"Hasn't she woken up?" the voice murmured, bent over her.
Diane could feel his presence too close. His body hovered near hers, close enough that she sensed him even though she couldn't move. She could hear him clearly, his voice low and intimate.
Have I been kidnapped? she whispered in her mind.
The man studied her face intently, and a faint curve appeared on his lips. "She's even prettier when she's asleep," he said, his tone teasing.
Diane wanted to run desperately. But her body refused to obey. The effects of the gas were slowly wearing off, leaving her trapped in a helpless in-between state of awareness yet powerless.
He reached out and picked up a strand of her dark hair, brushing it back slowly, with an almost careful tenderness, as if it were his duty. His fingers followed the movement of the strand with focused interest, as though he were lost in her quiet beauty.
The peaceful way she slept stirred something in him, something dangerously tender, something he couldn't quite understand. He couldn't fathom why she affected him this way.
He smiled softly, watching her breathe, so calm and still, nothing like her chaotic, stubborn self when she was awake.
Then he stepped away, leaving her sleeping peacefully.
Hours later, Diane began to stir.
Her body slowly regained its strength as the drowsiness faded. She whimpered softly, her vision blurring and then sharpening little by little.
When she finally woke, her sight was still hazy, but clear enough for her to think.
I need to escape, she decided instantly.
But something felt wrong, she could move her hands freely.
Isn't this a kidnapping? she thought. Shouldn't I be tied up...at least?
If she had been kidnapped, shouldn't she be in an abandoned warehouse? Diane wondered. Or at least somewhere deep in the woods?
Nothing about this made sense.
She slowly sat up, her eyes scanning the room. This was not what she had imagined—not fear, not filth, not chains. Instead, the room was glamorous, painted in deep black and rich gold. Everything gleamed softly, every detail deliberate. The colors didn't just decorate the space; they carried authority.
Power lived here.
Her breath caught as she felt something warm around her shoulders.
A blanket, white and soft.
She looked down, her mouth falling open. "Oh no…" she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. "How did I get here?"
Her head snapped up as fear fully set in. She looked around wildly, her heart pounding.
Then she saw the curtains, white and sheer, billowing as the wind slipped in through an open balcony door.
Her gaze followed the movement, and she froze.
A figure stood outside or rather, leaned casually against the railing, relaxed, almost peaceful. His calm presence stood in sharp contrast to the chaos twisting inside her chest.
She frowned, confusion mixing with fear.
Slowly, the man turned. He held a glass in one hand, half-filled with a brown liquid, the other resting casually at his side. The light caught his form, outlining him clearly. Diane's eyes widened.
It was Llewellyn.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, only trousers and an expensive robe hanging open, revealing a smooth, sculpted chest that seemed almost unreal.
All she could do was stare.
Llewellyn lifted the glass to his lips and took another slow sip, his gaze fixed on her. There was something gentle in his expression, something almost caring but he hid it quickly. Diane noticed. And unfortunately, her eyes betrayed her.
They drifted accidentally, she told herself; down to his chest.
Her face heated instantly. How can he be this comfortable? she thought, snapping her gaze away
"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice low and calm.
Instead of answering, Diane suddenly threw the blanket open—then just as quickly yanked it shut again.
The movement was dramatic. Almost comical.
Her heart pounded wildly. What if he did something to me? The thought came uninvited, and she hated herself for it.
Llewellyn frowned slightly, clearly puzzled by her reaction. His brows furrowed with interest rather than anger.
"How dare you," she blurted out.
"…What?" he replied casually.
She didn't explain. She just stared at him—sharp, accusing, full of unspoken questions.
"I'll report you to the cops," she snapped and that finally made him frown.
He stepped closer, lifting a hand to rub his brow in mild disbelief. "That was rude," he said evenly. "I only carried you here.
She jumped out of the bed immediately, standing her ground in front of him, chin lifted defiantly. Surprisingly, she felt no fear only confusion.
He looked at her through his lashes, something soft lingering in his eyes.
"I found you unconscious on the floor," he continued. "I helped you. I brought you to my room.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, relaxed but alert, while she stood there watching him, scratching her head. None of this made sense.
"What happened?" he asked, his tone casual but she caught it. The subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his body stilled.
Something darker waited beneath the calm
"I was attacked," she said quietly. "By a guy named Brian…"
The moment she said the name, Llewellyn's eyes darkened
Diane began pacing the room, her thoughts unraveling. "…Then he—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "He put something over my face. I remember the smell… and then nothing."
"Brian," he repeated, the name sounding foreign and dangerous on his tongue.
Diane stopped pacing. Something about his tone made her chest tighten. "You… you know him?"
Llewllellyn didn't answer immediately. He turned away from her, walking toward the balcony. The glass in his hand cracked slightly under his grip.
"Yes," he said finally. "I do."
That single word sent a chill through her.
She took a cautious step toward him. "Then why am I here?" she asked quietly. "Why your room?"
He turned back to her, eyes dark and sharp, no trace of softness now. "Because you collapsed in the middle of my hall," he said. "And because whoever touched you tonight made a very big mistake."
Her breath caught.
"That man wasn't invited," he continued, voice low and controlled. "Which means someone let him in. And that means this wasn't random."
Diane's heart began to pound. "You're saying… I was targeted?"
Llewllellyn's gaze softened just a fraction as it met hers. "I'm saying you're not safe tonight."
She hugged her arms around herself. "Then why am I not tied up?" she blurted out. "Why am I in a bed, in a blanket, in a room that looks like it belongs to a king?"
For the first time, something like amusement flickered across his face.
"If I wanted to kidnap you," he said calmly, stepping closer, "you wouldn't be asking questions."
Her pulse raced but strangely, she believed him. He stopped a step away, careful not to touch her.
"You're here because this is the safest place in the building," he said. "And because I was not about to hand you over to anyone else."
She searched his face, trying to find deception, but found none, only restrained anger.
"So what happens now?" she asked.
His eyes locked onto hers. "Now," he said quietly, "I find Brian."
A shiver ran down her spine, not from fear, but from the certainty in his voice.
He turned from her, walking back to the bed, and sat down, with his jaw clenched.
Then her eyes betrayed her again.
They drifted back to his chest, and this time, they lingered far longer than she intended. She found herself captivated by the way his stomach was flat and faintly gleaming under the soft light.
He noticed, of course he did.
Llewellyn watched her through half-lidded eyes, a knowing, almost dangerous look settling on his face as her gaze wandered. Instead of stopping her, he allowed it. Enjoyed it.
A slow smirk curved his lips. He set his glass down and sat casually, crossing his legs as if he had all the time in the world.
"The way you look at me," he said smoothly, "is unsettling."
She snapped her eyes up, mortified and froze the moment she met his gaze. There was something else there now. Something unmistakable.
"Why are you shirtless," she blurted, flustered, "when you know I'm in here with you?"
He tilted his head slightly… and then, deliberately, his eyes dropped to her chest.
The realization hit her like cold water. I'm alone in his room wearing this!
She quickly lifted a hand to shield herself, heat rushing to her face.
"Because it's hot in here," he replied, turning his head away too calmly.
She narrowed her eyes. "But the AC is on."
He glanced back at her, unimpressed. "You're in a guy's room," he said. "And you expect him to put on a shirt?"
"Yes," she shot back.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Well, it's my room. I decide if I wear one or not."
She took a step back. Then another.
He watched her feet move, understood immediately, and his expression softened just a fraction.
"Diane," he said quietly, "I wouldn't do anything to you. I'm not a maniac."
But the air between them remained thick, charged with everything neither of them was ready to say.
She turned and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"Home," she replied firmly. "The date is over. I've done my part, so I'm leaving."
"You can't," he said sharply. "Not in this state. It could be worse out there."
She scoffed, hurt flashing in her eyes. "As if this date didn't bring this mess on me in the first place."
He stood up and before she could react, his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back. She jolted forward, losing her balance, and he instinctively reached out to steady her—but the movement was too sudden.
They fell.
She landed on the bed with a soft gasp, and he came down with her, bracing himself just in time. Their bodies were far too close.
Their faces hovered inches apart.
Diane swallowed hard, her eyes widening as she stared up at him. One wrong move, just one and...
He looked down at her, frozen, his gaze searching her face. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, something he didn't try to hide.
His hand shifted against the white sheets as he pushed himself up slightly, and that was when he noticed the fear in her eyes.
He sighed, as if he wanted to say something, but she lifted her hand and pressed a finger softly to his lips, silencing him.
That single touch sent his pulse racing, something wild stirring in him as her fingers brushed his mouth. Her eyes drifted over his chest, lingering, until she noticed a dark scar at his side, deep, almost like a tattoo. She frowned slightly, curiosity flickering through her fear.
He caught her hand gently, lowering it, his fingers warm against her skin. He leaned closer, breathing her in.
"You're too attractive for me to restrain myself, Diane," he murmured, his voice low, dark like a secret whispered at midnight.
His gaze dropped briefly to the exposed skin of her dress. Heat flooded her senses. She felt his breath against her bare skin, a shiver racing through her, spreading everywhere at once. And he noticed everything.
"I like you," he said quietly.
"What?" Her voice broke, barely more than a whisper.
"I like you, Diane," he repeated, as if finally surrendering to the truth.
Her cheeks burned instantly, the heat betraying her. She couldn't hide it. He saw it and smiled.
"Red suits you," he murmured.
Her body trembled as he leaned closer, closer still. Panic and desire tangled inside her. She pushed weakly at his chest, trying to steady herself but he drew her back, his voice urgent, restrained.
"Diane, let me just..."
His face hovered inches from hers. A kiss so close she could almost feel it.
Then...
Knock. Knock.
"Boss!"
The moment shattered. Diane's pulse spiked. She wasn't sure if she was more startled of who was knocking or of what Llewellyn might do next.
.
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