The storm raged outside, the rumble of thunder shaking the ground and lightning slicing through the darkened sky like jagged claws. Lia stirred restlessly in her sleep, her dreams pulling her into a suffocating darkness. A figure appeared—a shadowed man with a butcher knife glinting in his hand. He moved toward her with measured steps, his pace suddenly quickening. She tried to flee, but her legs felt like lead, her body frozen in place. Fear gripped her heart, and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The figure drew closer, his identity obscured by shadows and flashing light. Another streak of lightning lit up the room, and with a sharp gasp, Lia jolted awake.
A scream tore from her throat as she scrambled out of bed, her body trembling violently. She retreated into the shadows by her closet, curling into a tight ball, her knees pressed against her chest. Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as she tried to convince herself it was just a nightmare.
But when her bedroom door flew open with a bang, her heart leapt into her throat. Had he found her? She pressed herself further into the shadows, shutting her eyes tightly.
"Lia!" A familiar voice shouted.
But her fear was overwhelming, and she couldn't focus on the words. Instead, her mind swirled with questions. Who was that figure? Why was he after me? And how did he even get inside?
She didn't hear the heavy footsteps until it was too late. Strong hands grabbed her from the shadows, and a scream escaped her lips, muffled quickly by a firm hand. A hand snaked it's way grabbing her tiny waist as she was spun around and lifted off the ground.
"Lia, calm down!" Rhys barked, his voice cutting through her panic.
But she thrashed wildly, her legs kicking uselessly, her hands clawing at the air. Rhys cursed under his breath and carried her back to the bed. He pinned her down, his hands locking her wrists above her head, his weight pressing firmly against her to still her struggles.
"Stop it!" he snapped again, his tone softening as his eyes searched hers. "It's me, Lia. Look at me."
The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated his face, and her struggles ceased instantly. His dark, sharp features were softened by the silvery glow, his piercing gaze locking with hers. He looked impossibly handsome, the kind of beauty that made her forget her fear, her nightmare, even her own name.
Her heart raced—not from fear, this time, but from something far more primal. Heat coiled low in her belly as she stared at him. She cursed herself silently. What is wrong with me? Even now, her body betrayed her, responding to his proximity.
Rhys must have sensed her shift. His grip loosened, and his expression softened further. Lia, emboldened by the moment, reached up hesitantly, her fingers grazing the curve of his jaw.
"You..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
Rhys's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his body tensing under her touch. Lia's gaze dropped to his lips, her breath hitching. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss.
For a moment, he froze, startled by her boldness. But then his restraint shattered. He kissed her back, fiercely and unapologetically, his hands roaming her body as if trying to memorize every curve. Lia's world narrowed to the heat of Rhys's body and the searing press of his lips. His kisses were feverish, almost desperate, as if he had been holding himself back for far too long. His hands left her wrists, one sliding to cradle her cheek, the other trailing down her side, leaving a path of fire in its wake.
She gasped into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair. The weight of him pressed her deeper into the mattress, and she felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest. His scent—earthy, masculine, and intoxicating—enveloped her senses, making it impossible to think clearly.
Rhys's lips left hers, traveling along her jaw and down her neck. He paused at her collarbone, inhaling deeply before pressing a kiss there, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to send shivers racing down her spine. Lia's breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair.
"Rhys…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
His name on her lips seemed to stir something primal in him. He groaned low in his throat, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her top. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, and a spark ignited between them, drawing a soft gasp from her.
"Call my name again," he murmured, his voice husky and raw. His lips returned to hers, this time slower, more deliberate.
Lia's hands moved instinctively, tracing the broad expanse of his shoulders, through his shirt the hard planes of his chest. Every muscle under her touch felt coiled and tense, as though he were holding himself back. But she didn't want restraint—she wanted him.
"Rhys," she said again, more firmly this time, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
Her breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. His usual calm, controlled demeanour was gone, replaced by an unguarded hunger that made her stomach flutter.
But just as he leaned in to claim her lips again, a sharp voice shattered the moment.
"Where is he?"
Both froze, their heads snapping toward the door.
"Jasmine," Rhys muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
The door swung open, revealing Jasmine standing there, her eyes scanning the scene. She froze, taking in the dishevelled bed, Lia's flushed face, and Rhys's hand wrapped around her tiny waist in her seductive pyjama two-piece set that showed her alluring curves as he held her up. Her eyes narrowed, dark and calculating. Both Lia and Rhys were standing beside the bed, and it seemed like he was holding her up, albeit too closely.
"Lia," Jasmine said, her tone deceptively sweet as she stepped into the room. "Are you all right? I heard screaming."
She carefully peeled Rhys fingers away from Lia's waist, holding her while he stood to his full height with practised nonchalance. Lia scrambled to stand properly, pulling her top that had shifted up, back into place and willing her heart to stop racing.
"I'm fine," Lia said, her voice bold.
Jasmine's gaze lingered on Rhys, her lips pressing into a tight smile. "Rhys, darling, I was so worried I heard screaming and when I checked, you were gone. I thought something might've happened."
Her tone dripped with false concern, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. She turned back to Lia, her smile widening in a way that felt more like a challenge than reassurance.
"Well," Jasmine said, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve, "since everyone's fine, why don't we all go downstairs? Lia, you look like you could use some tea."
Rhys's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly to Lia before stepping aside. Lia started walking off, feeling the weight of Jasmine's gaze on her.
As she followed them out of the room, her mind whirled. The heat of Rhys's touch lingered on her skin, and her lips still tingled from his kiss. But as they descended the stairs, she could feel the growing storm brewing—not outside, but between Jasmine and herself.
Jasmine's grip tightened on Lia's arm as they descended the staircase, her movements as deliberate as they were calculated. Her smile was painted on, but Lia could feel the tension radiating off her, an invisible chain tethering her to the room upstairs where Rhys had just held her so close she could still feel his warmth.
"Come on, sweetheart," Jasmine cooed, her voice syrupy with a hint of steel. "Let's get you something to eat. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Or like you've seen your fiancé in someone else's arms, Lia thought The effort the woman was making especially with speaking to her as if she was a child. She almost laughed out loud but kept her face neutral. She let herself be led, even as Rhys's presence behind her lingered like a shadow, silent and imposing.
The living room felt suffocating. The air was heavy with unspoken words as Jasmine gestured for Lia to sit. "Here, doll," Jasmine said, her tone sugary but her eyes hard, as if daring Lia to make a move. "Sit down and relax. I'll fix you a snack."
Lia sank into the chair, a little too disoriented to protest. Her mind was a whirlpool of confusion—what the hell had that dream been about? It felt too real, too visceral, like she'd lived it. And then Rhys… Rhys had shattered the illusion with just his presence. His beauty had stunned her into temporary calm, though now that she was fully awake, the memory of his touch made her pulse race.
Rhys sat across from her, his movements fluid yet purposeful as he pulled out a chair. His face betrayed nothing, the perfect mask of indifference. Lia couldn't help but study him, her fingers unconsciously grazing her lips where his had been just moments ago. Her cheeks burned, but she didn't look away.
"Juice?" Jasmine's voice cut through her reverie, snapping her back to the present. A glass was placed in front of her with a little more force than necessary. Jasmine smiled tightly before retreating to the kitchen counter, her back turned but her ears clearly tuned in.
"So," Jasmine began, slicing bread with exaggerated precision, "what happened? I heard screaming, and then I woke up to find you gone, Rhys." The casual delivery couldn't hide the venom in her words. She was playing a dirty game, and they all knew it.
Lia almost admired the tactic. Jasmine's phrasing was so ambiguous that if Rhys called her out, she could easily claim innocence. But Lia wasn't about to let her win that round so easily. She knew for a fact that these two do not share a room at night.
"Oh gosh," Lia said with exaggerated sweetness, placing her glass down. "I do apologize for disturbing you two. I didn't mean to disrupt your… quality time."
Rhys, who had been quietly drinking his juice, didn't even flinch, his expression as unreadable as ever. Lia watched him closely, hoping for some kind of reaction—anything to explain why he hadn't pushed her away earlier. But he remained maddeningly calm, even as her words lingered in the air.
Jasmine shot Lia a sharp glance, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second before recovering. "It's fine," she said coolly. "I'm just glad Rhys was there to, ah, help you."
"Thankfully," Lia replied, her gaze locking on Jasmine with deliberate intent, "he arrived just in time to pull me out of that nightmare. He's quite skilled at it, actually."
That earned her a reaction. Jasmine's hand faltered on the counter, the knife clattering softly against the bread. Lia smirked into her glass, taking a slow sip and savouring the moment.
"Thank you, Rhys," she said, her voice soft but deliberate. It was the first time she'd used his name while with others, and it felt intimate, heavier than she intended.
Rhys finally met her gaze, his eyes dark and intense. Lia's breath hitched. How could someone look so effortlessly stunning? His face was a masterpiece—strong, symmetrical, and utterly captivating. Her traitorous mind replayed the feel of his lips against hers, the way he had kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe.
"You're welcome," Rhys said evenly, his voice low and smooth. He set his empty glass down and rose from his seat. "You're okay now. I'm going to bed."
Lia blinked, caught off guard by his abruptness. "Wait, your sandw—" she began, but he was already at the stairs, his broad shoulders disappearing into the shadows.
As soon as he was gone, the room's atmosphere shifted. The warmth Rhys carried with him vanished, replaced by a cold, suffocating tension. Jasmine turned to face Lia fully, her smile long gone, replaced by a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"I really overestimated you," Jasmine hissed, venom dripping from every word.
Lia raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Oh? In what way?"
"You think you've accomplished something tonight? Whatever game you're playing, stop. Now." Jasmine's hand slammed onto the table, rattling the glasses.
Lia leaned back in her chair, calm in the face of Jasmine's fury. "Relax. You'll hurt yourself carrying on like this." She lifted her glass in a mock toast. "Thanks for the drink. I'm going to bed."
Without waiting for a response, Lia stood and strode toward the stairs. She didn't look back, but she could feel Jasmine's hatred burning into her back.
Once in her room, she locked the door and sank onto her bed. Her mind was racing, but her body was too exhausted to keep up. As her head hit the pillow, one thought lingered: Why was Rhys strange to her, and why did she want to uncover every layer of him?
Sleep claimed her quickly, but not before her lips tingled with the ghost of his kiss once more.
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The room was dimly lit, with faint streaks of light peeking through the heavy curtains. The faint hum of the city outside was the only sound until one of Rhys's men stepped in, his posture firm, but his expression cautious.
"Padrino!" The subordinate greeted, bowing slightly. Rhys, sitting at the head of the room, swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze sharp and commanding.
"Did you look into it?" Rhys asked, his voice calm yet carrying a weight of authority.
"Yes, Padrino," the subordinate replied, standing straight. "Miss Lia was picked up by the Banjos that night. She was found unconscious near the flower shop, and her best friend, Ranyerechukwu Banjo, treated her injuries with medications from a nearby pharmacy. She didn't visit a hospital and hasn't displayed any unusual behavior since."
Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking slightly. His sharp jawline tensed as he processed the information. "Where is she now?"
"She's at the flower shop, Padrino," the man replied promptly.
"Does she have any university lectures today?"
"No, Padrino. Her schedule is clear."
Rhys set his glass down, the sound of it meeting the table sharp in the silence. "And her travel arrangements?"
"She uses the bus, Padrino. It takes her an hour and a half each way. Likely a cost-saving measure—her paycheck from the shop isn't much."
Rhys exhaled slowly, irritation flickering across his face. He had been so consumed with his business that he hadn't considered the day-to-day struggles Lia faced. Guilt, faint but insistent, tugged at him. He grabbed his car keys and stood.
"Follow me. One of you, stay near the shop to keep an eye on her. The other will escort her to the hospital. I've already arranged for her to be seen."
"Understood, Padrino," the men responded in unison, following closely behind as Rhys made his way to the car.
As the vehicle sped toward the flower shop, Rhys stared out the window, his thoughts churning. He remembered the kiss—raw, passionate, and unexpected. It wasn't just a fleeting moment. Something in Lia stirred emotions he thought he would never exhibit in this life. Yet his instincts warned him of danger.
"Drive faster," Rhys ordered, his voice sharp.