CHAPTER THREE
1536 Words
Morning comes like a slap.
My alarm screams at 6:00 AM, vibrating itself off the cracked nightstand. I groan and smack it quiet. My body aches like I fought something in my sleep. Maybe I did — my dreams were a swirl of blue eyes, strong fingers, and danger wearing a suit.
I swing my legs off the mattress and stare at my tiny studio apartment. It looks even smaller in the faint, gray morning light. A single bed. A hot plate that overheats when I boil water. Clothes I fold carefully so I don’t feel poor. A window that doesn’t open all the way.
This is the life I know... this is the life that keeps me safe.Predictable, Forgettable.
I brush my hair back and breathe.
Last night’s events try to replay in my mind — his hand around my wrist, the way he looked at me like he was reading the parts of me I hide from myself. Dominic. I didn’t ask for his name and he didn’t offer it again, but every cell in my body remembers it, and I hate that.
I force myself up, shower in a trickle of warm-ish water, and change into the cheap blouse and black pants I wear to the café I work at. It’s called Bean Scene, a name I hate so much the owner thinks I have no sense of humor.
I grab my bag. My heart thuds strangely, as if warning me something’s coming. I ignore it. Survival doesn’t leave much room for intuition.
Outside, New York is crisp with morning chill. Cars honk impatiently, people rush like their clocks own them. I blend into the flow of the city, letting it pull me forward.
Halfway to the café, I feel eyes on me.
I don’t turn around. I don’t flinch. I just keep walking.
I’ve learned the hard way; when someone follows you, you act normal first. You never show your fear.
It could be nothing, It could be everything.
My breath cools the air as I exhale slow. Boots hitting pavement. Someone behind me keeps the same pace I do.
Then…
They stop.
I stop too; at a red light. My pulse slows back down.
You’re jumpy, I tell myself.
But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
The café is warm when I step inside, lights humming, pastries fresh and steaming behind the display. My coworker, Leah, waves without looking up from her phone.
“You look like hell,” she says cheerfully.
“I feel like it,” I mutter, tying my apron.
She snickers. “Late night?”
“Not the fun kind.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “A man?”
I smack a cup stack onto the counter. “Drop it.”
She laughs and goes back to scrolling.
The morning rush hits hard — customers throwing orders at us like we’re vending machines. I lose myself in the rhythm: grind, steam, pour, smile. Repeat. My hands move faster than my brain can catch up.
But something is off.
Every time the door swings open, cold air brushes my arms and I feel the same tightening in my chest.
Something is wrong today.
At 10:17 AM, I’m restocking lids when the front door opens again.
I don’t look up at first, Until the entire room shifts. Conversations soften. Chairs stop scraping. Even the coffee machine seems to hush.
I lift my head, and there he is.... Dominic.
Walking into this cheap, too-bright café like it’s the lobby of a luxury tower. His suit sucks the light out of the room, perfectly tailored, dark enough to match the danger in his eyes. His presence forces space around him — as if people instinctively avoid being too close.
My throat goes dry. He shouldn’t be here.
A man like him doesn’t buy four-dollar coffee.
A man like him doesn’t walk anywhere without a reason.
I freeze.
His eyes find me immediately.
Not after scanning the room.
Not by coincidence.
Immediately.
My heart punches my ribs.
He walks toward the counter with smooth, lethal confidence. Leah straightens, her voice accidentally pitching high.
“H-hello, sir. How can I help you?”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“I’m here for her,” he says.
Her jaw drops.
My stomach flips violently. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He steps close enough that only I can hear him. “Making sure you’re alive.”
I blink. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Before he answers, the world explodes.
Not with sound — but with movement.
The café door bursts open as three men rush in.
Hooded. Fast. Purposeful.
One goes for the back exit.
One goes for the customers.
One comes straight for me.
My brain barely registers it before Dominic grabs me by the waist and yanks me behind him.
I stumble against his back, my palms hitting the solid muscles beneath his suit. He shields me completely. His stance changes — no longer businessman smooth.
Predator sharp.
“Down!” he orders.
I drop just as the first man swings something — a metal pipe — straight at him.
Dominic dodges with terrifying ease, grabs the man’s wrist, twists hard, and the guy screams as the pipe clatters to the floor.
The second attacker lunges toward the register area. Leah screams and ducks.
Dominic shoves the first man aside and kicks the table forward, blocking the second.
“Stay down,” he tells me again — calm, controlled, absolute.
I should run.
I should crawl away.
But my eyes won’t leave him.
The third attacker approaches from the side, reaching into his jacket —
A gun.
My breath stops.
“Dominic!” I shout.
He turns instantly. I don’t know how he moves so fast. He grabs the hot coffee carafe from the counter and hurls it at the gunman. It shatters, scalding liquid hitting the attacker’s face. The man screams, dropping the weapon.
The café erupts into chaos — chairs crashing, people running, Leah sobbing beneath the counter.
Dominic rushes forward, grabs the gun off the floor, checks the chamber like he’s done it a thousand times, then points it at the attackers.
“Against the wall,” he says coldly.
They obey.
Not because he has a gun…
But because they can tell what kind of man he is.
The kind who doesn’t bluff.
Sirens begin blasting in the distance.
Dominic turns to me... His eyes are wild — not with panic, but with the adrenaline of someone born to survive violence.
“Come with me,” he commands.
“What? No—I can’t just—”
“Zara.” His voice slices through the panic. “Someone sent them for you.”
My blood turns to ice.
“What?” I breathe.
He steps closer, gripping my arms firmly, grounding me. “This wasn’t random. They came inside, they searched faces, and the only person they locked onto was you.”
“No,” I whisper. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he says. “And I need you safe before they try again.”
The sirens grow louder.
Leah peeks out from behind the counter, shaking violently. “Zara… go. Go with him.”
“Leah—”
“Go!” she shrieks. “They came for you!”
Dominic takes my hand — not gently. Not softly.
Possessively.
“Move,” he says.
And for some reason my legs obey even though my mind is screaming questions. He pulls me through the back door of the café just as police cars screech to a stop in front.
Cold air slams into me.
Dominic leads me down an alley, still holding my hand like a claim.
When we’re far enough away, he stops abruptly.
I yank my hand free. “You owe me an explanation.”
He exhales once — slow, heavy, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Those men work for someone dangerous,” he says. “And that someone has been searching the city for a girl who fits your description.”
My heart pounds painfully. “Why?”
His jaw tightens.
“I don’t know yet.”
A lie. I can hear it.
“But I intend to find out,” he says.
I step back. “Why do you care? You don’t even know me.”
He hesitates — a hesitation that feels like a secret slipping through cracks.
Then he says,
“I know enough.”
My pulse skips.
He watches me — not lustfully, not gently… but with a kind of fixation that feels like danger and salvation wrapped together.
“You need protection now,” he says. “Mine.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to,” he murmurs. “You just have to stay alive.”
I shiver.
He steps closer — voice dropping.
“They won’t stop, Zara.”
A cold wind whips between the buildings… but the chill in my bones is deeper.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
His eyes lock onto mine — blue and storming.
And this time… He answers.
“Someone you should’ve never stolen from.”
- Writer
