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CHAPTER 4

Alana

“Alana?” The low rumble of his voice pulls me from sleep.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. I even drove around the block a couple of times, but the crew needs to clean the car now. Unless you’d rather sleep a little longer? I can reschedule them.”

I never fall asleep in cars.

Hell, I barely let anyone else drive.

My anxiety won’t allow it.

So the fact that I passed out with someone else at the wheel?

I must’ve been beyond exhausted.

“No, it’s fine. I just want to shower and get out of these clothes.”

Something flickers across his face at that, but he just nods and kills the engine.

He circles around to my door, but I’m already pushing it open and sliding from the seat.

He looks annoyed. Because I opened my own door?

This guy can’t be for real.

“I’ll grab your bag from the back,” he says, closing my door for me.

“Wait,” I call out as he opens the back door.

“Can you check under the seat for my phone? I dropped it before I got, you know… kidnapped.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my phone, holding it toward me.

“Already grabbed it for you.”

“What are you, my butler or my bodyguard?” I snap.

Too sharp. I wince. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m whatever you need me to be. As long as you’re safe and unharmed, my job is done.”

His words settle under my skin like a whisper I’m not sure I want to hear.

Makes me feel even worse about snapping.

We walk in silence toward the sliding doors that lead to the elevator.

There’s a touchscreen panel, fingerprint access or a code.

I move to scan my finger, but he steps in.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

“They’ve already loaded me into the system. Changed the code too, for obvious reasons.”

“Was that really necessary?” I ask.

“Your dad takes your safety very seriously.”

“Right. Can’t let anything happen to his most valuable asset,” I mutter as the elevator begins its climb to the top floor.

Neither of us speaks.

The only sound is the low hum of the machinery and the faint pulse of my heartbeat in my ears.

When the doors finally slide open, he steps aside, letting me go first. I move automatically toward my apartment door, reaching for my bag, only to realise it’s still slung over his shoulder.

Before I can say anything, he pulls a set of keys from his pocket (my keys) and fits them into the lock like he’s done it a hundred times before.

The door clicks open.

We walk in.

Immediately to the right is Tessa’s room.

Or… her old room, I guess.

Moving forward, you come to the dining area with its simple, elegant eight-seater table.

To the right, the kitchen opens up, sleek with marble counters and a minimalist design.

Just beyond the kitchen is the main bedroom.

Further along from the dining area is the lounge, bathed in natural light streaming in from the windows.

The space opens up onto a balcony that wraps around, offering a stunning view of the ocean.

The design is clean and modern, with whites and wood throughout, creating a Scandinavian feel that’s both calming and bright.

The apartment already feels emptier without Tessa.

I miss her.

I’m greeted by a deep, rumbling meow.

Salem. I bend down, wincing a little as I scoop him up.

I just need him close.

He’s a massive black Maine Coon, looks exactly like his namesake from Sabrina the Teenage Witch , only bigger and fluffier.

Same piercing yellow eyes.

Same inky black coat.

Although he’s got some grey around his face.

Makes him look like a little werewolf.

When you stretch him out, he’s nearly as tall as me.

No joke. Holding his large, furry body against me always helps to soothe my inner turmoil.

I turn to Hunter, still holding Salem and gently lift his paw in a wave.

“This is Salem,” I say.

“We already met,” he says, sliding his leather sleeve up a little so I can see some scratch marks and more of his tattoos.

He has really nice forearms, bulging veins snaking up them beneath the black ink.

I swallow hard.

“Didn’t give me the warmest welcome when I came to drop off my bags earlier.”

It’s strange, unsettling even, to swap the comfort of Tessa’s presence for this…

stranger.

“Sorry about that. He’s a bit prickly,” I say out loud.

Just like me , I think to myself.

“I’m going to go take a shower now. Make yourself at home, I guess.”

I put Salem down and walk toward the main bedroom.

I lock the door behind me.

To the left is my bed, cupboard, dressing table and the sliding doors that lead to the balcony.

To the right is the ensuite.

Completely open, with no actual door separating it from the bedroom.

A freestanding tub sits in the middle like a sculptural centrepiece, flanked by twin sinks and a wide mirror mounted along the back wall.

The toilet is tucked discreetly inside a frosted glass cube and the walk-in shower is tucked further to the side.

No door, just a minimalist pane of glass to keep the water in check.

I walk toward it and turn on the water, letting it run while I strip out of my clothes.

They hit the hamper with a dull thud.

Then I step into the shower.

I crank the water hotter.

Almost scalding. I need to numb the thoughts, burn them away.

Face wash. Shampoo. Conditioner.

Soap. Wash cloth. I breathe in.

Lavender. I should feel safe.

I should feel grateful.

But all I feel is pressure.

Like I’m seconds away from cracking open.

My chest starts tightening.

“The payment’s not in yet.”

I scrub.

“Should me and the boys take her for a little ride first? See how hard it is to break in diamond?”

I scrub.

“Oh, we’ve got ourselves a little fighter, don’t we?”

My hand trembles.

“Looks like Daddy just saved his little princess.”

I shatter.

I fall into a heap on the floor and the floodgates open.

The tiles press into my knees, too hard, too real.

I struggle for breath, taking large gulps of air, but there’s not enough oxygen in here.

I start to hyperventilate.

Fuck. I’m having a panic attack.

I need to get out of the shower.

I think I scrubbed myself raw.

Everything burns.

But I can’t move.

I’m frozen. I’m helpless.

It’s been over a year since my last attack.

Therapy helped. Routine helped.

Control helped. I learned my triggers.

I did the breathing.

I journaled. I worked.

My emergency meds are still in the bottom drawer of my vanity, untouched.

Just knowing they were there used to be enough.

A safety net. But now, the thought of needing them again makes my chest twist. Like if I take one, it means everything I’ve built has crumbled.

I know that’s not true.

But it feels true. And right now, my feelings are loud.

I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Alana, are you okay?”

How long have I been on the floor?

“Alana, answer me.”

I try to speak, to tell him I’m fine.

He doesn’t need to worry.

This happens. It will pass.

I don’t like being this vulnerable.

Maybe he’ll just go away.

“Alana, if I do not receive verbal confirmation that you are okay in the next five seconds, I am coming in.”

No, he can’t come in and find me like this.

The thought makes me panic in a whole new way.

I scramble, looking for my words, but my tongue is swollen in my mouth.

“One… two… three…”

No, no, no!

“Four… five!”

He bursts through the door like it’s nothing.

I try to get up, but I stumble and crash into the glass pane of the shower.

“Fuck,” he says and I swear something in his voice sounds like it’s broken.

I can’t think. I can’t see.

But I hear the shower shut off and then—

“Can I touch you?”

I try to speak.

To say no, I’m fine, please don’t—

But nothing comes out.

My hands are shaking.

My skin feels wrong.

Like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

“Fuck it,” he says and I feel a towel being draped over me and strong arms gripping me under my legs as he lifts me up.

My chest feels like it’s caving in.

I can hear his heartbeat.

Or maybe it’s mine.

And then, nothing. Just black.