The door exploded inwards. Not a careful entry, but a violent, shattering invasion. Black-clad figures streamed into the warehouse, moving with a silent, brutal efficiency that was more terrifying than the thugs' crude cruelty. To my hazy, broken mind, it was just a new wave of violence. I squeezed myself deeper into the corner, the rusty shelves biting into my back, praying the shadows would swallow me whole.
The sounds were short and sickeningly final. A choked gasp. The heavy, meaty thud of a body hitting concrete. Then, a voice cut through the chaos, a sound that tore through the fog of my terror like a lightning strike.
"Elara!"
It was Kaelen. But it was a Kaelen I had never heard. His voice wasn't calm or controlled. It was a raw, desperate roar, shredded with a fear I never thought him capable of feeling.
"ELARA! Where are you?"
He was shouting, his footsteps echoing as he stalked through the warehouse, his men giving him a wide berth. I tried to make a sound, but only a dry, pathetic rasp came out. I pushed against the floor with my bound feet, making the chair leg screech feebly against the concrete.
His head snapped toward the sound. And then he was there, looming over me, filling my narrow world.
The sight of him stole what little breath I had left. This wasn't the impeccable kingmaker. His hair was disheveled, his jacket missing. The white shirt he wore was smudged with grime and something darker—was that blood? His face was a mask of stark, unvarnished fury, but his eyes… his eyes were something else entirely. They were wide, frantic, scanning me with a terrifying intensity, taking in the dried blood on my lips, the tear tracks through the dirt on my cheeks, the raw, rope-burned wrists.
"Elara," he breathed, my name a shattered prayer on his lips. All the fury in his frame seemed to dissolve, replaced by a devastating, gut-wrenching relief. He dropped to his knees before me, his hands—usually so steady—trembling as he reached for my face. His thumb, rough and gentle all at once, stroked my cheekbone, wiping away a fresh tear I didn't know I had shed.
"I've got you," he whispered, his voice thick. "I've got you now."
The dam inside me broke. A sob wracked my broken body, and I leaned into his touch, the last of my strength gone. He didn't hesitate. His knife was in his hand, and with two precise, swift motions, the ropes fell away. The pain of blood rushing back into my limbs was excruciating, and I cried out.
"It's alright, I know," he murmured, his hands moving to gently chafe my wrists, restoring circulation.
As he moved to lift me, his arm inadvertently brushed against my stomach.
A white-hot bolt of agony seared through me. I couldn't suppress a sharp, guttural cry, my body convulsing in his arms as I instinctively curled around the injury he'd just discovered.
He froze.
Everything froze.
The air in the warehouse went from charged to absolutely lethal.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough to look down at where I was clutching my midsection. His gaze swept from my protective hands up to my face, reading the truth of the pain there. I saw the exact moment his understanding crystallized. It wasn't just exhaustion or thirst. Someone had put their hands on me. Someone had hurt me.
A sound escaped him—a low, visceral noise that was nothing human, followed by an aura that could kill. It was the sound of pure, undiluted fury being torn from the very core of him. The devastating relief in his eyes was instantly incinerated, replaced by a black, murderous rage so profound it made my breath catch.
His arms tightened around me, but this time it was different. It was a possessive, sheltering fury. He pulled me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head, his face buried for a single, shuddering moment in my hair. I could feel the violent tension thrumming through his entire body, a bowstring drawn taut.
When he spoke, his voice was a ragged whisper against my ear, a vow spoken not to me, but to the universe.
"I will burn their entire world to the ground for this. I'll make them pay."
Then, he stood, lifting me with an impossible gentleness that belied the tempress I could feel raging within him. I curled into him, my face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—sandalwood, night air, sweat, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of violence. It was the scent of salvation, and now, of a promised vengeance. The world blurred and faded into a safe, warm darkness.
I awoke in a clean, quiet room. The throbbing ache throughout my body was a dull reminder, but the sharp edge of terror was gone. Flora was there, her gentle hands cleaning my wounds. When she left, Kaelen was in the doorway, having cleaned up but unable to hide the grim exhaustion in his eyes.
"How..." I began, my voice a hoarse scrap of sound. "How did you know?"
"You weren't at the final pre-launch meeting," he said, moving to sit beside the bed. His gaze was steady on me. "It wasn't like you. I asked Pauline. She confirmed you'd been missing since last night. She was the one who sounded the real alarm."
Gratitude for Pauline washed over me, a small, warm spot in the cold aftermath.
"The Island Residence..." I whispered, a fresh wave of panic rising. "The launch—"
"Don't," he cut in gently but firmly. "Don't worry about that. It's been handled. Charles issued a statement that you've taken a sudden, brief medical leave. The show will go on. Right now, nothing matters but you getting better."
Before I could ask, he provided the next piece. "Your father... Charles and I were both searching for you. It was a... divided effort. He was scouring the corporate and commercial districts. I took the docks and the underbelly."
He pulled out his phone. "He needs to know you're safe." He made the call, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Charles. I have her... She's safe... Shaken, but alive." He listened for a moment, his expression turning graver. "No. Don't come here. It's not secure. I'll keep her with me until we know what we're dealing with... I understand. We'll find who did this."
He hung up and looked at me. "He wants to know who did this as much as we do. He asked me to keep you safe. He understands that for now, that means you stay hidden, here with me."
Kaelen carefully laid me down on the crisp, white sheets of his bed. The world was a soft, blurry cocoon of pain and exhaustion.
I drifted in and out, catching snippets of Kaelen's low, furious voice from the hallway. "...alive... find everyone connected..." The words were ice, but the intent was a furnace.
Kaelen returned after a while. He had shed his ruined jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he couldn't wash the grim purpose from his face. He sat in the armchair beside the bed, not touching me, just watching. His presence was a solid, immovable wall between me and the world that had tried to break me.
"Sleep, Elara," he said, his voice a low thrum that vibrated in the quiet room. "You're safe here. No one will get to you again."
I believed him. In the sanctum of his room, surrounded by the scent of sandalwood and his unwavering focus, I felt the iron tension in my body begin to relent. My eyelids grew heavy, the throbbing in my skull softening to a dull rhythm. I let myself sink into the pillows, lulled by the sound of his steady breathing.
As darkness finally claimed me, it felt like peace.
It was a lie.