Ariella Lane adjusted the cake box in her arms, struggling to balance its weight as she pressed the elevator button. The building was far too luxurious for her secondhand jeans and scuffed sneakers. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft light, and the scent of expensive cologne still lingered in the air from whoever had just passed through.
"This better be worth the damn tip," she muttered to herself.
The bakery had closed hours ago. Her dad should've been the one making this delivery, but he had a bad back, and she couldn't say no. Especially not to their newest VIP client, one with a name the assistant had whispered over the phone like a prayer...Dominic Moretti.
She hadn't recognized the name. Now, riding the private elevator up to the top floor, her nerves hummed. Billionaires weren't thier usual customer base. She didn't even know billionaires ate cakes.
The elevator dinged softly, opening into a penthouse. She knocked once and the door pushed open. "That's weird" she said walking in. "Wow" she muttered. The penthouse looked like a scene from a movie. Dim lighting. Dark marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a glittering view of the city skyline. Cold. Beautiful. Unwelcoming.
"Hello?" she called out.
Silence.
Ariella stepped in further, hugging the cake box to her chest. "I have a delivery for Mr. Moretti?"
Still nothing.
She made her way towards that kitchen and edged toward the kitchen island then placed the cake down carefully. She just needed a signature and she could leave. Maybe text the assistant? Her fingers reached for her phone...
The sound of a door slamming down the hall made her jump.
Then a figure appeared.
He moved into the kitchen. Tall. Broad. Undeniably handsome. His crisp white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, exposing strong forearms, veins snaking beneath his tanned skin. His face was chiseled and sharp, with eyes so dark they looked almost black.
But it was the blood on his hands that made her freeze.
Smears along his knuckles. A single drop on his collar. He noticed her gaze instantly.
"You're early," he said, voice low and unreadable.
Ariella took a step back. "I... I was told to deliver at nine..."
"You were told wrong."
He didn't sound angry. He sounded… calm. Too calm. Like the blood didn't faze him. Like her being here alone, unannounce wasn't a problem.
She swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to intrude. I can go."
Dominic's gaze drifted to the cake, then back to her. Slowly. Deliberately. "What's your name?"
"Ariella."
"Who sent you?"
"My father. He owns Lane's Bakery. You ordered the..."
"I know what I ordered." He walked to the sink, rinsing his hands with slow, meticulous care. The red washed away easily, spiraling down the drain. "You saw something you shouldn't have."
She took another step back. Her pulse pounded in her throat. "I won't say anything."
Dominic dried his hands. Then turned to her fully.
The smile he gave her wasn't comforting. It was calculating. "I believe you. But the problem is, in my world, trust gets people killed."
Ariella's breath caught. "I didn't see anything. Just... red. It could've been wine. Or paint. I don't..."
"You're a terrible liar." He moved toward her, slow and certain, stopping just a foot away. His presence was overwhelming. Commanding. Dominant. "You're trembling."
She was. Her hands had started to shake.
"Please," she whispered. "I won't tell anyone."
"I know you won't," he said softly. "Because you're not leaving."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"You'll stay here tonight. And tomorrow, until I decide if you're a risk." He studied her with those sharp, merciless eyes. "Don't try to run. Don't scream. No one will help you."
She flared. "You can't just keep me here!"
"I can. And I will."
She backed into the counter. He didn't follow. Just watched.
"You think I'd hurt you?" he asked.
"I don't know what you'd do," she said honestly, her voice shaking.
That made something flicker in his gaze. Maybe guilt. Maybe something worse.
"You're innocent," he murmured, stepping closer. "Not just in this. In everything aren't you?"
Her breath caught. Her silence was confirmation enough.
Dominic exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. "Go to the guest room. Down the hall, third door on the right. You'll stay there."
"I'm not..."
"Do it," he said sharply.
Ariella flinched, then turned and walked.
As she passed him, he reached out, fingers brushing her wrist. Just a slight of a touch. But it felt like fire.
"I don't hurt women," he said quietly, like a promise. "Especially the ones who look at me the way you do."
She didn't ask what he meant.
She couldn't breathe.
She pulled her hand and hurriedly left down the hall. when she finally arrived sheclosed the door behind her, her hands were still shaking from fear.
She shouldn't have entered, she should have just stay patiently at the door, she wouldn't have been in this mess. If she had just quietly waited for him outside the door. What was she even thinking She said self blaming herself.