The air in the private elevator was thick, charged with a silence so heavy I could barely draw it into my lungs. Daniel didn't look at me. He stared straight ahead at the gold-plated doors, his profile carved from granite, his hand still a warm, unbreakable shackle around my wrists.
When the doors hissed open, I expected a room. What I got was a kingdom.
The top-floor penthouse was a sprawling expanse of black marble and glass that seemed to hang suspended over the Atlantic. There were no lights on, only the skeletal glow of the Miami skyline bleeding through the windows. It was cold. It was quiet. It was a tomb for someone very, very rich.
Daniel didn't say a word as he hauled me over the threshold. He didn't drop me, either. He walked straight through the living area, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone, and carried me into a master suite that smelled intensely of him , sandalwood, cedar, and the sharp, metallic tang of a storm.
He set me down on the edge of a massive, dark-wood dresser. The height forced my legs to dangle, making me feel small, like a doll he had just finished playing with.
"Stay," he barked. A single word. A command.
"I am not a dog, Daniel!" I finally found my voice, though it shook with a mix of fury and a terrifying, traitorous heat. I tried to slide off the dresser, but he stepped into the space between my knees, his body a solid wall of muscle that blocked my escape.
"You're a girl who almost walked into a trap because you're too soft-hearted to see the snake in your own bed," he snapped, his eyes flashing like lightning in the dark.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, shoving it toward my face. "Look at it, Tyla. Look."
I blinked through the tears, my eyes scanning the screen. It was a call log. Dave. Henry. His father's lawyers. There was no mention of a bet. No group chat with a scoreboard. The last message to Dave was from three hours ago: Get the security team on the 12th floor. If Summer tries to leave with Tyla, stop them.
"She lied," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow to the stomach. The person I'd shared my secrets with, the person who had held my hand while I cried over my parents, had looked me in the eye and tried to destroy the only person who had ever stood up for me.
"She didn't just lie," Daniel growled, stepping even closer until the heat from his chest began to warm my wine-soaked skin. "She set a fire and waited for you to burn. And you were going to let her."
I looked down at my lap, the red wine stain on my dress looking like a fresh wound in the moonlight. "Why do you care? You barely know me. You tracked me, Daniel. You put a GPS on a girl you just met. How is that any better?"
Daniel's hand came up, his large, warm palm cupping my jaw. He forced me to look at him. His expression wasn't angry anymore; it was something much darker. Something obsessive.
"Because I knew the moment I saw you at that door that you were mine," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I don't leave my things to chance, Tyla. I don't wait for 'fate.' I take it. I am secure. I will protect."
He disappeared into the sprawling ensuite bathroom and returned a moment later with a basin of warm water and a soft, white cloth. He didn't call a maid. He didn't tell me to go clean myself.
He dropped to his knees between my legs.
The "King of Miami," the man who had just threatened to put people in body bags, was kneeling on the floor at my feet.
"What are you doing?" I gasped, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Shh," he murmured. He took my hand, the one Summer had gripped so tightly, and began to wipe away the sticky, dried wine with agonizing slowness.
The sensation was overwhelming. The water was warm, his touch was steady, and the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered made my resolve crumble. He moved to my neck, the damp cloth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. I let out a jagged breath, my head tilting back involuntarily.
"I'm not a good man, Tyla," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he wiped a streak of red from my collarbone. "I'm selfish. I'm possessive. And I have enough enemies to fill that ocean out there. But I will never lie to you. And I will never let anyone hurt you. Not even your 'best friend.'"
He set the cloth aside and looked up at me, his silver eyes searching mine. For a second, the predator was gone, replaced by a man who looked almost... lonely.
"Stay the night," he said. It wasn't a command this time. It was a plea disguised as one. "Just tonight. Let me keep you safe."
He stood up and walked to his massive walk-in closet, returning with a black silk button-down shirt. He tossed it onto the dresser beside me.
"Change. Wash the scent of that wine, and her, off your skin. I'll be studying."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. He reached out and turned the heavy brass lock.
Click.
The sound echoed through the room. My heart leaped into my throat.
"Why did you lock it?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Daniel turned back, his hand still on the handle. The predatory smirk was back, faint and dangerous. "Because I know you, Little Neighbor. You're a runner. And I'm not done keeping you yet."
He left, the heavy footsteps fading down the hall. I sat there in the dark, clutching his silk shirt to my chest. It smelled of him, power and safety.
I walked over to the window, looking down. Miles below, I could see our balcony on the 12th floor. The lights were on. A slim figure in white was standing there, looking straight up at the penthouse. Even from this height, I could feel Summer's gaze. She wasn't crying. She wasn't worried. She was waiting.
I shivered, pulling Daniel's shirt tighter. I was trapped in a golden cage, miles above the world, held captive by a man who tracked my every move.
And the terrifying part? For the first time since I'd moved to Miami, I felt like I could finally breathe.
I moved toward the bathroom, my fingers trembling as I began to unbutton the ruined red dress. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring, or if Daniel Thorne was my savior or my union.
I only knew one thing as I turned on the shower and let the steam fill the room.
The girl who walked into this penthouse isn't the one who's going to walk out.
