Derick pov
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She doesn't realize who I am. Not yet.
She sits curled up on my couch, legs tucked beneath her, hair a disheveled halo around her face. Her eyes are swollen, bloodshot from tears and exhaustion. But even now, she's beautiful. Fragile. Like glass on the edge of shattering.
Adeline.
I've said her name a hundred times in silence. Written it. Whispered it to the dark. I know her favorite coffee order, the way she bites her lip when she's nervous, how her voice trembles when she's angry but still holds back. I had a room dedicated for her , my goddess.
I've watched her walk to work, seen her stand alone on her balcony, pretending not to cry. I've memorized the way her eyes dull after every long day. I knew she would break. She had to. Haa if only she knows..
But I never expected it to be this soon.
Seeing her running—bloody, terrified, desperate—was almost more than I could handle. For a second, I'd wanted to hurt them. The ones who took her. It should've been *me* who made her suffer, who tore her down—only to rebuild her in my image.
But they touched what's mine.
Unforgivable.
I apply the last of the bandages, noticing how she leans slightly into my touch. She's starting to trust me. That's good. That's necessary.
"You're safe now," I say softly, knowing the weight those words carry.
She looks up at me, and my breath catches. There's vulnerability there, but not fear. Not of *me*. That matters more than she could ever know.
"Who were they?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
She hesitates. "I… I don't know. I think it has something to do with someone I exposed. A celebrity."
I nod slowly, masking the flicker of rage that burns in my chest. So it's true. Someone else tried to hurt her. I should've seen it coming sooner.
"I'll find out who they are," I say. "And I'll make sure they never touch you again."
Her eyes widen slightly at the promise in my tone, but she doesn't question it. She simply nods.
I stand and walk to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly. The road is empty. No signs of pursuit. Not yet. But this won't stay quiet for long.
She's the type the world feeds on—too good, too stubborn, too trusting. She'll go back to that ugly little job, pretending this never happened. She'll laugh it off. She'll try to be strong.
Unless I stop her.
Unless I give her something better.
Someone who sees her. All of her.
I turn back to her. She's watching me with a look I've never seen before. Wariness mixed with something softer. Gratitude? Curiosity?
I step closer.
"You should rest," I tell her.
She hesitates, but nods.
"I'll be here," I say, and I mean it more than she knows.
She doesn't realize this is the beginning. That I've already stepped into her life. That I've been waiting for this moment.
And now that she's here?
She's never leaving.
---
--Adeline pov
I wake up to the scent of fresh coffee and something warm on my skin. A blanket. Thick and soft, not mine. Definitely not mine.
I sit up slowly, wincing as my muscles protest. My knee throbs, the bandage still wrapped tightly around it. Then it hits me.
The warehouse. The escape. The man.
Derrick.
My eyes scan the room. It's beautiful in a cold, modern kind of way. Minimalistic, expensive. Walls of dark wood and black marble. It doesn't feel lived-in, but it screams wealth and power.
He enters the room silently, holding two cups.
"You're awake," he says, handing one to me.
"Yeah…" I take it, feeling the warmth seep into my fingers. "Thank you. For helping me."
He shrugs, sitting in the armchair across from me. "You would've done the same."
I'm not so sure. The world I know isn't this generous.
I sip the coffee. It's perfect. Of course it is.
"I should probably head home soon," I say.
He doesn't answer right away. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"After what happened, going back alone—especially back to your job—isn't safe."
I tense. "I can't just abandon my life."
He nods slowly. "Then change it."
My heart skips.
"What are you talking about?"
"I want to offer you something else. Work here. With me. I'll pay you double whatever your job gives you now. No paparazzi. No scandals. No backstabbing colleagues. You'll be safe."
My jaw drops slightly. "You… want me to work for you?"
He nods.
Doing what, exactly?
"What kind of work?"
"Nothing shady," he says quickly, a faint smirk on his lips. "I run several media and tech firms. One of them needs someone sharp, someone who understands how the industry works. You'd be my personal media advisor. You'd report directly to me."
My stomach twists. This is too much. Too sudden. Too… kind.
"Why?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you being nice to me?"
There it is—the question I've been holding back since he bandaged my wounds.
He looks at me for a long time. Something flickers in his eyes, something unreadable.
"You didn't deserve what happened to you," he says softly. "And people like you… they get eaten alive out there. I've seen it too many times."
That doesn't really answer it, but I let the words hang between us.
Because deep down, I want to believe him.
Because I'm tired.
Because I'm scared to go back to a world that wanted to break me.
And because for the first time in a long time, someone saw me fall—and didn't look away.
-
---
I set the coffee down and look away, my fingers tightening around the blanket.
"Thank you," I say after a pause, "but I can't just say yes to something like that."
Derrick doesn't seem surprised. He leans back, his expression unreadable again.
"I'm not expecting an answer now."
That throws me off a little. I expected him to push harder. To convince me. To tell me it's the only way.
Instead, he's giving me… space?
"You've been through enough," he continues. "And I get that you don't trust me. You shouldn't—not yet. But you will. Eventually."
His confidence unsettles me. Not because it's arrogant, but because it's steady. Grounded.
"I just met you," I murmur.
"And yet you ran into me like you were meant to."
My eyes shoot up to meet his, and something heavy settles in my chest. He means it. He actually believes that.
"I need time," I say.
He nods. "You've got it."
It's quiet after that. Not uncomfortable, but loaded. I sip the rest of my coffee, my thoughts louder than the silence.
He offers safety. Stability. A new start.
But at what cost?
I've learned the hard way that nothing comes for free. No matter how kind the voice, there's always something behind it.
Still… something in me wants to believe.
Just not yet.
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