The chain on Sadie’s door rattled, a thin line of rusted iron standing between her and whatever nightmare had tracked her down the concrete stairs of her building

The chain on Sadie’s door rattled, a thin line of rusted iron standing between her and whatever nightmare had tracked her down the concrete stairs of her building.

“I’m warning you,” Sadie’s voice shook, though she forced every ounce of steel she had left into the tone. “The cops are five minutes away.”

“They aren't,” the man outside replied. His voice was unnervingly level, devoid of frustration or haste. “And even if they were, they wouldn’t come up this stairwell. Not tonight. Not for you. Not for us.”

The man with the flattened nose pressed his shoulder against the wood. The deadbolt groaned, the old frame splintering with a dry, cracking sound.

Before Sadie could lunge for the knife block, the door swung wide open, the chain snapping from its moorings like thread.

A man stepped into the cramped hallway.

He moved with an absolute, predatory grace that belonged in a high-rise boardroom, not a decaying tenement in the South Side. His tailored charcoal suit was immaculate, completely untouched by the freezing rain outside. His hair was dark, cropped close, and his face was carved from stone—sharp jawline, straight nose, and eyes the color of winter ice.

Dominic Castile.

Sadie didn't know his name yet, but she knew the aura around him. It was the heavy, suffocating gravity of power. The kind of man who didn’t ask for permission; he simply collected what he deemed his.

Dominic’s cold gaze swept the room, taking in the peeling wallpaper, the sagging mattress, and finally, Sadie standing by the counter with a cheap paring knife gripped in her blistered hand.

“Put it down, Miss Brooks,” Dominic said, his voice a low baritone that vibrated in the small space. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have heard the knock.”

“Who are you?” Sadie demanded, keeping the knife raised, though her hands trembled so violently the blade shook. “What do you want from me?”

Dominic stepped further into the room, ignoring the weapon entirely. His eyes dropped to her hands, noting the crude gauze wrapped tightly around her raw, blistered palms. A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his features before vanishing behind a mask of chilling indifference.

“You pulled my mother from a burning building twenty-four hours ago,” Dominic said, his gaze returning to her eyes. “That makes you either an exceptionally foolish Good Samaritan or an elaborate piece on a board I didn't set up.”

Sadie swallowed hard, the ash still coating her throat making it difficult. “I didn’t plan a fire. I was walking home from a double shift. I heard someone screaming. Anyone would have done it.”

“No,” Dominic corrected softly, stepping closer until the air between them felt charged with static electricity. “No one else did. Every other neighbor watched from behind locked doors. You walked into a furnace.”

“And now you’re here to do what?” Sadie’s chin rose, defiance warring with terror. “Kill me because I saw too much? Finish what whoever torched that house started?”

Dominic paused a few inches away from her. He was taller than he looked, casting a long shadow across the linoleum floor.

“If I wanted you dead, you would have expired in that alley,” Dominic said quietly. “Instead, you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”