Chapter 5_ Familiar Darkness

She sat on the edge of her bed, the room dim and too quiet. Her hands pressed lightly against her knees, trying to steady herself. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, though she saw nothing.

Every inhale brought the screech of tires and the crack of glass back to her mind, squeezing her chest. Her fingers twitched, remembering the grip they had on the seat just hours earlier.

Her luggage rested beside her, placed in the room the moment she reached home. She had exchanged a few words with her family, a quick greeting, a little small talk, just enough to appear normal. Inside, though, she remained unsettled.

She had not wanted to burden them with the truth. They expected her to return by cab, the story she had told before leaving, but the reality had been far from ordinary.

The cloaked man had insisted she go with one of his guards. She had no choice. After what she had witnessed and with the driver dead, arranging another route home at that hour had been impossible. The guard had driven in silence, precise and controlled.

The commanding figure had lingered only long enough to ensure everything was arranged before slipping into his car. Three more vehicles had followed, headlights fading into the night, leaving her astonished. The guard had spoken no more than a single question about where to stop. He had remained until she reached the door, then returned to his car.

Leaning back against the headboard, she pulled the blanket over her torso, eyes closing as the questions pressed in.

When had my life started tilting off its axis? How had everything shifted from predictable to something I barely recognized?

She sank lower into the bed, letting the warmth soothe her exhaustion. Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a new friend suggestion, ordinary, banal, completely out of place. Still, she reached for it, driven more by anxiety than curiosity.

Two hours had passed since entering the house, though it felt far longer. Her fingers hovered over the screen, searching for a sign, a clue, anything to explain why a stranger’s command had overridden every instinct she possessed.

Nothing appeared. No missed calls. No messages. Just silence. The night replayed sharply, the cloaked man’s warning, the guard steering her home, the black cars dissolving into darkness as if following an invisible plan.

Every move carried intention. She set the phone aside, unease tightening across her ribs. Someone had gone to extreme lengths to ensure she reached home. Not a single word explained why. Until she understood, she could not tell whether the man who intervened had protected her or claimed her.

******

The evening light seeped through the window, soft and dim, casting long shadows across her room. She stood in front of the mirror, taking in the outfit she had chosen: blue jeans, a soft pink shirt, and a matching denim jacket.

A silver choker rested at her neck, and she had applied just enough makeup to appear presentable without looking polished. She had asked her father for a week to meet Evan Grant, needing time to steady herself, and told him she had errands to run, careful not to reveal the storm in her mind. He had only nodded, reminding her that when she was ready, Evan would send his car with a guard to pick her up.

She smoothed the shirt over her shoulders and slipped on the jacket, adjusting the sleeves. Her reflection showed calm, but nerves prickled along her spine. Meeting him was not just a social obligation; it was stepping into a space she had not yet prepared for.

A sudden knock at the door made her flinch.

“Jenna, are you ready?” her mother called.

“Just coming, Mom,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She did not want her mother to notice the tension coiling in her stomach.

She ran a hand through the ends of her curled blonde hair, fastened a bracelet she liked, and zipped her purse. She straightened her jeans and jacket, then checked the choker and matching earrings one last time.

The thought of the guard waiting outside made her stomach flutter, a nervous tension she could not suppress. She had not seen the car yet, but she pictured him standing nearby, silent and controlled, making sure everything unfolded without error.

Pausing at the door, her fingers lingered on the handle, heart hammering as she stepped out.

The ride passed in a blur, her thoughts louder than the engine. Before she knew it, the car slowed, lights shifting across the windows as they approached the hotel. Tonight, she would face him. Somehow, she had to make it feel like she had chosen to be here.

A sleek black car rolled to a stop just a few steps away. As the door opened, polished leather shoes caught her attention, forcing her gaze upward.

She tensed as a tall, commanding man stepped out, broad shoulders filling a black blazer, crisp shirt paired with matching pants, and a deep maroon tie cutting through the air like a warning.

She tried to look away, but the sharp sweep of his hair, the hard cut of his jawline, and the scar near the bridge of his left cheek held her attention. For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe, until a horn blared and snapped her back.

Oh, that damn! She turned, catching strangers’ curious, judging eyes.

The guard who had brought her stepped forward, bowing slightly to him, speaking briefly. The familiarity between them made her skin prickle. Tension hummed in the space around her, and she could not look away.

God, why am I staring? I should not even be here.

She stepped aside, slipping past their assessing looks, pressed her back against the car, lowering her gaze. Folding her arms, she tried to steady herself, heart hammering as his eyes flicked toward her just as the guard stepped back.

“Ma’am, let’s go. The boss has arrived,” the guard said, calm but firm.

Her knees trembled as she lifted her gaze.

“Who… who is he? Is he…?” she whispered, dread coiling tight in her chest.

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Evan Grant, our king,” the guard replied.

WHAT! This is the evil I’ve been defying?

Her gaze locked on him, dark and unreadable, every glance cutting through her defenses, until he finally looked away. She followed, compelled by something she did not have a name for.

They stopped beside him, and as she studied his face, she felt alert, aware of every detail. The three moles on his right cheek were scattered like stars, and the one beneath his lip shifted with every blink, drawing her attention repeatedly.

His presence was intense. It burned, magnetic and dangerous, a force promising both challenge and caution to anyone lingering too close.

“Hello, Mr. Evan Grant. It’s nice to meet you,” she pushed the words out, careful with her voice.

He lifted his head, dark glossy eyes measuring her as if weighing her resolve. “I’ll make sure it is,” he murmured, a faint smirk brushing his mouth before turning away. “Let’s go now.”

The sound of his voice hit her sharply. That tone, deep, steady, unmistakably controlled, wrapped around her spine, the same way it had on the night a cloaked stranger pulled her from the wreckage. Her eyes widened as the echo overlapped in her mind.

She stared at his back, tracing the lines of his frame, from height to the broadness of his shoulders, to the way he moved with quiet certainty. Her pulse jolted. Slowly, she turned toward the car he had stepped out of, the same shade of black that had vanished into the darkness that night.

A cold shiver ran through her. Is he the man who saved me, or the one I should have been fleeing