Chapter 1: The penthouse Trap
Mara had seen a lot of strange contracts in her life. But none like this.
"Client doesn't leave the penthouse. Full-time protection required. Armed. Silent. Loyal."
The paper was thin, unmarked, and had arrived in an untraceable envelope. No name. No company seal. Just a time, an address, and a wire transfer large enough to make even her question her instincts. And Mara Cross always trusted her instincts.
She should've turned it down.
The elevator opened directly into the living room of Damien Voss's Manhattan penthouse — sleek, glass, and far too quiet. It wasn't just rich quiet — it was watched quiet. The kind of silence that crept up your spine and whispered, you're not alone.
The scent of expensive cologne and danger lingered in the air.
Then he stepped out of the shadows.
"You're late," he said. His voice was quiet. Controlled. Lethal.
There was no rush in him. No welcome either. Just the sharp edge of a man who expected obedience… and was used to getting it.
Mara's hand instinctively moved to the concealed holster under her jacket.
"And you're not who I expected."
The tension crackled like static between them, sharp and immediate. She didn't lower her hand.
"Good," he said, locking eyes with her. "Because nothing about me is what you expect."
His voice had the calm of someone used to hiding knives behind smiles. He didn't blink, didn't move closer — he didn't need to. The threat hung in the air like smoke.
And just like that, the doors slid shut behind her.
A soft mechanical click echoed from the elevator panel. No buttons. No keycard slot. Just smooth metal.
No way out.
Only darkness, secrets, and the man who had just made her his protector.