"Ah, no! Of course not! I'm just . . . you know . . . a little tired. It's past eight, after all."
I was subtly trying to remind him that it was evening—a time when normal people were winding down, not running around doing menial tasks. But of course, Leander was as dense as a brick wall.
He scoffed, a sound so dismissive it made my blood boil. "It's not that late. Come to room 417, in Grand Hotel. It's near you, so I'll expect you here in ten minutes."
"Room 417? Grand Hotel? What? Why?" I stammered, sitting upright in bed, my heart already pounding.
"Just get here. Or you'll regret it."
With that, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, dread curling in my stomach. No sane woman would ever walk into a situation like this. Who knew what was waiting for me in that room at this hour? The entire scenario screamed bad decision.
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But Leander's anger scared me even more than the uncertainty of what was waiting behind that door. The man didn't just demand respect—he demanded complete submission, and I wasn't brave (or stupid) enough to challenge him.
As I got up and threw on a jacket, I glanced at the bodyguards I had recently hired. I'd brought them on after realizing that crossing paths with Leander wasn't exactly a ticket to a peaceful life.
So far, he hadn't done anything to endanger me physically, but his habit of treating me like a personal assistant-slash-servant was putting my patience—and sanity—to the test.
I'll be safe. I thought to myself.
I repeated that lie in my head as I made my way to the dreaded room 417, each step feeling heavier than the last. Knowing Leander, this could be anything from some ridiculous errand to a ploy to entertain himself at my expense. My only consolation was that, so far, his requests had been annoying but harmless.
I just hoped tonight wouldn't be the night he decided to break that pattern.
I made my way to the hotel where Leander was staying, relieved to find it was a reputable five-star establishment. At least I wouldn't be walking into a sketchy alley or a rundown motel. Small mercies, I supposed.
"Ma'am, should we accompany you inside?" one of them asked, noticing my unease.
"No," I said quickly, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself. "Just stay outside of the door. I'll be fine."
I stopped at the entrance and turned to my bodyguards. "Wait here. If I'm not out in five minutes, then come in."
Both of them nodded solemnly, but I wasn't sure how much I could rely on them. They were hired through a local reputable agency, and I heard they were good. But rumors had it that Leander's influence extended far and wide.
With his ties to a powerful mafia empire, who knew what connections he had even here? Still, their presence was enough to calm my nerves—if only a little.
Taking a deep breath, I approached the door and rang the doorbell.
From inside, Leander's voice rang out, "Come in! It's not locked!"
Not locked? I frowned. Who in their right mind left their hotel room door open in a city like this? Either he was reckless, confident, or both.
Steeling myself, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, with only a light in the foyer and a faint glow from the bedside lamp. My eyes scanned the space and landed on Leander, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He was shirtless, and my first thought was to look away in embarrassment, but then I noticed the blood. My eyes widened in shock. He was casually bandaging himself, his chest and shoulder marred with fresh wounds that oozed crimson.
"Oh my God! What happened?!" I blurted, rushing forward without thinking.
He glanced up at me, entirely unfazed. "Don't panic, woman. It's just a little blood."
"L-little?!" I stammered, staring at the streaks of red covering his skin. "You're bleeding all over! What happened? Shouldn't you be in a hospital?"
"Pfft. Hospitals are for people who can't handle a few knife wounds. This is nothing." He casually wrapped a bandage around his forearm before looking at me expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for? Come here and help me bandage the rest. I can't reach my back."
I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "Y-you . . . you called me here to bandage your wounds?"
Leander's lips curved into a grin, and my heart thudded uncomfortably hard against my chest. "What else did you think I called you here for?"
My face burned as I stumbled over my words. "I-I thought you wanted me to fetch coffee or do your laundry or something!"
He chuckled, the sound deep and almost teasing. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. For now, just get over here and bandage my back."
I clenched my fists, massaging my temples as I tried to process the sheer audacity of this man. "Wouldn't it be easier if you just went to the hospital?"
"No." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Oh, I get it," I said, narrowing my eyes. "It's because of those illegal fights, isn't it? You're afraid the police will find out."
His gaze sharpened, and I immediately regretted my words. "How do you know about that?" he asked, his voice dropping to a deep, gravelly tone that made me shrink back slightly. "Are you psychic or something?"
"Wait . . . so I'm right?" I gawked.
"Except I'm not afraid of the police." His tone was nonchalant, as if this was just another day in his life. "It's just some gang I had to put in their place, and I don't want my father to know and blow it out of proportion."
Of course, the big boss of the mafia empire was his father.
"Wait, gang?" My voice rose an octave. "What kind of life are you living?"
"The kind where I don't need your commentary," he shot back. "Now, are you coming here to help or not?"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Dealing with Leander was like trying to reason with a two year old child—pointless, frustrating, and exhausting.
Begrudgingly, I grabbed the first-aid kit and moved closer, all the while mentally questioning every life choice that had led me to this moment.