Leon doesn't knock.
He never knocks.
He simply steps into the bedroom of the penthouse like it already belongs to him—like I already belong to him—and closes the door with a soft, final click that makes my heart jerk.
My hands tighten around the edge of the vanity table. I'm still half-dressed from the gala, hair pinned up, makeup smudged from the storm outside. The rain still clings to my skin.
He takes one look at me, and his jaw tenses.
"You're shivering."
"I walked in the rain," I say flatly. "You disappeared into a meeting for an hour without telling me what was going on. I thought I should cool off."
"A risky way to do it," he mutters, shrugging off his coat.
"I'm fine."
"You're freezing."
"I said I'm fine."
He stops two steps away.
Lightning flickers beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting his face in sharp lines, shadows slicing across his cheekbones.
"Amelia," he says quietly. "Tell me what's wrong."
I laugh under my breath. "Where should I start? The press ambush? The board's grilling? My ex showing up again? Or the fact that your grandmother nearly fainted from joy when she thought we were trying for a baby?"
His eyes close for a beat.
Then—controlled—he opens them again. "Sit."
"No."
"Amelia."
"No."
"Sit down," he repeats, low, steady, and far too intimate.
My breath catches.
"Stop giving orders," I whisper.
He moves closer.
"I give them," he murmurs, "when I see you falling apart and pretending you aren't."
That hits too close to the bone.
He knows it.
His hand lifts—slowly. As if he's giving me a full three seconds to pull away if I want. I don't move.
He brushes his thumb across my damp cheek.
"You're warm," he frowns. "You're running a fever."
"I told you—I'm fine," I repeat, but my voice softens, betrays me.
He steps around me, grabs a towel from the bathroom, and begins gently drying my hair. Carefully. Methodically. Like every movement is deliberate.
It's too much.
Too close.
Too tender.
"Stop," I whisper.
"No."
"Leon—"
"You can fight me about anything," he says quietly as he works. "The contract. The wedding. The board. Your ex. But you won't fight me about your health."
My heart twists painfully.
"Why do you care?" I breathe.
His hands slow.
Lightning flashes again.
"I don't," he lies.
We both hear it.
He clears his throat, sets the towel aside, then lifts my chin gently.
"You went quiet after my meeting. Why?"
I swallow.
Because the truth is stupid.
Painfully stupid.
"Because you left me," I whisper.
His expression shifts—barely, but enough for me to see it. Surprise. Guilt. Something darker.
"You were surrounded," he says. "Reporters. Board members. Family. There was no threat."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"You promised you wouldn't let me face anything alone." My voice shakes despite me. "Then you walked away the moment things got complicated."
Silence.
Painful. Heavy.
"Amelia…" His voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "Look at me."
I don't.
He steps closer anyway, tilting my chin until our eyes lock.
"I didn't walk away from you," he says. "I walked away to stop the problem before it reached you."
"What problem?"
His jaw tightens.
"The board wanted to challenge your position as my wife," he says. "On legal grounds. They wanted to claim the marriage was rushed, impulsive—possibly a cover." His eyes sharpen. "They wanted to use you as leverage against me."
My breath stutters.
"And?" I whisper.
"I shut it down," he says simply. "Permanently."
"How?"
"You don't want to know."
Which means it was ruthless.
Typical Leon.
My voice is softer when I ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"
His answer is immediate.
"Because you were already terrified."
My pulse skitters painfully.
He steps closer again, until I feel the heat of his body.
"You think I don't notice?" he mutters. "You think I don't see the way you hold yourself together so tightly you could shatter with one breath?"
His hand slides down my arm, slow, grounding.
"What would you have added?" he continued. "More fear? More weight? More things for you to blame yourself for?"
I blink rapidly, eyes burning.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs.
"Like what?" My voice cracks.
"Like I hurt you."
My throat tightens.
"Leon…"
He exhales sharply, steps back, rubbing a hand through his hair like he's debating something dangerous.
Then, with quiet intensity:
"I don't want to hurt you," he says. "Not ever."
The words hit too hard.
Too real.
The room feels too small, the air too heavy.
Lightning cracks again—loud this time. The windows tremble.
I flinch.
He notices instantly.
Without thinking, he reaches out and pulls me gently against his chest.
I stiffen.
His arms tighten.
"You're safe," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."
And for once…
I let myself believe him.
Just for a moment.
But then—
BEEP—
BEEP—
BEEP—
An alarm blares through the penthouse.
The security lights flash.
Leon's entire body goes rigid.
"What was that?" I whisper.
He releases me instantly, every line of him turning lethal.
"That," he says, eyes narrowing, "is the perimeter alert."
"Meaning?"
"Someone just tried to enter the building without clearance."
A jolt of fear shoots through me.
"Who?" I whisper.
Lightning flashes outside.
The security system pings again—louder, more urgent.
Leon grabs his phone, checks the live feed.
His jaw turns to stone.
He turns the screen toward me.
My breath dies in my chest.
Because standing in the lobby…
Drenched in rain…
Smirking like he knows he's about to ruin everything…
Is my ex.
The elevator doors are already opening when Leon reaches the hallway.
I chase after him, heart pounding so violently I can hear it in my ears.
"Leon, wait!"
He doesn't.
He strides forward like a storm with a pulse—alive, furious, controlled only because he chooses to be.
He reaches the elevator first.
The doors slide open.
My ex stands inside, soaked, smug, hands shoved casually in his pockets like he's been invited.
"Evening, Amelia," he says, eyes dragging over me with sickening familiarity. "Miss me?"
Leon moves before I can breathe.
One hand slams against the elevator wall beside my ex's head, caging him in with a single, terrifyingly controlled motion.
The air vibrates with danger.
"You have ten seconds," Leon says, voice low and deadly, "to explain why you're in my building."
My ex's smile widens. "Relax, Hale. I just came to talk."
Leon's jaw tightens. "You don't talk to my wife."
"She used to be mine first," he replies.
Lightning flashes again.
This time, it's inside Leon's eyes.
"Amelia," Leon says quietly—too quietly. "Step back."
"Leon—"
"Step. Back."
I obey.
He leans in closer to my ex.
"When you saw her last," Leon says, "she was crying."
My ex shrugs. "She cries a lot."
The world tilts.
Leon's entire body goes cold.
"She cried," he repeated slowly, "because of you."
"Yeah," my ex says casually. "And?"
Leon lifts his hand.
For one terrifying heartbeat, I swear he's going to hit him.
But he doesn't.
He grabs the elevator control panel instead.
Slams the emergency stop button.
And the doors slide shut again—trapping the two men inside.
My blood turns to ice.
"Leon—no! Open it! Don't do this, don't—"
His voice comes through the intercom.
"Amelia."
I freeze.
"Go back to the penthouse."
"No!"
"Now."
Tears blur my vision.
"Leon—please don't do anything reckless."
"I'm not," he says.
His voice is steady.
Controlled.
Terrifying.
"I'm doing what I should have done the night he made you cry."
Static crackles through the intercom.
Then—
Darkness.
He cut the feed.
I don't breathe for the longest three minutes of my life.
When the elevator doors finally open again, Leon steps out first.
Calm.
Immaculate.
Uninjured.
But his eyes…
His eyes are warm.
Behind him, my ex stumbles out—pale, sweating, terrified.
He doesn't look at me.
He just runs.
Runs like something chased him out of hell.
Leon watches him flee down the hallway, then turns to me.
And when his gaze meets mine, everything inside me shatters.
Because he doesn't look angry.
He looks…
Worried.
"Amelia," he murmurs, stepping toward me.
I backed up.
He stops immediately.
"Did I scare you?" he asks quietly.
My voice trembles. "I don't know."
Lightning illuminates his face—harsh, beautiful, sharp with regret.
"I protected you," he says. "That's all."
"But what did you do?" I whisper.
He steps closer again, slowly, palms up like he's approaching something fragile.
"Nothing he didn't deserve."
"Leon—"
"He hurt you."
"That doesn't give you the right to—"
"Yes," he says. "It does."
My heart slams.
His voice softens.
"How many times, Amelia," he murmurs, "do I have to prove you're not alone anymore?"
I can't answer.
I can't breathe.
He reaches out, wipes a tear I didn't feel fall.
"Come upstairs," he says gently. "Let me take care of you."
And for the first time…
I don't argue.
I place my hand in his.
And he holds it like it's the first real thing he's ever touched.