that exposed everything. Including me.
I didn't move right away.
I sat there a second too long, chest rising and falling like I'd just come out of a fight. My hands were still trembling, subtle but undeniable, muscles locked tight, blood roaring so loud in my ears it drowned out everything else.
She shouldn't have seen that.
She shouldn't have fucking seen me like that.
I dragged a hand down my face and exhaled sharply through my teeth, forcing my body to still. The image of her-standing there small, frozen, eyes wide with confusion-burned itself into my head like a brand.
Not fear.
Not accusation.
Confusion.
She didn't understand.
That was the worst part.
"She doesn't even know," I muttered, voice rough, almost darkly amused in a way that made my jaw tighten.
She heard me say her name and thought I was calling for her. Thought I needed something. Thought she'd done something wrong. Thought she'd crossed a line she didn't even know existed.
Innocent.
The word landed wrong. Too soft. Too dangerous.
I erased the evidence the way I erased everything else-clean, efficient, final. My hands were steady now. Controlled. No trace left behind.
Didn't matter.
The memory didn't wipe away.
And the second the light came on-
Fuck.
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. My body betrayed me instantly-the spike of my pulse, the sharp awareness, the way something feral snapped awake like it had been waiting for her.
I hated that part.
The waiting.
"She's in your head," I told myself, voice low and dangerous. "That's all."
Bullshit.
She wasn't just in my head-she was under my skin. In my blood. In every fucking nerve that refused to calm down.
I got up and paced the length of the office, heavy footsteps echoing off marble and glass. The city lights were hidden behind the blinds, but I could feel them there-distant, calm, mocking the fire burning through me.
Two days.
Two fucking days and she had me unraveling in a way I hadn't felt at all.
I'd tried distraction.
Control.
Someone else entirely who meant nothing and fixed even less.
That only made it worse.
I stopped at the minibar and poured without measuring. The liquor was old. Rare. Worth more than most people's cars.
I didn't taste it.
It burned. It should've helped.
It didn't.
"Fuck," I growled, slamming the glass against the counter.
The sound cracked through the room.
I raked a hand through my hair, walking back to my desk, breathing hard through my nose, anger curling tight and sharp in my chest. This wasn't about her.
It was about me.
The fact that she was in my head at all.
The fact that I noticed the way she froze.
The way her breath hitched.
The way she looked at me like she was trying to understand something she wasn't meant to see yet.
I'd had women in this office before. Power. Control. Everything exactly where I wanted it.
None of them did this.
None of them made my body react like it had a mind of its own.
None of them walked in looking at me like I was just... a man.
I let out a low, humorless laugh.
"Get it together."
I planted my hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward, head dropping for half a second. The memory of her face when she left-shaken, confused, flustered-twisted something ugly in my chest.
She shouldn't be affected by me.
And I shouldn't be affected by her.
Yet here I was-blinds down, office lit, control fraying-my own voice saying her name echoing back at me like a fucking accusation.
I straightened slowly.
Cold slid back into place. Control clamped down hard, familiar and brutal.
This ends.
Whatever this is-it ends.
I grab my jacket, movements sharp, precise, already sealing everything back up behind my eyes. No one will know. No one ever does.
But as I step forward, one thought burns hotter than the rest-
She walked out of my office shaken.
And someone at that table already thought he could touch her.
My mouth tightens.
That problem isn't handled yet.
David.
My jaw locks.
I'd clocked him the moment his eyes lingered too long, the way his attention followed her instead of the numbers on the screen. I didn't need him to say anything. Predators always tell on themselves.
I warned him without words-pressure applied just enough. Bone. Tendon. Pain twisted close to breaking while the room pretended not to see. He understood.
Or he should have.
The cameras are still live.
They always are.
David left an hour ago. I watched him badge out. Watched him pause by the elevators longer than necessary before disappearing from the feed.
Raven just walked out.
Alone.
The fact that she's taking the bus-
while someone like him knows her schedule-
It doesn't sit right.
It sits wrong.
A low, sharp irritation curls in my chest, something instinctive and ugly. I don't protect people. I don't like people. I don't involve myself unless there's a reason.
And I don't have one.
Which pisses me off.
I snatch my briefcase and phone off the desk. I don't bother turning off the lights. I don't bother locking anything down.
My attention is already elsewhere.
I stride toward the private elevator-my elevator-and hit the button labeled SUBLEVEL OMEGA.
The doors slide shut immediately.
Fast.
Silent.
The descent is smooth, but my mind isn't. It's replaying too much-her shoulders tight when David spoke, the way she kept her knees angled away from him, the way she froze when he moved too close.
She didn't even complain.
That's what bothers me most.
The doors open to my private parking level, polished concrete and steel, empty and echoing. My footsteps sound loud as I move, sharp and fast, the click of my shoes bouncing off the walls.
My car waits where it always does.
Black.
Low.
Expensive.
A Rolls-Royce Phantom-armored, silent, lethal in its own way.
I don't slow as I approach. My hand punches the access code into the steel keypad beside the ramp.
One clean sequence. No hesitation.
The gate recognizes me instantly.
Metal retracts with a low hydraulic hum, the kind of sound you only hear in places built for people who don't wait.
I unlock the car mid-stride, yank the door open, and toss my briefcase and jacket into the backseat before sliding behind the wheel.
The door seals shut with a muted thud.
Bulletproof glass. Total isolation.
The engine purrs to life instantly-smooth, controlled, patient.
I back out hard, tires gripping polished concrete, then punch the accelerator as the exit clears.
The city opens up in front of me.
I merge into traffic like I own it-
because I do.
I tell myself this is nothing.
Just instinct. Just caution. Just making sure a problem doesn't turn into something that wastes my time later.
That's all.
But my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I scan the streets ahead, eyes sharp, focused.
Because somewhere out there-
Raven is taking the bus alone.
And something tells me that warning this morning wasn't enough.
The bus stop was empty.
No small body hunched against the cold.
No stubborn chin tilted up like she dared the night to try her.
No fucking Raven.
"Fuck," I muttered, slowing the car, eyes scanning every shadow like she might materialize if I stared hard enough.
Nothing.
My chest dropped.
Not metaphorically.
Not poetically.
It fucking dropped.
My heart slammed so hard against my ribs it hurt, like someone had punched me from the inside. I dragged my palm over my chest, fingers pressing there like I could force it to calm the fuck down.
"What the fuck is this," I growled to no one.
I'd had guns to my head.
I'd walked into wars knowing men wouldn't walk out breathing.
And this-
this feeling-
It was worse.
I slammed my foot on the gas.
I drove.
Then drove more.
Up one street.
Down another.
Streetlights blurred past, yellow and white bleeding into each other. The road was half empty, the city too quiet, like it was holding its breath just to fuck with me.
"She's fine," I muttered, jaw tight. "Stubborn. Always taking the route she shouldn't."
Like hell that worked.
That fucking smell was still in my head.
Vanilla.
It clung to me like a goddamn curse.
The headlights swept across the block as I slowed.
Then-
movement.
On my right.
A service corridor between two closed shops. The overhead lights were on, harsh and yellow, throwing long shadows against brick and steel.
Two figures.
Too close.
Moving fast.
Not right.
I rolled the window down hard, the glass screaming as it dropped.
A scream cut through the night.
Female.
Raw.
Torn.
My breath hitched so violently it felt like my lungs forgot what they were for.
"I don't care who it is," I snarled, already turning the wheel. "I don't fucking care."
I slammed the brakes.
The door was open before the car fully stopped.
I was out.
Running.
And then I saw her.
Blonde hair catching the light, half shadow, half glow.
Raven.
Something in me snapped.
I didn't hear the blood rushing in my ears anymore.
Didn't feel the cold.
Didn't feel the ground under my dress shoes.
I saw red.
I heard his voice before I reached them-low, filthy, confident like the world owed him her body.
Her sobbing.
Her begging.
Every word carved into my skull.
"Stop!" she cried.
He didn't.
My hands curled into fists so tight my knuckles burned.
The corridor stank.
Rotting trash bags split open near the dumpster, sour and wet, mixed with old grease and concrete still damp from last night's rain.
I didn't care.
All I saw was his hand on her.
All I saw was the way he shoved her harder into the wall, the way his body pressed into hers like she was something he owned.
Mine.
I froze for half a second.
Not because I was shocked.
Because if I moved too fast, I'd kill him.
A sudden, violent force ripped him away from her.
My force.
David's weight came off her so fast she stumbled forward, her back hitting the brick wall behind her. I registered her cry-sharp, broken-felt it slice straight through my spine, but I didn't slow down.
I already had him.
My fist was locked in his collar, fabric tearing as I yanked him backward hard enough that his feet left the ground before he crashed onto the concrete. The impact echoed in the narrow corridor.
Good.
I'd been right.
All of it-the way he'd watched her in the conference room, the way his attention never left her, the fact that he left the building an hour before she did.
Something inside me snapped.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Something colder. Older.
I slammed him into the ground so hard the air ripped out of his lungs. He wheezed beneath me, panic finally catching up as I straddled him, my weight pinning him flat to the asphalt.
"NO-no no no-Dominic!" he choked.
I didn't hear him.
I brought my fist down.
The sound was solid. Meaty. Final.
His head whipped to the side. Blood split at his mouth. I felt my knuckles tear open on impact and welcomed it.
Another punch.
And another.
And another.
My breathing was loud-ragged, feral. My chest burned like I'd run straight through fire to get here, like hell itself had chased me down this corridor.
"I warned you," I growled, the words vibrating out of my chest. I grabbed his shirt, yanked him up just to slam him back down harder. "I told you-"
My fist came down again.
Harder. Vicious.
"-that if you ever touched her-"
I leaned down, lips brushing his ear, my voice dropping into something meant only for him.
"I'd take your fucking knee."
He sobbed. Begged. It barely registered.
I was a storm above him-muscle and fury, control gone, white shirt ruined and soaked with blood. I could feel it on my sleeves, dripping down my arms, slick over veins standing out hard at my temples.
Then I heard her.
Not loud.
Not screaming.
"Dominic, please"
The word hit me like a bullet.
My fist stopped mid‑air.
My body locked.
David's weight slipped from my grip and hit the pavement with a dull, pathetic thud.
Silence dropped into the corridor-thick, ringing.
My back rose once. Twice. My shoulders expanded under the torn, blood‑splattered shirt as I dragged air back into my lungs.
I stood and turned away from him before I finished what I started.
"Get in the car," I said, my voice low, vibrating through the street. I didn't look at her. If I did, I'd lose the edge I'd just forced back into place.
She shook her head. I felt it without seeing it.
"N‑No."
My neck snapped sideways.
"Raven," I growled, barely holding it together, "get the fuck in the car. Now."
"I said no."
Those words cracked something.
I turned back to David instead.
He was coughing blood, barely pushing himself up, eyes wide now-not defiant. Afraid.
Good.
"You're fired," I snarled, not even bothering to face him fully. "Effective immediately. You don't step foot near my company again. You don't speak her name. You don't breathe in her direction."
He tried to talk. Tried to say my name.
I cut him off.
"If I ever see you again," I said quietly, deadly, "I won't stop."
David choked, "D‑Dominic-"
"Get the fuck out of my sight."
I kicked him hard enough to send him rolling across the concrete.
"Before I rip your fucking tongue out for what you tried to do."
He scrambled up, half‑falling, half‑running, disappearing into the dark.
I didn't chase him.
But I wanted to.
I could feel it in the way my fists still twitched, in the violent rise and fall of my chest.
Then I turned back to her.
My eyes drop to her waist.
Her zipper is down.
The sight punches the air out of my lungs.
"...Your zipper," I mutter, voice rough as gravel, looking away immediately. "It's undone."
She gasps and fixes it fast, hands shaking, adjusting her torn shirt.
I scrub a hand down the back of my head, forcing myself to breathe, to slow the rage, to cage whatever the hell is trying to tear out of me.
I step closer.
Not touching her.
Never touching without permission.
I bend and pick up her bag from the ground, the cheap, worn strap twisted-evidence of where that bastard grabbed her. I hold it out, jaw tight.
Our fingers brush.
Her breath hitches.
Mine does too.
"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice deep, low, barely holding together.
She breaks.
"No," she sobs, voice shattered.
I don't think.
I say, "Come here," before I realize I have no idea what that means.
She doesn't walk.
She runs.
She crashes into my chest, wraps her arms around me like I'm the only solid thing left in the world, her sobs soaking straight through my shirt.
My body goes rigid.
Every muscle locks.
For one terrifying second, I don't know what to do.
Then-slowly-I lift my arm and hold her there, careful, controlled, my palm pressed to the back of her head like I'm afraid she'll disappear if I let go.
Her crying tears something open inside me.
And I know-
with sick, horrifying clarity-
This is no longer about control.
And that scares me more than anything ever has.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in a long, long time-
I let myself be held.
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