Suddenly hearing her mother’s panicked voice, Janice froze in place. She saw the car speeding straight toward her and instinctively covered her eyes.
A sharp screech of brakes shattered the air.
Thrown off balance, Janice stumbled and landed hard on the cold pavement.
"What just happened?"
A sharp voice, laced with irritation, came from the back seat of the car. A young man, his eyes sharp and commanding, looked out the window just as the driver spoke with panic in his tone,
"I’m sorry, young master—I nearly hit a little girl!"
The teen, tall and striking with an icy presence, rolled down the window.
A pair of eyes—clear, bright, and unguarded—staring up at him.
Something unidentifiable stirred in his chest, so faint it almost went unnoticed.
"Janice, are you okay?"
Cornelia’s voice trembled as she rushed forward, heart still hammering in her chest. Just a second later, and—she couldn’t even finish the thought.
She scooped Janice up from the ground, eyes darting to the luxury car, to the young man inside.
The moment their eyes met, Cornelia instinctively knew—this boy wasn’t just handsome. He was powerful. Someone born into privilege. Dangerous, maybe.
Janice clung to her mother, stealing another glance at the boy in the car. His features were impossibly perfect, and her young heart fluttered with a child’s innocent awe.
The driver hesitated, unsure what to do. But before he could ask for instructions, the door clicked open.
From Janice’s low vantage point, he looked impossibly tall—taller even than her mom. He stood before her like a figure out of a storybook, cold but dazzling.
She tilted her head, staring into his shadowed eyes, trying to understand the unreadable look in them.
Then, with quiet elegance, he pulled a pristine white handkerchief from the pocket of his white blazer and held it out to her.
Without a word, he crouched down, and with long, graceful fingers—scented faintly with Dior—he gently wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.
Janice said quietly, her voice soft with gratitude. As his hand brushed her skin, she touched her lip, sensing the lingering warmth of his fingers.
"Watch where you’re going next time."
The boy straightened, his voice cool and detached. He tossed the bloodied handkerchief into a nearby trash bin and climbed back into the car.
As the car disappeared down the road, Janice stared after it, the memory of his eyes—cold yet strangely gentle—burned into her mind.
She reached for Cornelia’s hand. This time, Cornelia didn’t let go. Not once, all the way home.
That night, Janice was fast asleep when the thick, acrid smell of smoke jolted her awake.
She coughed, eyes stinging, until her mother’s terrified voice reached her ears.
Blinking through the haze, Janice saw flames licking through the shadows of their once peaceful home.
Everything was on fire.
Cornelia grabbed a bed sheet and wrapped it tightly around her daughter, holding her close. There was no time. Their isolated location meant firefighters wouldn’t get there in time.
The smoke made it hard to see, but Janice clung tightly to her mother’s clothes as Cornelia pushed forward, doing everything she could to get her daughter to safety.
"Janice, listen to me—"
Cornelia held her daughter tightly, her voice trembling with urgency and love.
"No matter how hard life gets, you must survive. Do you hear me? You must live! Mommy loves you... always!"
Before Janice could react, everything seemed to freeze—
Then, suddenly, she was shoved forward with all her mother’s strength.
The scorching air hit her like a wall. She tumbled to the ground, disoriented, coughing through the smoke and heat.
Just as her vision started to blur, she caught one final glimpse—
Their small home, only a few steps away,
collapsing in a fiery roar.
The fire consumed everything—
including the last image of her mother.
Janice wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
All she could do was stare, wide-eyed and broken,
as the nightmare swallowed her whole.
A sharp, terrified scream shattered the quiet of dawn.
On a wide, plush Simmons bed, a slender woman with long, silky hair shot upright, drenched in sweat. Her chest heaved as she clutched at her rapidly beating heart, the moisture on her face betraying the grip of a terrible nightmare she could barely recall.
But there was no time to process the fading dream.
As Janet reached down to steady herself, a horrifying realization struck—
She was completely naked beneath the sheets.
Her eyes flew wide open. Hands over her mouth, she glanced around the unfamiliar room. This wasn’t her bedroom.
The space exuded wealth and strangeness—clearly a five-star presidential suite.
The luxury reeked of someone else’s life.
Running water from the bathroom.
Janet groaned and smacked her forehead. Memories trickled back—
She had gotten a little drunk after leaving the club last night... had she gotten into a stranger’s car?
She vaguely remembered a man, just his profile... but now, even that was slipping from her mind.
Heart pounding, she scrambled out of bed and checked the sheets—
Pristine. No visible signs of chaos.
A small wave of relief washed over her.
Her gaze flicked to the dresser.
Her clothes were folded neatly, untouched.
Not wasting another second, she got dressed with practiced efficiency.
Whatever had happened—or hadn’t—she had no intention of facing the man in the bathroom to find out.
Just the thought of him stepping out made her skin crawl with anxiety.
Before he could emerge, she bolted.
She slipped quietly out the door, casting one last glance at the time.
Outside, she flagged a cab, headed home to change before work.
Good thing no one in that house cared where she went or when she came home—
She was practically invisible there.
Back inside the suite, the bathroom door opened.
The man stepped out, his tall frame wrapped in a white towel.
Only the faint trace of perfume lingered in the air, blending with the cool morning light.
Droplets of water traced a path from his damp, tousled hair down the sharp angle of his jaw, over a lean, muscled chest, and onto the Persian carpet beneath his feet.
His skin had the warm glow of sun-kissed bronze, his physique sculpted with precision—there wasn’t a hint of excess on him.
His face... dangerously handsome. The kind of beauty that made people forget how to breathe.
Sharp brows. Straight nose. Sculpted lips, pressed into a thoughtful line.
One arm braced casually on the bathroom doorframe, the other raked a towel through his dark hair.
Cold, unreadable, arresting.
There was arrogance in them, yes, but also something darker.
A depth you could drown in.
He crossed the room with slow, powerful strides.
As he neared the bed—still faintly warm from her presence—
Without missing a beat, he picked it up.
"It’s me. I’ll be there in thirty."