Across town, Kierra's world was spinning faster than ever.
Jeremy's tech deal mistake had cost the company millions. Her father was furious—at Jeremy, yes, but at her too, for not "guiding" him better. As if that was her job.
Board meetings. Damage control. Press briefings. Every second of her day was calculated, sharpened into something useful. No room for mistakes. No room for feeling.
Until she opened her phone and saw a picture in her gallery. A blurry snapshot of a beach sunset... and Martin's silhouette in the corner, strumming his guitar with that soft look in his eyes.
She hadn't even realized she'd taken it.
Suddenly, the silence in her penthouse felt too loud. The skyline looked too cold.
She hadn't seen him in days.
No texts. No sarcastic greetings. No stolen beers under string lights.
Did he get tired of her?
Or did she just disappear first?
Heart tugging, she opened a browser and typed: Martin Chase musician.
Nothing.
She tried another keyword: Martin Chase seaside bar guitar.
Still nothing.
"Come on," she muttered. "You have to be online somewhere."
Finally, she found a small social media profile—barely updated, almost forgotten. A few photos, one or two links to old covers. The latest post was weeks ago. A caption under a black-and-white photo of his guitar:
"Maybe some songs aren't meant to be heard."
Her throat tightened.
Something had happened. And she hadn't been there.
She stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the message box.
Just a few words. That's all it would take.
But would he even want to hear from her now?
***
Kierra couldn't sleep. The air in her penthouse felt stifling, the skyline mocking her with its cold perfection. Every move she made today had been methodical, calculated, cold. But her mind kept drifting back to him—Martin.
She hadn't heard from him. Not a word. Not a call. The last time they'd spoken, he'd been distant—almost as if he was trying to convince her that she wasn't welcome in his world.
But the more she tried to throw herself into the whirlwind of her father's empire, the more his absence gnawed at her. She couldn't even focus on the million-dollar meetings. Not with the image of Martin's tired eyes, that haunted look when he played his guitar, lingering in her mind.
She couldn't ignore the feeling anymore.
She grabbed her jacket and stormed out of the penthouse, her decision clear. She was going to find him.
***
The alley was dark. Most people avoided it, but it was familiar to her. She'd passed through it a hundred times, but tonight it felt different. A quiet sense of danger hung in the air as her heels clicked sharply against the pavement. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows along the cracked walls.
Her hand gripped her phone as she tried texting him one more time.
"Where are you?"
No response.
She'd been foolish, letting this go on for so long. She knew what she wanted now. She had to make it right with him. She wasn't about to let him fade into the past like everyone else in her life had.
But as she walked deeper into the alley, a figure stepped out from the shadows.
Then another.
And another.
Her heart skipped a beat.
The three men looked rough. Dark clothes, aggressive postures. The way they blocked the alley exit made it clear they weren't here to chat.
"Hey there, princess," one of them sneered, stepping closer. "Looks like you're lost. You lookin' for something?"
Kierra stepped back, her mind racing. This isn't good.
"Get out of my way," she said, trying to sound confident. "I'm not in the mood for games."
The men laughed. One reached for her arm, pulling her towards them.
"You don't get to tell us what to do. Ms. Hot."
Kierra fought back, her training in self-defense kicking in. But there were three of them, and her movements were more instinct than skill. She wasn't a fighter—not like this.
The thug's grip tightened, and she gasped in pain. Panic surged, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
This is bad. This is really bad.
Just as one of the men was about to pull her further into the shadows, a sharp voice called from the entrance of the alley.
"Hey!"
The men froze.
It was Martin. His voice rang out like a lifeline, rough but clear, coming from the street just outside.
Kierra's eyes snapped to him. He was standing there, looking every bit like the guy who had everything to lose—and yet he didn't hesitate.
"Let her go," he demanded, taking a step forward. His hands were clenched at his sides, but there was no hiding the raw intensity in his eyes. "Now."
The men looked at each other, sizing him up. One of them smirked.
"You think you can take all three of us, pretty boy?" the man jeered.
"I don't need to," Martin said, his voice low and cold. "But if you want to find out, I'll happily oblige."
There was a beat of silence, and then, with a sharp movement, one of the thugs lunged toward Martin.
But Martin was faster.
With surprising agility, he sidestepped the attack, landing a solid punch to the thug's jaw. The man staggered back, eyes wide in shock.
"Let's just go," Martin shouted to Kierra, his gaze not leaving the men.
Kierra hesitated for a moment, but as another thug advanced, Martin kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into the wall.
"Now!" he barked, his voice demanding.
Kierra didn't need to be told twice. She bolted, her heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins.
The remaining thug came at Martin with a knife. Martin dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade. The air smelled of sweat, fear, and desperation as the two men clashed in the alley.
Kierra made it to the street, her lungs burning as she looked back. Martin was still fighting, holding his ground with a grace and fierceness she'd never expected from him.
Then, just as it seemed the thug might get the upper hand, the sound of sirens blared in the distance. The gangsters hesitated, then scattered, disappearing into the darkness.
Martin stood there, breathing heavily, a line of blood trickling from his lip.
Kierra ran back to him, her heart pounding. "You—you're crazy."
Martin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable. "I'm fine."
But as she looked into his eyes, Kierra saw something different. Not the cocky musician who joked around and avoided serious talks. But the guy who had just risked everything to save her.
She swallowed. "Why did you—why did you do that?"
Martin glanced down the alley, making sure the men were gone. He exhaled deeply. "I couldn't let you get hurt."
Kierra stared at him, unsure of what to say.
He wasn't acting like the man who pushed her away. And in that moment, she realized that despite all the walls he put up, despite everything he tried to hide, he cared.
But even as that realization hit, Martin shook his head, stepping back. "Go home, Kierra. This wasn't your fight."
Kierra didn't move. "I don't care about that."
Martin's jaw tightened. "You should."
But as he turned and started to walk away, Kierra found herself following him.
She didn't care if he thought he didn't deserve her. She didn't care that he was pushing her away.
For once in her life, Kierra Davidson wasn't going to walk away from something she wanted.