Divorced by the Devil Rider

CHAPTER 10 — Break In

The sound wasn’t a crash. It was a scrape. Metal on metal.

My eyes snapped open. I didn't breathe. I didn't move. I just stared at the ceiling, at that stupid crack above the light fixture that looked like a crooked mouth laughing at me. My heart wasn't beating; it was thumping against my ribs like it was trying to break out of my skin.

Scrape.

The handle. Someone was turning the handle of my front door. Slow. Patient.

I sat up too fast. The blanket tangled around my ankles like a trap, and I nearly hit the floor. My throat felt like it had been filled with dry sand. I couldn't even scream.

Click.

The lock gave way. It was a soft, professional sound. Not a mistake. Not a neighbor.

Cold air flooded my chest, making my fingers go numb before I could even reach for the lamp on the nightstand. I grabbed my phone, but my hands were shaking so bad it slid right through my fingers and hit the hardwood with a sickening thud. It landed face down, the glow from the screen bleeding out onto the floor like a dying thing.

The bedroom door creaked open.

I didn't move. I couldn't. I just watched the gap widen, a shadow stretching across the floor, long and jagged.

Then he was there.

Tall. Heavy. A black cloth covering his face, leaving only eyes that looked at me like I was already dead. He didn't rush. That was the worst part. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Like he’d already bought and paid for whatever was about to happen in this room.

“Please,” I whispered.

The word felt pathetic. It tasted like ash.

He took a step. I scrambled back, my hip slamming into the corner of the dresser. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but it was distant. I grabbed the lamp, my fingers slipping on the smooth base, and held it up. My arm was vibrating so hard the shade rattled.

“I’ll call the police,” I lied.

The intruder didn't even flinch. He knew my phone was on the floor. He knew no one was coming. This building, this room—it was a tomb.

He lunged.

I swung the lamp with everything I had. It missed. It shattered against the wall, glass spraying everywhere, and then his hand was on my wrist.

Hard. Bone-crushing hard.

I gasped, a raw, strangled sound. He pinned me against the wall, his weight crushing the air out of my lungs. His other hand reached for my throat—not to squeeze, but to hold. To show me how easy it would be.

Then, the window exploded.

Glass rained inward. A dark shape blurred through the air, and suddenly the weight on my chest was gone. A hand wrapped in black leather grabbed the intruder’s jacket and yanked.

The man was gone. No scream. No struggle. Just a dull thud somewhere outside in the dirt.

Silence. Except for the sound of my own sobbing breath.

Then he stepped through the broken glass.

Kade.

He didn't look at me. Not at first. He stood there in the middle of my ruined bedroom, scanning the corners, the shadows, his chest barely moving. He looked like he’d just walked into a coffee shop, not like he’d just thrown a human being out of a second-story window.

“You,” I choked out.

He turned his head. Just a fraction. His eyes found mine, and my stomach turned over. He didn't look worried. He looked... satisfied.

“You let this happen,” I said, the words spilling out of me, bitter and ugly. I needed to blame him. If I didn't blame him, I’d have to admit I was glad he was here.

Kade didn't argue. He didn't even blink. He just stepped closer, the glass crunching under his boots. Every step he took felt like he was reclaiming the room. Reclaiming me.

My back hit the bed. Trapped again.

He looked down at my wrist. The red welts were already rising where the intruder had gripped me. Kade’s jaw tightened—a tiny, violent twitch that lasted for a second before his face went back to stone.

“What did he want?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Everything,” Kade said. His voice was a low, jagged rasp that made the hair on my arms stand up.

He didn't move to comfort me. He didn't touch me. He just stood there, towering over me, his shadow swallowing mine.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I whispered. “Watching me. Waiting for me to break.”

“You’re already broken, Elara.” He stepped even closer, until I could feel the heat coming off his leather jacket. “You just didn't realize it until someone turned the handle.”

My chest tightened until it hurt. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to thank him. The contradiction was nauseating.

“I don’t need you,” I lied, my voice cracking.

Kade leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could see the cold, hard reflection of myself in his pupils.

“Yes, you do.” He didn't say it like a boast. He said it like a sentence. “You need me to breathe. You need me to sleep. Because the moment I walk out that door, you know they’re coming back.”

He reached out, his thumb grazing the bruise on my wrist. It was a light touch, almost a ghost of one, but it felt like a brand.

“They know where you live now,” he whispered. “And so do I.”

He turned toward the broken window, looking out into the dark where the intruder was still groaning in the dirt. Kade didn't look back as he spoke one last time, his voice final.

“Pack a bag. You’re not staying here.”

It wasn't an invitation. It was the sound of the trap finally snapping shut.