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ANDI

B eing followed should have made her feel safer… it didn’t.

Not even when the man doing the following was six-foot-two of tactical precision and glacial calm, with arms like tree trunks and a voice built to command obedience. Not even when he knew how to sweep a room, silence a threat, and dismantle an argument without ever raising his voice. Especially not when he walked three steps behind her like her own personal storm cloud—controlled, silent, and always watching.

Andrea Donato had built her career on being in control. She didn’t surrender. She negotiated. She commanded. She handled it.

Except now? Now she had Mitch Langdon, and there was no negotiating with Mitch Langdon.

From the moment he entered a room, the air changed. People noticed. Men looked twice. Women looked longer. Even the jaded political donors at tonight’s event paused when Mitch walked through the door behind her, dressed in matte black like he owned the shadows.

Andi stood near the check-in table at The Alder Club, one of Chicago’s most exclusive private venues, watching the way guests filtered past the velvet rope and into the candlelit atrium beyond. High ceilings. Marble floors. Bartenders in matching vests poured cocktails under golden light. Everywhere she looked, there were handshakes, practiced smiles, champagne flutes raised in curated camaraderie.

Behind her, she felt Mitch before she heard him. The low thud of his boots on tile. The way the conversation shifted just slightly in his presence. Like the entire room understood that something dangerous had entered—and it wasn’t here to network.

“You’re scanning the exits,” he murmured.

“I always scan the exits,” Andi replied, adjusting the sleeve of her cream silk blazer. “It’s basic situational awareness.”

“You didn’t do it when we got to the campaign office this morning.”

She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “Maybe I just like doing it when you’re watching.”

His eyes held hers. Steady. Unmoved. “You’re not here to play games tonight.”

“I never am.”

His gaze dropped to her legs. Just briefly. But she felt it—hot and assessing.

The dress had been a calculated choice. Pale ivory. Strapless. Cut perfectly to skim curves she usually tried to downplay. It made her feel strong. Sharp. Unapologetically visible.

It also made her feel like a lamb surrounded by wolves.

She turned toward the club’s interior, catching her reflection in the mirrored panel beside the doorway. Her hair was in an updo; her makeup was elegant but bold. A politician’s mask with a woman’s mouth beneath it.

And Mitch, a few feet behind, watching every man in the room who looked at her for too long.

“Try not to kill anyone,” she muttered under her breath.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Inside, the ballroom was already buzzing with donors and dignitaries. Jazz played softly from a trio near the stage. Servers circled with silver trays of cocktails and canapés. Her campaign team had worked for weeks to put this together. Even Maya looked momentarily impressed, standing near the bar, coordinating with the press liaison on last-minute details.

Andi made her rounds. Smile here. Handshake there. She thanked supporters, greeted city officials, leaned in when needed and pulled back when appropriate. Her feet moved automatically, the campaign mask fitting as snugly as her heels.

Mitch didn’t hover. He shadowed. Distant enough to avoid attention. Close enough to shut down anything that tried to get too close.

She was halfway through a conversation with a state rep’s finance chair when she felt it. The air shifted. Not because of Mitch. Because of silence.

For one small, unnatural moment, the buzz of conversation around the bar faltered. Glass hit the floor, shattering discreetly. A waiter whispered something sharp to another, who immediately disappeared behind the rear curtain.

Mitch was suddenly beside her. She didn’t see him move. He was just there.

“Don’t turn around,” he said quietly. “Keep talking.”

Her mouth moved, but she couldn’t remember what she was saying.

“There’s movement by the service corridor. One of the back staffers just made a drop.”

“A drop?” she repeated, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“Something small. Hand off to a second person. Near your car.”

Her pulse kicked.

“You said my car was secure.”

“It was. Until thirty seconds ago.”

Mitch touched her elbow. Barely. But the contact buzzed straight through her spine. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She turned to follow him, but the man she’d been speaking to—a portly donor with onion breath and a walrus mustache—put a hand on her shoulder.

“Andrea, dear, I have one more question…”

Mitch’s hand closed around the man’s wrist. Not tight. Not cruel. Just enough to be noticed. “She’ll be in touch.”

Andi didn’t wait for a reaction. She was already walking.

He moved beside her, keeping her body between him and the crowd as he guided her through the ballroom toward the hallway leading to the coatroom. His hand hovered near the small of her back—never touching. Always ready.

“I have a backup vehicle two blocks down,” he said. “Cerberus is scanning the feed now.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Could be a tracker. Could be worse.”

“Define worse.”

His jaw flexed. “You won’t like it.”

She pushed anyway. “Tell me.”

“Explosive. Lethal. Personal.”

They reached the back hallway. She yanked open the door, ignoring the startled hostess standing by the private elevator.

“Take the long route around the catering bay,” Mitch ordered. “We’re not using your car.”

She froze. “If someone planted something…”

“They’re watching. They didn’t intend for us to find that drop. It was meant to send a message.”

Andi’s stomach churned. She wasn’t just being watched; she was being hunted.

Mitch’s phone buzzed. He checked the message and gave a single nod.

“Confirmed. Package placed beneath your vehicle’s rear bumper. Cerberus drone caught it on thermal. No detonation device. It’s not active.”

“But it could’ve been,” she whispered.

“Yes, and that’s the point.”

Silence bloomed between them. Andi felt the burn in her chest rise, too hot to swallow. All of this—the threats, the crash, the whispers—had felt distant somehow. Abstract. But now… Now she understood what he’d been trying to tell her. Now she understood what control really cost.

Mitch opened the back door to the alley, the night air damp and thick against her skin. The unmarked Cerberus SUV pulled up silently. Another operative was driving.

Mitch opened the rear door, guiding her inside without touching her. She sat down, her breathing shallow. He slid in beside her and closed the door with quiet finality. She didn’t realize she was shaking until the car door closed behind her.

Not a big tremble. Not anything dramatic. But her fingers, wrapped around her clutch like a lifeline, twitched against the leather. Her jaw ached from holding it too tight. Her throat burned from words she hadn’t said—things she couldn’t say. Not in front of donors. Not under the lights. Not while being watched.

For the first few blocks, they didn’t speak. Andi stared straight ahead, hands clenched in her lap.

Then, finally: “You were right.”

He looked at her. “About what?”

“This isn’t politics anymore.”

“No,” he said. “It’s war.”

The rest of the ride back to the loft was silent. The Cerberus vehicle pulled up to her building, and Mitch helped her out of the car and moved her inside. He didn’t ask if she was okay.

The door to the loft shut behind them, and Mitch double-checked the interior cameras before stripping off his jacket and placing it on the counter. He moved with the kind of precision she usually envied in other people. Right now, it made her want to throw something.

Andi stalked into the center of the open-concept space and spun to face him. “How long were you planning to keep that from me?”

He looked up from his tablet, cool and unreadable. “Until we were somewhere safe.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“Yes. It is.”

Her voice rose. “God, you’re impossible.”

“No. I’m right.” He stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “I worried when I told you about the drop at the club, you might panic.”

“I never panic.”

“Perhaps, but you might have alerted whoever was watching that we were on to them. Or worse—you might have confronted someone. Either way, you would’ve drawn attention. I needed you calm. Controlled. So I handled it.”

“You handled it like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.”

“No.” His voice didn’t rise, but it hit like a stone. “I handled it like you’re the one they’re trying to kill.”

The words hung in the air, and she felt her nipples respond to the authority and command in his voice. Andi crossed her arms over her chest, not for modesty—there was nothing modest about the dress still hugging her frame—but because her body betrayed her with every breath.

“You don’t get to keep making those decisions for me.”

“I’ll stop the second you stop making it necessary.”

That stopped her. Mitch took another step forward, closing the space between them. She could smell him now—leather, heat, something darker. Something elemental.

“I need to know that if someone puts a target on your back, you won’t step in front of the bullet out of pride.”

“I’m not prideful.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered for half a second too long. “You’re pride incarnate.”

She swallowed hard. “You think I can’t do this.”

“I think you’re trying to fight a war without armor. I think you’re trying to pretend that politics hasn’t turned into a battlefield. I think you’re scared—and you’re too damn proud to admit it.”

He was too close. And she didn’t want him to move.

Andi tilted her chin. “What do you want from me, Mitch? Obedience? Silence? Deference?”

His eyes flared. Not angry. Aroused.

“No.” He leaned in slightly, his voice a shade deeper. “I want honesty. I want you to stop pretending you don’t need me. And I want—” His jaw tensed, then loosened. “—I want you to stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to kiss you when you know damn well I’m going to.”

The words burned through her composure like fire through dry brush. Her breath caught. He saw it.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not if it’s out of pity.”

His laugh was low and dangerous. “There is not a single thing about you that inspires pity.”

And then he kissed her. There was no hesitation. No ask. Just command—the same way he gave orders, the same way he cleared a room, the same way he made her feel like she could finally stop pretending she wasn’t afraid.

His mouth claimed hers in one smooth, devastating sweep. Andi didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Her brain barely kept up with the feel of him—his hand fisting gently in her hair, pulling the pins from it so it could tumble down her back. He angled his body just enough to keep her trapped without touching anything inappropriate.

Except it was all inappropriate, and it felt like salvation.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, desperate for something solid. He deepened the kiss, coaxing a gasp from her, then backed off an inch—just enough to breathe the words against her lips.

“You think I don’t see you?”

She blinked, dazed. “What?”

“I see everything. The way you act like you’re the only one allowed to hurt. The way you keep pushing because you’re terrified of what happens if you stop. You’re not invincible, Andi. You’re just pretending.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She hated he could see that far into her. Hated that he wasn’t wrong.

“I have to pretend,” she whispered. “If I let it in—if I stop for even a second—it’ll consume me.”

His fingers tightened slightly in her hair. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to anchor her.

“Then let me carry it with you.”

She closed her eyes. It was the closest thing to surrender she’d ever allowed.

He kissed her again, slower this time—their tongues tangling together in a slow and sensual dance. Less command, more reverence. She clung to him like she was drowning, and for the first time since the crash—maybe even before that—she didn’t feel alone.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead touched hers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “And I don’t expect you to let go of everything overnight. But when it’s too much—when you feel like you’re slipping—you come to me. Understand?”

Andi nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“I understand.”

He kissed her temple, the gesture strangely intimate, then stepped back.

“You need to rest. Take a shower and get some sleep. Then we talk next steps.”

Just like that, the moment was gone. He was back in protector mode. And she stood trembling in the center of her loft, her lips swollen, her heart slamming against her ribs as if it craved more. Wanted him… and she had a terrifying feeling she wasn’t going to stop wanting him anytime soon.

The buzzing of her phone broke her reverie as an encrypted message from a number she didn’t recognize flashed across the screen:

You shouldn’t have brought him into this.