POV: Kira
The morning felt heavy. The sun was bright, reflecting off the glass towers of the city, but for me, the world felt like it was held together by a single, fraying thread.
I stood behind the counter at The Gilded Bean, my hand tucked into my apron pocket.
The brace Julian had given me felt like a warm secret against my skin. It was more than medical equipment; it was the first time I had felt supported in three years.
I kept replaying the kiss in the dark. It had changed everything. I wasn't just a girl paying a debt anymore, and he wasn't just a billionaire with a god complex. We were two broken things trying to fit our jagged edges together.
"Kira? You okay?" my coworker, Sarah, asked, nudging my shoulder. "You've been staring at that espresso machine for five minutes."
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just a long night."
"Well, watch out. Your favorite customer is back."
My heart lurched. I expected to see Julian's sharp, commanding figure. Instead, I saw a flash of a leather jacket and a mop of messy dark hair.
Silas.
He wasn't in line. He was leaning against the condiment stand, watching me with a look of pure, unadulterated hunger. He didn't look like a businessman. He looked like a fire that was waiting for someone to pour gasoline on it.
He waited until the line cleared, then strolled up to the register.
"You look different today, Kira," he said, his voice a low drawl that made my skin crawl.
"More... hopeful. Did my big brother give you a treat? A little bit of mercy to keep you in line?"
"What do you want, Silas?" I asked, my voice cold.
"I want to know what it's like," he whispered, leaning over the counter. "To be the thing that makes the Ice King bleed. Julian hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. He's liquidating assets. He's moving security. He's acting like a man who has something to lose."
"I have work to do."
"Do you?" Silas reached out, his hand moving toward my face. I flinched back, but he didn't touch me. He just laughed. "He told you I was a monster, didn't he? He told you I'm the 'chaos.' But Julian is the one who keeps you in a dark room and makes you play for your life. Who's the real villain here, Little Shadow?"
"Leave me alone."
"Soon," Silas said, his eyes turning hard and cold as flint. "Very soon."
He turned and walked out, the bell on the door ringing like a funeral knell.
I finished my shift in a state of high-strung panic. I didn't wait for my bus. I started walking, my eyes darting to every black car that passed. I just wanted to get to my apartment. I just wanted to be behind a locked door.
I was two blocks from home when a van pulled up onto the curb, blocking my path.
The side door slid open. Two men—not Julian's men, but men with scarred faces and cheap suits—stepped out.
"Kira Rossi? You're coming with us," one of them said.
I didn't scream. I didn't have time. I turned to run, but a hand grabbed my hair, jerking my head back. I clawed at his arm, my new brace digging into his skin, but he was too strong.
"Silas wants to have a chat," the man hissed in my ear.
Suddenly, the roar of an engine drowned out my heartbeat.
A black SUV drifted around the corner, tires screaming against the asphalt. It didn't slow down. It slammed into the front of the van with a bone-jarring crunch.
The man holding me let go as he was thrown off balance. I fell to the pavement, skinning my knees.
The door of the SUV flew open.
Julian Thorne stepped out.
He didn't look like a billionaire. He didn't look like the man who listened to piano music in the dark. He looked like a god of war. His tie was gone, his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his eyes were glowing with a terrifying, lethal light.
He didn't say a word. He walked up to the man who had grabbed me and punched him with a force that sent him flying into the side of the van. The second man pulled a knife, but Julian moved faster than I could track.
He caught the man's wrist, snapped it like a dry twig, and slammed his head into the van's window.
Glass shattered everywhere.
"Julian!" I screamed.
He didn't stop. He was a whirlwind of controlled, brutal violence. He was protecting me, but he was doing it with a savagery that showed me exactly why the city feared The Vault.
Within seconds, both men were unconscious on the ground. Julian stood over them, his chest heaving, his knuckles covered in blood.
A car door opened nearby. Silas stepped out from a silver sports car parked a few yards away. He was clapping.
"Bravo, Julian! I haven't seen you lose your temper like that since we were kids. All this for a waitress?"
Julian turned. The look on his face made Silas's smirk falter.
"If you ever touch her again," Julian said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that shook the air.
"I won't just put you in a ward, Silas. I will erase you. I will burn every record of your existence until you are nothing but a bad memory."
"You're soft, brother," Silas spat, though he backed toward his car. "You're compromised. And that means you're done."
Silas sped away, leaving the smell of burnt rubber in the air.
Julian turned to me. The rage in his eyes didn't disappear, but it shifted into something else when he saw me huddled on the ground. He knelt down, his bloody hands hovering near me, afraid to touch me.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"I... I'm okay," I whispered, shaking violently.
He looked me in the eye. For the first time in the daylight, he didn't look away. He didn't hide behind his mask. I saw the raw hunger, the terror, and the absolute possession in his gaze.
"The 100 nights are over, Kira," he said.
"What?" My heart dropped. "Is the debt—"
"The contract is dead," he said, reaching out and finally pulling me into his arms. He held me so tight I could barely breathe, but I didn't care. "I don't want your nights anymore. I want everything. I'm moving you into the penthouse. Now."
"Julian, I can't—"
"You have to," he said, pulling back to look at me. "Because I can't protect you if you're not with me. And I've realized something today, Little Shadow."
"What?"
"I'd rather burn this city to the ground than let a single hair on your head be touched."
He picked me up, carrying me toward his SUV.
"Get in the car," he commanded.
This time, it wasn't a transaction. It wasn't a debt. It was a promise.
As we drove away from the wreckage, I looked at the man beside me. The "Ice King" was dead. The man who had saved me was a devil. And as he took my hand—his bloody hand in my braced one—I realized that the war had just begun.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't fighting alone.