The sharp sound of shattering glass jolted me awake.
My heart slammed against my ribcage, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears as I jolted upright. The once quiet room was now thick with an unsettling stillness, the kind that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Shadows stretched across the walls, shifting with the faint flicker of the streetlights filtering through the partially drawn curtains. Each breath I took was uneven, shuddering past my lips as my chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Disoriented, my mind struggled to piece together the moments leading up to this instant—what had disturbed my sleep? A noise? A presence? Or just the lingering tendrils of an anxious dream? I swallowed hard, willing myself to steady the erratic pounding in my chest, but a gnawing sense of unease curled deep in my stomach. Something wasn’t right. The broken window. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. Had the wind knocked it loose? Or— A groan. Low, pained. Not from me. My head snapped toward the source. A figure loomed in the darkness, half-slumped against the wall near the shattered window. The dim light revealed the broad shape of a man, his breathing ragged. His dark clothes were torn, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw the faint glisten of something wet on his arm. Blood. I barely had time to react before he moved—too fast despite his injury. A powerful, unyielding hand clamped over my mouth, smothering the terrified scream that had barely begun to rise in my throat. Panic surged through me like a violent current, my body reacting on pure instinct. I thrashed wildly, my legs kicking out in a desperate attempt to break free, my fingernails digging into the rough skin of his wrist. But his grip was immovable—unyielding like steel shackles locking me in place. His presence was overwhelming, a solid mass of strength pressing against me, trapping me in a suffocating hold. The scent of him—faintly metallic, with a trace of something musky and unfamiliar—invaded my senses, making my stomach churn. My pulse pounded relentlessly, the blood roaring in my ears as fear seized every muscle in my body. “Relax,” a deep voice rasped against my ear, the warmth of his breath brushing over my skin in a way that sent a violent shudder down my spine. His tone was firm yet laced with something strained, something almost… weary. As if holding me like this was taking just as much out of him as it was out of me. I didn’t relax. I couldn’t. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to scream, to do something—anything—to get away. But his grip only tightened in silent warning. “I won’t hurt you.” The words were low, deliberate. A promise or a lie—I couldn’t tell. I didn’t believe him. My body went rigid, every muscle locking up as raw terror coiled in my gut. My mind raced, grasping for an escape, for some way out of this nightmare. He let out a slow, measured breath. “Promise me you won’t scream if I let you go.” I hesitated. He wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t struggling to restrain me. He was hurt. The realization cut through my panic, forcing me to think beyond my fear. I swallowed hard, my throat constricting as I forced myself to meet his gaze—what little I could see of it in the dim lighting. Dark, unreadable eyes bored into mine, waiting. Expecting. I gave a frantic nod. Slowly, his hand loosened. The moment I was free, I scrambled backward, pressing myself against the headboard. My fingers fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, but before I could grab it, he took a step closer. “Don’t,” he warned. His posture wasn’t aggressive, but there was an undeniable weight to his presence, something dangerous humming beneath his exhaustion. “Who the hell are you?” My voice shook despite my effort to steady it. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he swayed slightly, his body betraying his weakness. He clutched his arm, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose. “I’m sorry for breaking in,” he finally muttered. “I just needed a place to hide.” “Hide?” My skin prickled. “From who?” A humorless smirk touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “From worse people than me.” I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around the edge of the blanket. His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of whatever he had escaped pressing down on him. “I won’t touch you. I just…” He swayed again, his strength waning. “Just needed a place to breathe.” Before I could process his words, he groaned and collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor. Instinct battled logic. He was injured. Clearly struggling. But he was also a stranger who had just broken into my room. I should have called for help. Should have run. But instead— “Are you hurt?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. His head lolled slightly, dark eyes flicking up to meet mine. There was surprise in them, as if he hadn’t expected kindness. As if the concept was foreign to him. He nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yeah… got stabbed.” The air between us grew heavier. Fear still gripped me, my instincts screaming at me to run, to call for help. But something in his voice—his exhaustion, his pain—made me hesitate. He was injured. Vulnerable. A part of me wished I could ignore it, pretend he wasn’t sitting there bleeding into my carpet. But I couldn’t. “Wait here.” My legs were shaky as I climbed out of bed, keeping my eyes on him as I moved toward the door. My body was still tense, every nerve on high alert, but he made no move to stop me. The hallway was dim, the only light coming from a flickering bulb near the stairwell. Mounted on the wall was a small emergency first aid kit. I fumbled with the latch, nearly dropping it in my rush. By the time I returned, he was in the same spot, his back resting against the wall, his breathing slow but uneven. His jaw was tight, his fingers curled near his side, as if he were fighting to stay conscious. I slid the kit toward him, keeping a cautious distance. He exhaled sharply, the faintest trace of relief crossing his face as he reached for it. His fingers were unsteady, and when he tried to peel back the fabric of his torn sleeve, a sharp hiss escaped him. Guilt pricked at me. He was hurt, and here I was, treating him like a criminal. Even if that’s exactly what he might be. “Let me help,” I muttered, inching closer. His dark eyes met mine, searching, measuring. Then, after a beat, he gave a small nod. I knelt beside him, flipping open the kit and switching on my phone’s flashlight. The wound on his arm was ugly—an angry, deep gash that had already soaked through his shirt. Blood streaked his skin, dark and glistening in the dim light. “This is going to sting,” I warned. He huffed a dry laugh. “Not my first wound, sweetheart.” I ignored the nickname and focused on the task at hand. Carefully, I dabbed at the wound with an antiseptic wipe. He barely flinched, but I caught the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch. “You’re lucky,” I muttered, pressing a little harder than necessary. “This could’ve been a lot worse.” His lips quirked slightly, though there was no real humor in his expression. “You have no idea.” I didn’t ask. As I worked, the silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken questions. Who was he? Why was he here? What had he done to get stabbed? I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers. “So,” I said, needing something to break the tension. “Mugged in a dark alley?” His smirk was faint, barely there. “Something like that.” I could tell he wasn’t going to elaborate. After securing the bandage around his arm, I sat back on my heels, watching him carefully. His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. “You need stitches,” I murmured. He sighed, resting his head against the wall. “I’ll survive.” The words were so casual, so certain, as if he had been through worse. As if pain was just another part of his life. A strange silence settled over us. I knew I should still be afraid. Should be yelling for help, demanding answers, doing anything other than sitting here, helping a stranger who had broken into my room. And yet… “What happens now?” I finally asked. He glanced at me, his gaze unreadable. “I just need a few hours. I won’t take your bed. Just let me rest here.” My instincts screamed at me to say no. But there was something about him—the way he sat there, worn down yet still composed, injured yet still exuding a quiet strength—that made me hesitate. I should have told him to leave. Should have been smarter. But instead— “Fine,” I muttered. “But if you try anything—” His smirk returned, just a flicker of amusement in his tired eyes. “You’ll stab me?” “Exactly.” For the first time, the tension in the room eased. Just a little. I climbed back into bed, keeping my phone gripped in my hand. Sleep didn’t come easy. Every few minutes, I cracked one eye open, half-expecting him to make a move. But he didn’t. He stayed slumped against the wall, his breathing deep and steady, his body finally giving in to exhaustion. And when the first rays of dawn peeked through the broken window— He was gone.I jolted awake, a shudder ripping through me before I could fully process why. The room was dark, but something felt… off. My breath came in uneven gasps as I scanned my surroundings, my mind still groggy with sleep. The bed beneath me was slightly rumpled, the blankets twisted from restless tossing. But that wasn’t what sent ice trickling down my spine. The silence. It was too still. I turned my head toward the spot where he had been slumped against the wall. Empty. My pulse kicked up. I scrambled upright, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor as I stumbled toward the window. It was slightly ajar, the cracked pane allowing a thin breeze to snake through. I pressed my fingertips to the glass. Still cool. He was gone. A part of me had expected this, but now that it was real, I felt an odd mix of relief and unease. He had been injured—badly. And yet, he had vanished into the night like a phantom, leaving nothing behind except a smear of dried blood on the floorboards. I sw
New Orleans Mia Cruz jolted awake at the sound of her alarm shrieking through the silence. With a groggy groan, she slapped at her phone, missing twice before finally silencing it. Blinking against the early morning light filtering through her curtains, she forced herself upright. Her body protested, every muscle stiff from the awkward way she had slept. She hadn’t even changed out of yesterday’s clothes. Again. Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and checked the time. 8:15 AM. Her heart lurched. “Shit!” She was late. Again. Got it! Here’s the revised version with her blonde straight hair: ⸻ Bolting from the bed, Mia yanked off her wrinkled dress and sprinted into the bathroom, her bare feet slapping against the cold tiled floor. A sharp chill raced up her spine, but she ignored it, twisting the shower knob on full blast. Lukewarm water cascaded down, shocking her system awake as she stepped under the spray. She worked quickly, grabbing her shampo
Mia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling long before her alarm blared through the quiet room. Sleep had evaded her for most of the night, leaving her tangled in a mess of sheets and nerves. Her thoughts had refused to settle, replaying every possible scenario of her presentation like a never-ending reel. She imagined herself stammering, forgetting key points, or—God forbid—completely blanking in front of Marco Valentino.When the alarm finally shrilled at 6:30 AM, she flinched but didn’t bother reaching for it. She had been awake for the last half-hour, counting down the minutes in the dim morning light. With a deep breath, she turned it off, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and sat there for a moment, her heart thudding against her ribs.You’ve got this. Just get through today.She forced herself to stand and padded to the bathroom, shivering as her bare feet met the cold tiles. Turning on the shower, she let the water heat up before stepping in, sighing as the warmth seeped in
Mia took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the file as she stepped forward. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm against her ribs, the weight of anticipation pressing down on her chest like an iron vice. The hallway leading to the conference room had never felt so long, each step echoing in her ears, amplifying the anxious storm brewing inside her. She could feel the weight of her own thoughts, spiraling through worst-case scenarios. What if I forget my key points? What if I stutter? What if Valentino dismisses me before I even finish my first sentence? Her grip tightened around the file. No. Focus. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to exude the same level of confidence as the other executives who strolled these halls like they owned the world. She straightened her blouse, smoothing the fabric over her waist as though it could also iron out the nervous energy thrumming through her veins. The closer she got to the conference room, the louder the murmur of conversation
The conference room door clicked shut behind her, but Mia barely heard it over the pounding of her own heartbeat. The moment the presentation ended, she had slipped out, needing a moment to gather herself. She had done it—delivered her pitch with poise, answered every question with confidence. But none of that mattered. Because the entire time, she had felt his eyes on her. Marco Valentino. The man who now stood at the center of her world in ways she couldn’t understand. The same man who, for the briefest second during the presentation, had looked at her like he knew her—like he was peeling back layers of time, trying to place her in a memory just out of reach. She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. It was just business. That was all. Yet, deep down, she knew that was a lie. Mia barely had time to steady her breathing before her boss’s voice rang out behind her. “Miss Cruz.” She turned sharply, her pulse still erratic, to see Mr. Gravitas standing in th
CHAPTER 8 The scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee filled the bookstore, wrapping Mia in a familiar comfort. Sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, casting a warm glow over the wooden shelves stacked with stories waiting to be discovered. It was a quiet Saturday morning, the kind she usually cherished. But not today. Today, she was on edge. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted a row of hardcovers, pretending to be engrossed in her task. She had been doing this all morning—straightening books, reorganizing displays, making small talk with Chloe—all in an effort to ignore the gnawing unease in her stomach. Because he was coming. Marco Valentino. She swallowed hard, sneaking a glance at the clock hanging above the counter. 10:02 AM. He hadn’t given her a specific time, but she knew he would show up whenever he pleased. That was the kind of man he was.
MIA CRUZI took a deep breath before stepping out of the storeroom, my hands tightening around the book samples. I had only been in there for a few minutes, but it had been enough to gather myself—or so I thought.The moment I looked up, my stomach did a ridiculous flip.Marco was still there.He leaned casually against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me with an amused expression. His dark eyes held a knowing glint, like he could see right through me.“You sure took your time,” he mused.I forced a small laugh, shifting the samples in my grip. “Just… making sure I got the right books.”He hummed as if he didn’t believe me but didn’t push. Instead, he straightened, his gaze settling on me in a way that made my skin prickle.“So,” he said smoothly, “since I’m already here, how about we grab a coffee? You must have a lot of questions.”Coffee?I blinked, caught
MIA CRUZ The blaring of my alarm jolted me awake, dragging me out of a restless sleep. I groaned, rolling over and slamming the snooze button before burying my face in my pillow. Just five more minutes. Except five minutes turned into ten, and by the time I finally forced myself up, the sun was already peeking through my window, casting a warm glow across my room. Sunday. The realization hit me fully, sending a jolt of awareness through my still-sleepy mind. I was meeting Marco today. At his house. I shook off the nerves creeping in and stretched, rubbing my eyes before dragging myself out of bed. My feet padded across the cool wooden floor as I made my way to the bathroom. A splash of cold water to my face did wonders in shaking off the last remnants of sleep. I brushed my teeth, letting my mind wander as I moved through my morn
MIA CRUZI tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around my legs, my mind refusing to give me peace.No matter how many times I shut my eyes, the scene played on repeat—the gunshot, the screams, the way Marco’s arms had caged me against him as he rushed me out the back door.The way blood had spread across the pristine floor, staining the elegance of the night with something raw and violent.I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to take me, but it never came.And then—BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!My alarm blared through the room, dragging me into the present. I groaned, pressing my hands over my face. The sharp ring was an unwelcome reminder that life didn’t pause just because my world had been turned upside down.I forced myself to sit up, my body feeling heavier than usual. My heart was still racing from memories I couldn’t shake, my hands curling into fists in my lap.Everything had changed last night.
Marco’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The composed, enigmatic man I had seen moments ago was gone—replaced by someone colder, sharper. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides as his gaze swept across the ballroom.Something was wrong.I took a hesitant step forward, but before I could call his name, he turned, barking out orders to the men stationed discreetly around the room.“Lock down the exits. No one leaves until I say so.”A shiver ran down my spine. The air grew heavy with tension as the guards moved swiftly, their expressions grim.People in the ballroom were oblivious for now, laughing, drinking, swirling across the dance floor. But I could feel it—the shift in the atmosphere, the weight of something unseen pressing in.Marco’s head snapped toward one of his men, who had just rushed up to him. They exchanged a few hushed words, and whatever he was told made his already sharp expression darke
Marco leaned in, his nose brushing against mine, his breath warm and intoxicating. My own breath hitched, my lips parting instinctively.And then—He pulled away.A slow, deliberate retreat, his lips curving into something smug, something wicked.Heat flared in my cheeks as frustration tangled with the ache in my chest.“Are you—” I swallowed, gripping the fabric of my dress. “Are you teasing me?”Marco smirked. “Maybe.”I narrowed my eyes, but before I could retort, he leaned in again, his fingers brushing against my wrist, his voice a low murmur against my ear.“But when I finally take what I want, Mia,” he whispered, “you won’t be questioning anything.”My stomach flipped, my skin burning where he touched me.And just like that, he straightened, composed as ever, like he hadn’t just turned my entire world upside down.I exhaled shakily, my heart still racing as he walked ahead, effo
The moment I stepped out of the car, the cool evening air kissed my skin, sending a slight shiver down my spine. The entrance to the gala was nothing short of breathtaking—golden lights illuminated the grand building, luxury cars lined the driveway, and men in sharp tuxedos escorted women draped in elegance. But none of it compared to the man walking toward me. Marco Valentino. His presence commanded attention, his dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He looked effortlessly powerful in his tailored suit, the crisp black fabric molding to his frame in a way that was both refined and utterly sinful. A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he reached me, his gaze roaming over my figure in a way that sent warmth pooling in my stomach. “You wear it well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. I swallowed, heart racing. “Thank you… for the dress.” His smirk dee
MIA CRUZ Three days. Three days, and I hadn’t seen Marco. I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I had more important things to focus on—work, my bookstore, my life. But my mind had other plans. Sitting at my desk, I tapped my pen against my notepad, staring blankly at the emails I was supposed to be responding to. The words blurred together, my focus slipping every time I remembered the way his lips had lingered just inches from mine. The way he pulled away like he was testing me, teasing me. The way I had wanted him to stay. I groaned under my breath and squeezed my eyes shut. Get a grip, Mia. “You okay?” I snapped out of my daze, looking up to see my co-worker, Naomi, peering at me from across the desk. She raised a brow, eyes full of suspicion. “Yeah. Fine,” I lied, sitting up straighter and forcing my attention back to my laptop. She smirked
MIA CRUZThe air crackled with tension, heavy and charged, wrapping around us like an unspoken promise. My breath came in uneven gasps, my pulse hammering against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. Marco’s fingers rested lightly on my waist, a touch that felt both possessive and teasing, his lips hovering just inches from mine. Every nerve in my body was aware of him—of his presence, his power, the quiet restraint in his stance. And yet, despite the space he left between us, I could feel it—the unmistakable heat radiating off his skin.His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, filled with something dark and unreadable. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, lazy and knowing.“You’re blushing, Mia.”I felt my cheeks burn hotter, my stomach twisting at the teasing edge in his voice.“I—” I started, but words failed me. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that?Marco chuckled, the deep, rich sound rolling over me like warm honey.
The grand foyer stretched before me, a masterpiece of timeless elegance and quiet opulence. The floors were polished marble, smooth and gleaming beneath my feet, reflecting the soft glow of the golden chandelier hanging above. High ceilings made the space feel impossibly vast, and intricate crown moldings framed the room with refined detail.A sweeping staircase curved to the second floor, its railing carved from dark mahogany, polished to perfection. The scent of leather, wood, and something distinctly Marco—masculine and expensive—filled the air.I took a slow breath, trying not to seem too affected by the sheer grandeur surrounding me. This wasn’t just wealth. It was power, woven into every inch of the space.Marco shut the door behind me, the quiet click echoing in the vast room. I felt his presence at my back, close but not touching.“Come on,” he said smoothly, walking ahead. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”I followed him thr
MIA CRUZ The blaring of my alarm jolted me awake, dragging me out of a restless sleep. I groaned, rolling over and slamming the snooze button before burying my face in my pillow. Just five more minutes. Except five minutes turned into ten, and by the time I finally forced myself up, the sun was already peeking through my window, casting a warm glow across my room. Sunday. The realization hit me fully, sending a jolt of awareness through my still-sleepy mind. I was meeting Marco today. At his house. I shook off the nerves creeping in and stretched, rubbing my eyes before dragging myself out of bed. My feet padded across the cool wooden floor as I made my way to the bathroom. A splash of cold water to my face did wonders in shaking off the last remnants of sleep. I brushed my teeth, letting my mind wander as I moved through my morn
MIA CRUZI took a deep breath before stepping out of the storeroom, my hands tightening around the book samples. I had only been in there for a few minutes, but it had been enough to gather myself—or so I thought.The moment I looked up, my stomach did a ridiculous flip.Marco was still there.He leaned casually against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me with an amused expression. His dark eyes held a knowing glint, like he could see right through me.“You sure took your time,” he mused.I forced a small laugh, shifting the samples in my grip. “Just… making sure I got the right books.”He hummed as if he didn’t believe me but didn’t push. Instead, he straightened, his gaze settling on me in a way that made my skin prickle.“So,” he said smoothly, “since I’m already here, how about we grab a coffee? You must have a lot of questions.”Coffee?I blinked, caught