I didn't know silence could be this loud.
After everything that happened at the Hale Gala—my ex showing up again, my sister humiliating herself in front of half the city, the media flooding Leon with questions about our marriage, and Leon's terrifyingly calm threat to dismantle anyone who touched me—my head spun like a carousel I couldn't get off.
But nothing compared to the moment the elevator doors closed and Leon and I were finally alone.
His tie was loosened.
His jaw was clenched.
His eyes burned with something I didn't dare identify.
For once, Leon looked… undone.
Not by anger.
Not by business.
By me.
The elevator hummed as it ascended, but the tension between us was louder.
I clutched my clutch bag like a shield. "Are you going to say something?"
Leon kept staring at the elevator doors. "No."
"…No?"
"No," he repeated, voice low. "Because if I speak right now, I'll say something I shouldn't."
That stopped the world for a second.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
And that was somehow worse than any threat, any cold remark, any CEO-level intimidation.
Because silence, from Leon Hale, meant he was fighting something.
And Leon never fought—he conquered.
The doors opened to his penthouse. The city glittered below, lights shimmering like a thousand secrets waiting to be spilled.
Leon walked ahead, tension in each step.
I followed, pulse thudding.
The moment the door closed behind us, he turned toward me.
And he wasn't cold.
He wasn't ice.
He looked like a man on the edge of something dangerous.
"Are you hurt?" Leon asked.
His voice was too steady, like he was forcing it to be.
"Hurt?" I echoed. "From what?"
"Your sister." His jaw ticked. "Your ex. Those reporters. The entire city staring at you like you're an exhibit in a museum."
I swallowed hard. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I said I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"Leon—"
"You trembled when that reporter grabbed your arm."
My breath caught. "That was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing to me."
The air around us thickened.
His words weren't loud. They weren't dramatic. But they hit harder than anything he'd said before.
"Why?" I whispered before I could stop myself. "Why wasn't it nothing to you?"
His throat worked as he swallowed.
And then he said it.
The sentence that cracked the ice between us in half.
"Because you're my wife, Amelia."
My chest tightened painfully. "Contract wife," I corrected weakly.
"Wife, Amelia." His voice dropped. "And I will not tolerate anyone hurting what's mine."
I froze.
He froze too—as if he realized what he'd admitted out loud.
Possession.
Protection.
Emotion.
Too raw.
Too real.
I tried to breathe, to think, to remind myself that this was all temporary—but something in his eyes made my thoughts blur.
And then—
"You should sit," he said suddenly, turning away, voice clipped. "You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
"You are."
"No."
"You're shaking."
I looked down.
My hands were trembling.
Damn it.
Leon noticed everything.
He walked into the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves—dear God, why did that do things to me—and opened the refrigerator.
"You don't have to cook," I said nervously.
"I'm not cooking."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Ensuring you don't pass out."
He placed a plate of fruit on the counter.
Cut fruit.
Perfectly arranged.
"Did you—did you cut this?"
"Yes."
"You?? Personally??" I squeaked.
He shot me a flat look. "I do have hands, Amelia."
"Hands that sign billion-dollar deals, not slice strawberries into aesthetically pleasing shapes."
A faint twitch pulled at his lips.
That was practically a laugh for Leon Hale.
I sat, because my legs suddenly felt as stable as wet spaghetti.
He slid the plate toward me. "Eat."
"I'm not a child."
"Then stop acting like one," he said evenly.
My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
His eyes softened. "Amelia. You're exhausted. You're overwhelmed. You've had a day that would emotionally incapacitate most people."
I blinked.
Leon Hale was… worried?
"If you don't take care of yourself," he continued quietly, "I will."
My heart gave a traitorous lurch.
I picked up a piece of strawberry and ate it.
"Good," he murmured.
"You're bossy," I muttered.
"You agreed to marry me. You should've anticipated that."
"I signed up for a contract, not a dictator."
"You married the CEO of Hale Group, Amelia. Dictatorship was implied."
I snorted—an actual snort—and Leon's eyes flickered with startled amusement.
For a second, the tension between us loosened.
But then—
My phone buzzed.
I reached for it.
Leon's hand shot out and grabbed it first.
His eyes darkened when he read the screen.
"It's your sister."
"Give it to me."
"No."
"Leon—"
"She doesn't have access to you tonight."
"I don't need you screening my calls."
"You do when the caller has tried to destroy your life twice in less than twenty-four hours."
He wasn't wrong.
But he was infuriating.
I snatched the phone from him.
He let me—barely.
When I answered, Mia's voice hissed through the speaker like venom.
"Amelia, you RUINED me tonight."
I rolled my eyes. "You ruined yourself."
"You think marrying Leon Hale makes you untouchable?"
"Seems like it bothers you," I said sweetly.
"You'll regret this," she snapped. "Leon doesn't love you. He never will. And when he leaves you, I'll be there laughing."
Before I could respond—
Leon gently took the phone from my hand.
And hung up.
Just like that.
I stared at him. "You can't just do that!"
"Yes. I can." He set the phone aside. "She doesn't deserve access to your time."
"It's still my phone."
"And I'm still your husband."
My breath caught.
"Leon," I whispered, "you're being impossible."
He stepped closer.
So close the heat of him wrapped around me like smoke.
"Impossible," he murmured, "is what happens when someone threatens my wife."
"You can't keep calling me wife like that."
"Why?"
"Because it… because it sounds…"
"True?" he offered quietly.
I stopped breathing.
Leon reached up—slowly, giving me every chance to pull away—and brushed his fingers along my jaw.
Warm.
Gentle.
Careful.
Too careful.
"Someone once told me," he said softly, "that emotions make people weak."
"Who?"
"My father."
My chest squeezed. "Leon—"
He looked away.
"I believed him," he continued. "I built walls. I froze. I didn't let anything in."
Then his eyes locked onto mine again.
"Until you."
My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
"I don't want you to be afraid," he said. "Not of the city. Not of your past. And especially not of me."
"I'm not afraid of you," I whispered.
"You should be."
"No."
His jaw tightened. "Amelia…"
"You're not the monster you think you are," I said. "And you're not as cold as you pretend."
His breath shuddered.
He stepped closer.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to feel.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice strained. "And I will."
"I don't want you to stop."
Everything is still.
Leon leaned in—
But before our lips could meet—
Bang.
A sudden, violent knock slammed against the penthouse door.
We both jolted.
Leon's protective instinct snapped into place so fast I barely saw him move. He stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body as he approached the door.
His voice dropped to lethal ice.
"Who is it?"
A familiar voice answered.
"Leon Hale? This is Detective Rowan from the City Enforcement Bureau. We need to speak with your wife."
My stomach dropped.
Leon's fist clenched at his side. "Why?"
"It concerns an active investigation."
"What investigation?" Leon demanded.
The detective hesitated. Then—
"An arrest warrant has been issued."
I gasped.
Leon froze.
The air turned razor-sharp.
"An arrest warrant for who?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.
The reply made my blood turn to ice.
"For Amelia Hale."
Leon turned toward me slowly.
Not with anger.
Not with shock.
With something far worse.
A promise.
"No one," he said, voice quiet enough to terrify God, "is taking my wife."
And just like that—
the night erupted into a whole new war.