Cynthia Brooks didn't notice the first time.
The penthouse elevator descended smoothly, soft music playing overhead as she adjusted the strap of her bag. Alexander had been pulled into an urgent call—something about internal security—and Julianne had messaged again, insisting she needed to see her.
Just a quick coffee, Julianne had said.
I can't keep pretending everything's fine.
Cynthia had promised Alexander she wouldn't leave the building.
And technically, she hadn't.
The private café was still within the complex.
The doors slid open.
She stepped into the marble-floored lobby, sunlight spilling through the glass walls. Everything looked normal. Calm. Safe.
Too safe.
She felt it halfway across the room—a faint pressure between her shoulder blades. The kind you feel when someone's gaze lingers too long.
She slowed.
The feeling didn't go away.
You're imagining it, she told herself.
Cynthia stepped outside, the air warm, city sounds humming. She walked toward the café entrance, phone in hand, replying to Julianne.
That's when she heard it.
Footsteps.
Not loud. Not rushed.
Just… steady.
She stopped to check her phone screen.
The footsteps stopped too.
Her heart skipped.
She turned casually, pretending to scan the street.
A man stood a few meters behind her. Mid-thirties. Dark jacket. Neutral expression. Forgettable in the way professionals often were.
He looked away immediately.
Cynthia exhaled.
Coincidence.
She resumed walking.
The footsteps returned.
This time, closer.
Her pulse picked up.
She turned into the café, bell chiming softly as she entered. The smell of coffee wrapped around her, grounding her nerves. She chose a table near the window, sitting with her back to the wall—something Alexander had unconsciously taught her.
She ordered.
Sat.
Waited.
And then—
The man entered.
He didn't look at her.
Didn't approach.
He ordered a drink, stood near the counter, phone in hand.
Cynthia's fingers tightened around her cup.
Okay. Now you're not imagining it.
She subtly texted Alexander.
Cynthia: Are you still on the call?
Alexander: Yes. Why?
Cynthia: I think someone's following me.
The reply came instantly.
Alexander: Stay where you are. Do not leave. I'm coming.
Relief washed over her—but it didn't erase the tension coiling in her chest.
She lifted her cup, pretending to sip, eyes tracking the man's reflection in the window.
He hadn't sat down.
He was waiting.
Her phone buzzed again.
Alexander: Describe him.
She did.
The man shifted suddenly, as if sensing her attention. He turned, their eyes meeting for the first time.
Cold.
Assessing.
Not friendly.
Cynthia's breath caught.
He smiled.
Just slightly.
And then he walked out.
Her heart hammered.
What does that mean?
Was he done? Or just confirming something?
The café door chimed again moments later.
Alexander walked in.
The room seemed to recalibrate around him—his presence sharp, commanding, protective.
He spotted her immediately and crossed the space in long strides.
"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly, scanning her face, her hands.
"No," she whispered. "But he was here. He followed me from the lobby."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Did he speak to you?"
"No."
"Good."
He sat across from her but angled his body slightly, eyes on the street outside. "You did the right thing."
She swallowed. "Was it Ethan?"
"No," Alexander said after a pause. "But he's connected."
That sent a chill through her.
Alexander leaned closer, lowering his voice. "They wanted to see if you'd leave alone."
Her chest tightened. "And now they know I will."
"No," he corrected softly. "Now they know you won't again."
She looked at him. "I didn't mean to put you in this position."
Alexander's gaze softened, just a fraction. "Cynthia, you are the position."
Her breath caught at the intensity in his voice.
"I should've stayed," she said quietly.
"Yes," he replied honestly. "But I'm here now."
His hand covered hers—firm, grounding, protective. Not rushed. Not possessive. Just… present.
For a moment, the world faded.
Then Alexander stood. "We're going home."
Back in the elevator, the silence felt heavier.
"Julianne won't stop," Cynthia said suddenly. "She knows something's wrong."
Alexander exhaled slowly. "Julianne insisting on seeing you is exactly what worries me."
"You think she's in danger too."
"Yes."
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse.
Mr. Heathcliff stood near the entrance, alert. Evan was already inside, phone pressed to his ear, tension etched into his features.
Alexander's voice turned sharp. "Lockdown protocol. Now."
Evan nodded. "Already in motion."
Cynthia's heart pounded.
This wasn't a warning anymore.
This was escalation.
Alexander turned to her, his voice lowering. "Tonight, you don't leave my side."
She met his gaze. "I wasn't planning to."
Something unspoken passed between them—fear, trust, and something deeper threading through it all.
Outside the penthouse, somewhere in the city below, someone was watching.
And this time, they weren't just observing
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