ᶠᵉᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵍᵃᶻᵉ, ʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵃᵗ ᵐʸ ʰᵃⁿᵈ,

ᴬ ˡᵒʸᵃˡ ᵖᵘᵖ ˡᵒˢᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵃⁿᵈ

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊...

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓...

𝕬 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓..

𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖞𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖇𝖔𝖜.

𝖄𝖊𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊,

𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖎𝖒 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖉𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙’𝖘 𝖆 𝖙𝖔𝖞...

𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖕𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓...

𝕮𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖑𝖙𝖞 𝖎𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖍...

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚...

𝕹𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊..

𝕹𝖔 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗..

𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖙 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜

𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊...

𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖆𝖈̧𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖙..

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗,

𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖...

𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎...

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜...

𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜,

𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜,

𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎...

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜:

𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜...

𝙾𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚜

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗

Chapter 8 "Something Isn’t Right"

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

You wake up in a room that doesn’t feel like yours.

The ceiling is too high. The sheets are too soft. The silence is too heavy.

For a moment, you forget where you are.. until memories crash back in. The villa. The guns. His voice in the dark.

You sit up slowly. The door is slightly open. Voices echo down the hallway.

You recognize his voice.

And another one.

You slip out of bed, barefoot, moving quietly across the cold floor. Your heart starts racing before you even reach the hallway.

“…she’s a liability,” someone says.

The bodyguard.

The one who keeps staring at you.

“She’s not part of this,” he replies, his tone sharp. “Touch her and you’re dead.”

You freeze.

“But she’s already in it,” the guard insists. “People are asking questions. Rival crews are sniffing around. They know you’re slipping.”

Silence.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You will when they come for her.”

Your stomach drops.

“You’re playing with fire,” the guard continues. “And fire burns everything.”

You lean closer, holding your breath.

“Make sure she stays out of sight,” he orders. “No one can know she exists.”

“And if they already do?”

His voice lowers.

“Then I’ll erase the problem.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

You step back quietly, retreating to the room before they notice you.

Erase the problem.

You don’t know if he meant you.

Or them.

Later that day, he finds you in the kitchen. He looks tired, jaw clenched, eyes darker than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“You were talking about me,” you reply bluntly.

He stiffens.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

He sighs and leans against the counter.

“This is why I didn’t want you here.”

“Because people might come after me?”

“Yes.”

“Or because you might be the problem?”

He looks at you sharply.

“I would never..”

“You said you’d erase the problem.”

He goes silent...

“That wasn’t about you,” he says finally.

“But you didn’t correct him.”

He walks closer, stopping in front of you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, softer now. “This world doesn’t forgive attachments.”

You cross your arms.

“Then stop treating me like one.”

He studies your face for a long moment.

“You don’t understand what they do to people they can’t reach.”

Your voice trembles.

“Then teach me.”

He reaches up, thumb brushing your jaw gently.

“You’re the only thing they can use against me.”

That terrifies you.

And a part of you loves it.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You wander the halls again, restless. As you pass the security room, you see the bodyguard inside, talking on the phone.

You stop.

“…Yes, she’s here,” he murmurs. “He’s distracted. More than he admits.”

Pause.

“I can handle it. Just be ready.”

Your blood turns cold.

You step back.

A floorboard creaks.

He turns his head.

Your eyes meet.

He knows you heard.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you, expression unreadable.

Then he slowly smiles.

And you realize something is very, very wrong.

Chapter 7 "You’re In Too Deep"

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut, weapons

The gates slide open silently.

You didn’t even know a place like this existed so close to the city. Hidden behind tall trees and iron fences, his villa looks less like a home and more like a fortress.

The car glides into the driveway. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. The engine stops, but you stay seated for a moment, staring at the building.

“This is… insane,” you whisper.

He smirks slightly. “Welcome to my world.”

One of the bodyguards opens your door. His eyes linger on you for a second too long.. cold, assessing. You feel exposed under his gaze.

He notices.

“Don’t stare,” he says sharply to the guard, who immediately looks away.

You follow him inside. The interior is sleek, modern, expensive.. marble floors, high ceilings, dim lighting. Everything screams power. Control. Wealth earned in ways no one talks about.

And then you see it.

The guns.

Not hidden. Not locked away. Rifles displayed on the wall like art. Pistols resting in open drawers. Security cameras on every corner. Monitors showing live feeds of the outside.

You swallow.

“This is your life?” you ask quietly.

He watches your reaction, expression unreadable.

“This is survival.”

He pours himself a drink and hands you a glass. You don’t drink it.

“Why so many?” you ask.

He leans against the counter. “Because people like me don’t get second chances.”

You walk closer to one of the weapons, fingers hovering over the cold metal, but you don’t touch it.

“This isn’t… normal.”

He steps behind you. “Nothing about me is.”

You turn around, meeting his eyes. For once, there’s no teasing, no smirk. Just exhaustion.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the couch.

You do.

He sits across from you, elbows resting on his knees, staring into his glass like it holds answers.

“I didn’t grow up with this,” he says quietly. “I grew up with nothing.”

You stay silent, letting him talk.

“My mother worked nights. My father was never there. Streets raised me. Violence taught me what kindness didn’t.”

He laughs once, bitter.

“Funny how fear gets you further than hope.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“They found me when I was sixteen. Told me I had potential. Gave me money, protection, power. In exchange, I gave them loyalty. My hands. My conscience.”

He looks up at you.

“You don’t get to walk away once you’re in.”

You think of your family. Their expectations. Their world. The distance between that world and this one feels infinite.

“And you?” he asks softly. “Why do you keep walking toward me instead of away?”

You hesitate.

“Because…” you start, but the words get stuck in your throat. “Because you’re not what you pretend to be.”

He stares at you, something fragile flickering in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t see that.”

A knock interrupts the moment. One of the bodyguards steps inside.. the same one who stared at you earlier.

“Everything clear,” he says. “No unusual movement outside.”

“Good,” he replies.

The guard glances at you again, then leaves.

You didn’t miss it. The tension in the air. The way his jaw tightened.

“You don’t trust him,” you say.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

“Trust is a luxury.”

You stand up and walk toward him. He looks up, surprised.

“You’re not a monster,” you say quietly. “You’re just someone who never had a choice.”

He laughs softly.

“Everyone has a choice. Some choices just come with a gun to your head.”

You sit beside him. Your shoulder brushes his. He freezes for a moment, then slowly relaxes.

“This world will destroy you,” he murmurs. “If you stay.”

“Maybe,” you say. “But right now, I’m here.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face.

“You’re in too deep,” he whispers.

Chapter Six “Behind Closed Doors”

Warnings: Violence, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse, smut, sexual

The office looked different at night.

Dim lights. Soft music. Expensive drinks you’d never normally touch. Your coworkers laughed too loudly, dressed too sharply, pretending this wasn’t just another polished lie wrapped in glass and steel.

You adjusted your dress, trying to shake the unease crawling up your spine.

Something felt wrong.

Then you saw him.

Rhys stood near the bar, suit immaculate, posture relaxed—too relaxed. He laughed at something one of your colleagues said, hand resting casually on the counter like he belonged here.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

He knew.

He had always known.

You watched him closely now, your body tense. A man approached him—older, sharp eyes. There was a brief exchange. A handshake. Something discreetly passed between them.

Your breath caught.

Hard drugs.

Right here.

At your workplace.

And Rhys didn’t even flinch.

He didn’t look at you. Not once.

Like you weren’t standing there, watching your worlds collide.

Your hands clenched into fists.

Oh no you don’t.

You marched straight toward him, grabbed his arm, and yanked him away from the crowd before he could react.

“Hey—” he started, surprised.

You shoved him into an empty office and slammed the door shut behind you, locking it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed.

He looked at you for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

“That’s not how you greet someone you missed.”

“You’re selling drugs to my coworkers,” you snapped. “At my job.”

He stepped closer, unfazed.

“Your boss is far deeper in this than you think,” he said calmly. “This building just pretends to be clean.”

Your chest tightened.

“You knew I worked here.”

“Yes.”

“And you still came?”

“I came because I wanted to see you,” he replied softly. “The rest is business.”

You pushed at his chest. “You don’t get to mix those two.”

His hand caught yours, firm but not rough.

“And you don’t get to pretend you’re not drawn to this,” he said. “To me.”

You laughed bitterly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re shaking.”

You hated that he noticed.

“You broke every rule,” you said. “Again.”

He leaned in, voice low, dangerous.

“And yet you dragged me in here instead of walking away.”

His mouth brushed your jaw. His hands settled at your hips like they belonged there.

You should have stopped him.

You didn’t.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” you whispered.

He kissed you then—deep, hungry, controlled. Like he’d been waiting all night.

Your back hit the wall. His body caged you in, heat and tension wrapping around you until thinking became impossible.

You pulled back just enough to breathe.

“If your phone rings,” you said, voice shaking, “don’t answer it.”

His forehead rested against yours.

“You’re sure?”

“I want you,” you said quietly. “Now.”

For once, he didn’t tease.

His hands slid into your hair, his mouth returning to yours with a promise that made your knees weak.

The world outside the office disappeared.

The music. The party. The rules.

All of it faded.

The door stayed locked.

And when you finally stumbled back into reality, breathless and undone, Rhys rested his forehead against yours.

“This,” he murmured, “changes everything.”

You knew he was right.

Because now, you weren’t just standing near his world anymore.

You were inside it.

He lifted her up and carried her to the nearest desk. He put her down and immediately pushed her dress up to her waist.

You looked at him with half-lidded eyes, you wanted him. God, you was so ready for him.

As he kissed her neck, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers and let them fall down a bit, just so his already hard, leaking cock was free.

He pulled back, looking at her. Her eyes filled with lust.

"Someone here is even more eager," he said with a grin.

"Shut up, I am not the only one here" you snapped back

He said nothing, just a knowing smirk. He brought his hand between your thighs and pushed your panties aside. His fingers glided along your wetness.

"Wet already" he said with knowing smirk

You let out a little gasp, "Shut up and just fuck me"

He grabbed you, pulled you closer to the edge of the desk and with a smooth thrust he slammed his hard cock into your wet tightness

"Fuck" he said between groan "your mine"

𝖄𝖊𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕,

𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌.

𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖘

Chapter Five “Cracks in the Rules”

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

It started small.

A missed call when he wasn’t supposed to call.

A car you recognized parked one street too close.

A look that lasted just a second longer than it should have.

Rhys Montrose was many things.

Patient wasn’t one of them.

You noticed it the moment he showed up at your door unannounced, leaning casually against the frame like he hadn’t just broken your one rule.

Your heart dropped.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing down the hallway.

He smiled slowly. “Relax. You’re alone.”

“That’s not the point.”

He stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him with deliberate calm.

“You said I couldn’t approach you with your family,” he said. “You didn’t say I couldn’t miss you.”

You scoffed. “You don’t miss. You take.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

“You’re learning,” he murmured.

You turned to walk away.

Big mistake.

His hand caught your wrist, spinning you back toward him. In one smooth motion, he pressed you against the wall, his body close but not crushing—yet.

“Rhys,” you warned.

“You make rules,” he said quietly, leaning in, “and then you look at me like you want me to break them.”

His hand slid to your waist, fingers firm, possessive. His thigh pressed between yours just enough to make your breath hitch.

You hated that he noticed.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you snapped.

“Yes,” he said simply.

His mouth hovered near your ear.

“I want to see how long you can pretend you don’t want this.”

His hand moved—slow, deliberate—lower, not touching where you needed him most, but close enough that your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“There,” he murmured. “That sound.”

Your hands fisted in his jacket.

“You’re infuriating,” you said through clenched teeth.

“And you’re wet with temptation,” he replied softly, teasing, dangerous.

You glared at him. “You don’t get to decide that.”

His grip tightened slightly.

“I don’t have to,” he said. “Your body already did.”

You swallowed hard.

This was the edge.

The line.

And you were standing right on it.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your lips. “Or stop.”

For the first time, he froze.

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

He closed his eyes slowly, jaw tightening, like he was restraining something far worse than desire.

Then he pulled away.

You stared at him, breathless, stunned.

He looked at the screen, then back at you—eyes dark, apologetic, furious.

“I have to go,” he said.

Your heart sank.

“You always do,” you muttered.

He stepped closer one last time, pressing his forehead to yours.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly. “This was just… postponed.”

He kissed you—deep, slow, controlled. A kiss meant to stay with you long after he was gone.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I won’t answer the phone.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving you against the wall, knees weak, rules shattered, knowing one terrible truth:

His world had found you.

Chapter Four “Terms and Conditions”

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

And that should have been a relief.

Instead, it felt like withdrawal.

You tried to tell yourself it was good. That distance meant clarity. That the heat he’d left behind would fade if you ignored it long enough.

It didn’t.

You were folding laundry when your phone buzzed.

Rhys: You’re thinking about me.

You stared at the screen, jaw tightening.

You: You wish.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Rhys: You don’t deny it very convincingly.

You exhaled sharply, then typed before you could stop yourself.

You: If you’re going to keep showing up in my life, we need to talk.

A pause.

Longer this time.

Rhys: My place. Tonight.

You hesitated.

Then:

You: No. Neutral ground.

Another pause.

Rhys: You’re learning.

He sent an address.

A quiet rooftop bar. Empty. Discreet.

Of course.

When you arrived, he was already there, leaning against the railing, city lights spilling around him like he belonged to them. Dark coat. Hands in his pockets. Eyes locked on you the second you stepped closer.

“You came,” he said.

You stopped a few feet away. “Don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I’m pleased.”

You crossed your arms. “This isn’t a date.”

He tilted his head. “Then what is it?”

“A negotiation.”

That made him smile.

You stepped closer, refusing to let him loom over you this time.

“I want you,” you said plainly.

His smile faded.. just slightly.

“And?” he prompted.

“But this doesn’t happen unless it’s on my terms.”

Now that caught his attention.

You could see it in the way his posture shifted. Alert. Focused.

“Go on,” he said.

You met his gaze, unflinching.

“You never approach me when I’m with my family,” you said. “You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t exist.”

A slow smile curved his lips.

“Keeping me a secret?” he teased. “That hurts.”

You didn’t smile back.

“I’m serious.”

He stepped closer, invading your space just enough to test you.

“And what happens when I break that rule?” he asked softly.

You leaned in, just as close.

“Then we’re done.”

That wiped the amusement from his face.

For a moment, the city noise felt distant. Like the world was holding its breath.

“You think you’re walking away from me?” he asked.

“I know I can,” you said. “That’s the difference.”

He studied you, eyes dark, unreadable.

Then.. he laughed. Low. Quiet.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to sound dangerous.”

“Learned from the best.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—not claiming, not pulling. Asking.

“And if I agree,” he said, “what do I get?”

You swallowed, then lifted your chin.

“Me,” you said. “When I choose.”

Something shifted.

He stepped closer, one hand bracing on the railing behind you, caging you in without touching.

“That’s a risky offer,” he said.

You smiled, just a little. “So are you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “Your rules.”

Relief and heat rushed through you all at once.

“But,” he added, leaning in, voice dropping, “don’t confuse restraint with weakness.”

His hand came up, thumb brushing your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“This,” he said quietly, “is me being patient.”

He kissed you.. slow, controlled, deliberate. Not consuming. Not rushed. Like a promise he had every intention of collecting on later.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Go home,” he murmured. “Before I forget why I agreed.”

You stepped away, heart pounding.

“Goodnight, Rhys.”

He watched you leave, eyes burning into your back.

And you knew..

you hadn’t escaped the game.

Chapter Three “The Line You Don’t Cross”

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

The car was ridiculous.

That was the first thing you noticed.

Leather seats softer than anything you owned, the city lights reflecting off polished black paint, the quiet hum of an engine that probably cost more than your entire apartment building.

You sat with your hands folded in your lap, staring straight ahead.

Rhys drove like he owned the road.

Like nothing could touch him.

The silence between you was thick.

“You’re quiet,” he said casually.

You huffed. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” he replied smoothly.

You shot him a look. “So is everything about you.”

He smiled, slow and knowing, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before returning to the road.

“And yet,” he said, “you got in the car.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t have one.

When he pulled up in front of your building, the contrast was almost painful. His car didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong here.

You reached for the door.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said.

“That’s not necessary.”

It wasn’t a question.

He was already out of the car.

You hesitated, then sighed and stepped out, keys clutched tightly in your hand. You told yourself you were in control. That you could stop this whenever you wanted.

The hallway smelled like old paint and someone’s dinner. Your apartment was small, modest.. real.

You unlocked the door.

He followed you inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, the air changed.

Rhys looked around slowly, taking everything in.. the worn couch, the cheap furniture, the quiet life you lived.

“This is you,” he said softly.

You crossed your arms. “Not impressed?”

He stepped closer. “I am.”

That surprised you.

“You shouldn’t be,” you snapped. “This isn’t your world.”

He stopped just inches away.

“No,” he said quietly. “But you are.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you shot back.

His gaze darkened.

“I decide a lot of things.”

Before you could react, his hand pressed against the wall beside your head, the other settling firmly at your waist. He didn’t hurt you. He didn’t rush.

He pinned you there with presence alone.

Your breath hitched, but your chin lifted in defiance.

“Let me go,” you said.

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

You glared at him. “That’s because you don’t listen.”

His hand slid upward, fingers resting lightly at your throat.. not squeezing, just there. A reminder. A warning.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“Anger does that.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Liar.”

You swallowed, eyes never leaving his.

“My family would hate you,” you said sharply. “They’d tell me to run.”

“And you would?” he asked.

Silence.

His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and deliberate.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said. “You’re afraid of what you’d become if you stay.”

Your chest tightened.

“Don’t pretend you know me.”

He leaned in, voice low, intimate.

“I know you want to push me away,” he whispered. “And I know you’re curious what happens if you don’t.”

Your hands pressed against his chest.. not to pull him closer, not to push him away.

“Rhys,” you warned.

He paused.

For a moment, it looked like he might cross a line neither of you could undo.

Instead, his hand slipped from your throat, his grip loosening.

Then he kissed you.

Slow.

Careful.

Like he was tasting something he planned to take his time with.

His lips moved against yours with a restrained hunger, not taking, not demanding.. just enough to make your knees weak and your thoughts scatter.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.

“That,” he said quietly, “is all you get tonight.”

You stared at him, breathless, furious, aching.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered.

He smiled.

“I know.”

He stepped away, straightened his jacket, and walked toward the door.

Before leaving, he looked back at you one last time.

“Sleep,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

Then he was gone.

And you were left standing there, heart racing, lips burning, knowing one thing for certain:

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Chapter Two “The Skyline”

Warning: Smut, Criminal, Hands-On

The next day, you didn’t sleep.

Not because you were excited.

Because you were terrified.

You kept replaying the café scene in your head.. Rhys Montrose sitting down like he owned the place, his voice calm and confident, the way he said, “I want you.” You told yourself it was impossible. That it couldn’t be real.

But then your phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

You opened the message.

Unknown: Be ready in an hour. Don’t be late.

Your heart dropped.

You didn’t want to go. You shouldn’t go. But something inside you.. something reckless.. wanted to see what he had planned.

So you went.

You arrived at a private helipad, and the sight of the black helicopter made your stomach twist.

You could still walk away.

But you didn’t.

The helicopter lifted off, and the city shrank beneath you. The lights turned into glitter, the streets into veins.

Rhys sat beside you, calm as ever, like he did this all the time.

He didn’t speak.

And when he finally did, his voice was quiet, almost amused.

“You’re afraid.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I’m not stupid,” you said. “I know who you are.”

His eyes flicked to you.

“And what is that?” he asked.

You swallowed. “A man with a reputation.”

He smiled.

“A man with a reputation… and a secret.”

Your heart stopped.

The helicopter landed on the rooftop of the tallest building in the city. A private restaurant waited there, elegant and silent, with a view that made your breath catch.

You followed him inside.

The waiter led you to a table by the big long window, the one that stretched from floor to ceiling, showing the entire city below.

You stood there, staring out.

The view was breathtaking.

And then you realized something.

This wasn’t just luxury.

This was power.

This was control.

And you knew.. without a doubt.. that Rhys Montrose didn’t just buy things.

He owned them.

You turned slightly, and he was behind you.

Close.

Too close.

You could feel his presence like a weight.

He didn’t touch you at first.

He just stood there, watching you.

Then he spoke.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “people like you usually run.”

You didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to.

He stepped closer, and suddenly his hands were on your waist, sliding around your body like he was claiming it.

You froze.

Your heart hammered.

He leaned in, his lips close to your ear.

“You’re thinking about leaving,” he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him.

“No,” you said, voice steady. “I’m thinking about what kind of man you are.”

His fingers tightened around your waist.

“Oh,” he said, amused. “And what kind of man is that?”

You turned to face him fully now, meeting his gaze with a boldness you didn’t know you had.

“You’re a criminal,” you said.

His smile widened.

“Good,” he whispered. “You know.”

You scoffed. “I know enough.”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“And yet you’re still here,” he said.

You turned your head to look out the window again, forcing yourself to breathe.

The city lights reflected in the glass, making everything look like a dream.

You tried to act like you weren’t scared.

You tried to act like you didn’t feel the pull.

But you did.

And he knew it.

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him. His grip was firm, possessive.

You felt the strength of him. The control.

You didn’t move away.

Not because you wanted to.

But because you were curious.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips near your ear again.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “What are you afraid of?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Being used,” you said.

He chuckled softly.

“That’s a funny fear,” he whispered. “Because you already are.”

You turned your head sharply, anger flashing in your eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you snapped. “I’m not one of your toys.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Are you?” he asked, his tone dangerous.

You pushed his hands away gently, stepping out of his embrace.

But you didn’t step back.

You stood your ground.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said.

Rhys laughed, amused.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with challenge. “You should be.”

You turned to face him fully, crossing your arms.

“Try me,” you said, a smirk appearing on your lips.

His eyes darkened.

“Bold,” he murmured. “I like that.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you again.

His hand lifted to your chin, gently tilting your face up.

“You know what the worst part is?” he whispered.

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“What?” you asked.

He smiled, almost tender.

“You don’t know if you want to leave,” he said.

Your cheeks heated.

You opened your mouth to reply, but he leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing.

“Or if you want to stay.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

And he knew it.

He kissed your cheek softly, then pulled away.

“Let’s eat,” he said, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened.

But you knew.

Something had changed.

The game had begun.

And you were already losing.

You never thought a simple day of errands would change your life.

But then again, you never thought you’d be noticed by someone like Rhys Montrose.

You were walking home from work, hands stuffed in your jacket pockets to keep warm. The city was busy, noisy, and completely indifferent to you—just the way you liked it. People passed by without seeing you, and you were okay with that. You didn’t have the luxury of being noticed.

You didn’t have the kind of money that made strangers stare.

You didn’t have the kind of name that made people whisper.

You didn’t have anything worth looking at.

And that was fine.

Until you felt the small weight around your neck go missing.

You touched your collarbone, panic rising in your chest.

Your locket.

The only piece of jewelry you owned. The only thing that belonged to you, besides your tired eyes and the worn-out coat you’d bought secondhand.

You spun around, scanning the sidewalk like someone might have seen it fall.

Nothing.

You walked back, retracing your steps. Every second that passed made your heart beat faster, like the city was pressing its hands against your throat.

You stopped outside a small café, the one you always avoided because it was too expensive. But now, you didn’t care.

You pushed the door open, the warm air hitting your face like a relief.

The café was crowded, the smell of coffee and pastries filling the room. You stood at the counter for a moment, unsure of what you were doing.

Then you saw it.

A man sitting in the corner, watching you like he’d been waiting for you to arrive.

His hair was dark, styled perfectly. His suit expensive. His eyes cold and sharp, like he could see right through you.

You didn’t know his name yet, but you knew who he was.

Rhys Montrose.

The man everyone talked about in whispers.

The one with the money. The one with the power. The one with the rumors.

Criminal.

Dangerous.

And somehow… irresistible.

Your throat went dry.

You took a shaky breath and walked past him, pretending you didn’t see him.

You sat at a small table near the window, trying to calm yourself.

Then your phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

You opened the message.

Unknown: You dropped this.

Attached was a picture.

The locket.

Your locket.

Your hands shook as you stared at it.

You didn’t even know you’d dropped it.

You looked up slowly.

Rhys Montrose was standing in front of you, a calm expression on his face like this was normal. Like this was nothing.

He sat down across from you without asking.

You couldn’t move.

Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

“How do you have that?” you asked.

He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile.

“You dropped it,” he said.

“I didn’t—”

He held up his hand, stopping you.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You just… didn’t notice.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst.

“What do you want?” you asked, because you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He leaned back, watching you with a calmness that made your skin crawl.

“I want you,” he said.

The words hit you like a punch.

You blinked, unable to process what he’d just said.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.

He smiled again, like he found your confusion amusing.

“That’s the point,” he said. “I want you to know me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’re… dangerous,” you said, because you had to say something. It was the only truth you could cling to.

He nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, embossed card.

MONTROSE INDUSTRIES

He slid it across the table toward you.

“Call me,” he said.

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔..

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎,

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎.. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝..

𝙰 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚛,

𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛..

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗..

𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍..

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔..