The moment Kasmine's knees buckled, Bryce moved.
Before her body could hit the floor, his strong arms caught her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Her head fell against his chest, strands of her dark hair brushing against his jaw. She was trembling, her breath shallow, her face pale from exhaustion and humiliation.
For a man like Bryce Stone, who rarely let anything close enough to touch him, the sensation was… unexpected. She was fragile in his arms, breakable, like porcelain that the world had already cracked too many times.
The woman beside him let out a sharp, indignant gasp. "Bryce! Why would you— She fainted from guilt. Leave her! She's not worth—"
His eyes cut to her, silencing her instantly. Cold, commanding, a look that could freeze fire. Without another word, he shifted Kasmine gently into a bridal carry and strode out of the café, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed.
Outside, his sleek black car was already waiting at the curb. The chauffeur scrambled to open the door. Bryce slid inside with Kasmine still in his arms, her head lolling weakly against him.
"Drive," he ordered. His voice was low, calm, but it carried the weight of command no one dared disobey.
The car purred to life, pulling away from the café. For a moment, the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the faint, uneven breaths from the girl nestled against him. Bryce glanced down at her face—delicate features, reddened cheek from the slaps, lashes damp with tears. She looked so young. Too young.
His jaw tightened. He had seen cruelty in business, betrayal in politics, but something about watching her endure those strikes stirred a different kind of anger in him. Not the controlled fire he wielded in boardrooms, but a deeper, quieter fury.
"Lucas."
The man in the passenger seat turned immediately. Lucas, Bryce's trusted assistant, was sharp-eyed, impeccably dressed, always ready to carry out his orders.
"Yes, sir?"
"Find out everything about her," Bryce said, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping girl in his arms. "Her name, her background, her family. I want it all before the night ends."
Lucas nodded without hesitation. "Understood."
The phone was in his hand within seconds, his fingers already flying across the screen, making calls, sending messages. Efficiency personified.
Bryce leaned back in his seat, shifting Kasmine slightly so she rested more comfortably against him. She stirred faintly, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, but no sound came.
"She's different," he murmured almost to himself, though his voice remained cool. "Clumsy, yes. But not worthless. Not like the others say."
Lucas's eyes flicked toward him briefly, curiosity sparking, but he said nothing. He had served Bryce long enough to know better than to question the rare notes of softness in his tone.
The car sped through the city, past glowing skyscrapers and darkened alleys, carrying them toward the unknown future that had been sealed with a single accident.
In Bryce Stone's mind, decisions were final. Once he declared she would work for him, there was no turning back.
And though Kasmine had no idea, her life had just been bound to his.
The car slowed to a stop before an imposing skyscraper, its mirrored glass reflecting the city lights like a tower of stars. The doorman bowed instantly at the sight of Bryce Stone stepping out, still cradling the unconscious girl in his arms.
"Mr. Stone," the staff greeted respectfully, their eyes flicking curiously toward the fragile figure he carried.
Bryce ignored their stares. His long strides carried him across the polished marble lobby, into a private elevator that whisked him straight to the top floor—the penthouse that spanned the entire upper level.
As the elevator doors opened, the hush of luxury embraced him. The space was vast and sleek, decorated in cool tones of black and white, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of the glittering city below. But Bryce's focus never left the girl in his arms.
"Maria," he called.
Almost instantly, a woman in her forties hurried from the hallway. She was the head maid, discreet and efficient, the kind of staff member who knew when to ask questions and when to remain silent.
"Yes, sir?"
"Prepare a bath for her. Something gentle," Bryce instructed, his voice calm but brooking no argument. "Afterward, dress her in something comfortable and clean. Then lay her in my room."
Maria blinked, momentarily surprised—his room? Bryce Stone never allowed anyone into his private sanctuary, let alone a woman. But she quickly recovered, bowing her head. "At once, sir."
He carried Kasmine through the wide hallway and into the master suite. The space was elegant, yet not cold—white sheets on the king-sized bed, soft lighting, shelves lined with books and a few personal mementos. Carefully, he placed her on the mattress. She stirred faintly, a whisper slipping past her lips, but didn't wake.
Maria entered quietly with a few of the younger maids. Together, they prepared the bath, then gently lifted Kasmine, removing her stained café uniform and easing her into the warm water. Bryce had stepped out by then, giving orders from the hallway, his hands folded behind his back as he gazed out at the city skyline.
When Maria finally returned, she spoke in a low tone. "She is clean, sir. Resting now."
Bryce inclined his head. "Good. Leave her."
Once the staff retreated, silence settled over the penthouse. Bryce walked back into the bedroom. She was lying against the pillows, dressed in a simple white nightgown that contrasted with her dark hair. Clean, her face looked even younger, almost childlike in its softness. The faint bruise on her cheek where she'd been slapped stood out against her pale skin.
For a long moment, Bryce stood there, hands in his pockets, studying her. She looked so small against the vast bed. So unprepared for the harshness of the world.
His phone buzzed. Lucas's voice came through the earpiece, efficient as always. "Sir, I've completed the background check."
"Report."
"Her name is Kasmine Ainsley. Nineteen years old. Lives with her grandmother in a rundown district on the city's outskirts. Parents deceased—mother passed during childbirth, father died in an accident when she was twelve. No siblings. She works at the café full time to support herself and her grandmother, who is reportedly ill."
Bryce's gaze flickered back to her sleeping form. So that explained the exhaustion, the shadows under her eyes, the desperation in her expression.
"Her grandmother," Bryce said slowly. "Is she alone right now?"
"Yes, sir," Lucas confirmed. "She lives in poor conditions. The neighbors say the old woman's health has been declining rapidly."
Bryce's jaw tightened. He had already made his decision. "Go. Bring her grandmother here. Prepare a room for her. She is not to be left behind."
Lucas didn't question. "Understood. I'll see to it immediately."
When the line went dead, Bryce slid the phone back into his pocket and glanced once more at Kasmine. She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep, her brow furrowed as though trapped in a dream.
He moved closer, his fingers brushing lightly against the blanket as he adjusted it over her shoulder. His touch hovered for a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.
"Rest," he murmured, though she couldn't hear him. "You won't suffer like that again."
Outside the window, the city pulsed with life, but within the penthouse, a new chapter was quietly beginning—one neither of them could turn back from.
The gentle aroma of lavender filled the air. Soft curtains danced lightly with the evening breeze, while the glow of a crystal chandelier cast warm light across the marble walls. The bed beneath her was the softest she had ever touched—like lying on clouds after years of restless nights on a thin mattress.
Kasmine stirred, her lashes fluttering open. For a moment, she froze. The ceiling above her wasn't cracked or water-stained like the one at home. It was high, arched, and painted with delicate golden designs. She blinked rapidly, her lips parting in confusion.
"Am… am I dead?" she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse.
Everything was too perfect, too unreal. The silk sheets brushed against her skin like liquid warmth, the faint classical music in the distance soothing and refined. A gilded mirror on the far wall reflected her pale face, framed by soft pillows.
She sat up too quickly, and her head spun. The last memory she had struck her sharply—pouring tea on a man's suit, the coldness in his eyes, the woman's cruel hand striking her cheek, then darkness swallowing her.
Her fingers flew to her cheek instinctively. The sting was gone, though a faint ache lingered.
Before panic could fully take hold, the door opened with a soft creak. A maid in a crisp uniform stepped inside, carrying a tray with warm soup. Her movements were graceful, practiced, but her smile was kind.
"You're awake, miss," the maid said gently. "Please don't be afraid. You're safe here."
Kasmine's brows furrowed. "Safe? Where… where am I?" Her gaze darted around the luxurious room again. Her voice trembled. "Did I… pass away? Is this heaven?"
The maid chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, miss. This is Mr. Bryce Stone's penthouse."
The name struck her like a lightning bolt. She remembered the man in white—the one who looked at her with piercing eyes, whose presence had felt like a storm wrapped in calm control.
"Mr… Stone?" she whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud.
"Yes," the maid nodded. "He asked me to take care of you until you woke. You fainted, but don't worry. A doctor is attending to your grandmother in the other room. She is in good hands."
Kasmine's heart lurched. "Grandma?" Her legs swung off the bed, though weakness made her knees buckle. The maid quickly rushed to steady her.
"Please don't strain yourself," the maid soothed. "Your grandmother is being examined right now. Mr. Stone wanted her brought here so you would not worry."
Kasmine's throat tightened, tears springing to her eyes. She didn't understand any of this. Why would a powerful man like Bryce Stone involve himself in her life? Why would he care enough to bring her grandmother here?
Still trembling, she let the maid guide her back onto the bed. Her heart pounded with confusion, fear, and something else—something unfamiliar but dangerously warm.
Before she could collect herself, there was a knock at the door. A tall figure stepped in, commanding the space without effort.
Bryce Stone.
Clad in a perfectly tailored black suit this time, his sharp features seemed carved from stone, his presence overwhelming yet strangely reassuring. His eyes locked onto hers instantly, and for a heartbeat, the world felt like it held only the two of them.
"You're awake," he said, his voice low, deep, and steady.
Kasmine's lips parted, but no words came. All she could think was—why her?
And why, despite everything, did her heart race just looking at him?