Elena sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers trembling against the worn fabric of her apron. She hadn’t touched her dinner.

  Her reflection in the window was pale. Her thoughts—racing.

  Why had that man come into the café? Why had he touched her like he knew her? And more than that—why had Dominic’s men shown up like ghosts, already prepared?

  You’re never alone, Miss.

  The words echoed in her mind.

  Was that supposed to comfort her… or scare her?

  The knock on her door was sharp. Demanding.

  She flinched.

  “Elena.” His voice. Deep. Steady.

  She rose without realizing it, drawn to him like gravity. She opened the door.

  Dominic stood there, black coat unbuttoned, his jaw tight. His eyes roamed her face like he needed to see for himself that she was still whole.

  “You okay?” he asked, voice low.

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  She nodded. “I think so.”

  He stepped in. Closed the door behind him. Didn’t speak for a long second.

  Then he looked at her. Really looked.

  “I told myself I wouldn’t come storming in,” he said. “But then I saw what he did.”

  Her heart pounded. “He didn’t… do anything. He just—”

  “He touched you.”

  His words landed like a gunshot in the silence.

  She stepped back instinctively. But he didn’t follow. He let her breathe.

  “Why are you so angry?” she whispered.

  He laughed, bitter. “Because you don’t see it yet. Because you still think you’re living in a world where men like him don’t have agendas.”

  “And you don’t?”

  He took a step forward. “I do. But mine is simple.”

  Her breath hitched. “Which is?”

  “You.”

  That word shattered something inside her.

  “I’ve tried to stay away. Keep you safe, let you breathe. But today proved something—if I don’t hold you close, someone else will try.”

  She stared at him, caught between fear and something warmer, more dangerous.

  “I’m not some prize,” she said softly. “You don’t get to claim me.”

  “No,” he murmured, closing the space between them. “But I will. If you let me.”

  Her back hit the wall. Not from force—just how fast the world was spinning.

  His hand found her waist. Not rough. Just firm. Steady. Real.

  “You’re shaking,” he whispered.

  “You scare me sometimes,” she admitted.

  “Good.” His lips brushed her temple. “Then you know I’m real.”

  His other hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward his. He didn’t kiss her yet—just held her there, letting the moment swell.

  “I want you, Elena,” he breathed. “Not for a night. Not for a game. I want all of you.”

  She didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they both did.

  But then his mouth was on hers—hungry, possessive, yet tender beneath the heat. She melted against him.

  Her fingers fisted the front of his shirt. His coat dropped to the floor.

  He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her through the apartment without breaking the kiss.

  They reached the bed. He laid her down like something sacred.

  The air changed.

  His hands explored, careful yet claiming, worshipful in their intent. Her breath hitched as clothes were unbuttoned, slid away—each layer revealing not just skin, but trust.

  Elena’s voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. “Have you done this with… anyone else like this?”

  Dominic’s eyes locked on hers, intense. “No. Never like this.”

  Then he lowered himself beside her, his lips ghosting down her neck.

  What happened next didn’t need words.

  The world outside ceased to exist.

  And in that room, under soft sheets and the weight of truth, Elena stopped being his almost and became his everything.