Safe With You

That was way to early

~Alyssa~

The shrill sound of my phone yanks me from sleep.

For a moment, I can’t work out where I am — the room is pitch-black, the air still warm from the comfort of Greyson’s arms around me. I blink at the screen glowing on the nightstand. Tray.

My stomach drops. Nothing good comes from a 3 a.m. call.

“Tray?” My voice is rough with sleep, panic already clawing its way up my throat.

His tone is sharp, frantic. “Liss, there’s been a break-in at AQ. I’m here now — the alarm went off just after two. You need to come. Police are already on-site.”

I’m upright in seconds, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. “What? Is anyone hurt? What about Elle? The staff?”

“No one was here when it happened,” he assures quickly, though I can hear the strain in his voice. “Just… get here. You’ll want to see this for yourself.”

Greyson stirs beside me, instantly alert the moment he hears my tone. “What’s wrong?”

I’m already on my feet, pulling on jeans and a hoodie. “AQ. Break-in. Tray’s there.”

He’s up in seconds, throwing on a shirt. “Right. Let’s go.”

I start to protest — Quinn’s asleep upstairs — but before I can say a word, he’s already on the phone to Winston.

“Hey, sorry to wake you, but I need you at mine. Now. There’s been a break-in at Alyssa’s company, and I’m not leaving Poppy and Quinn alone.”

Whatever Winston says on the other end makes him nod once. “Ten minutes? Perfect.”

By the time Winston arrives, I’ve tied my hair into a messy bun, slipped on trainers, and thrown my laptop bag over my shoulder. Greyson meets me by the door, car keys in hand. His face is calm, but his jaw is tight — protective.

We’re silent on the drive there. The kind of silence that hums with adrenaline.

When the glass façade of AQ headquarters comes into view, my chest constricts. Blue and red lights flash across the slick wet pavement. Police cars line the street; the front doors are shattered glass.

My heart twists. My building — my safe place — violated.

Greyson pulls up beside Tray’s car, parking half on the curb. I’m out before the engine stops.

“Miss Rose?” A uniformed officer steps forward, blocking my path. “We’ve secured the scene. No one’s inside now. Are you the owner of the property?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Is it bad?”

He glances over his shoulder, voice low. “They were deliberate. Whoever did this knew where your cameras were. We’ve recovered partial footage from the server room, but most of it was wiped before the alarm tripped.”

“Wiped?” I echo, my throat closing.

Greyson’s hand finds mine, steady and sure. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just see what Tray’s got first, okay?”

Inside, the building smells like rain and dust. The marble reception floor is covered in glittering shards of glass. One of the display mannequins from the foyer has been knocked over, its porcelain face cracked down the middle.

Tray stands near the front desk, hands braced on the counter. When he turns, his face is pale.

“You okay?” Greyson asks him quietly.

Tray just shakes his head, gesturing to the monitors. “You need to see this.”

He presses play.

The footage flickers — static, blackness, then motion. A figure moves through the lobby, dark hood up, head tilted as if they know exactly where the cameras are. They move fast, precise, confident. Not the fumbling of a random burglar — this is targeted.

When the intruder lifts their face just enough to catch the light, my breath catches. My body goes cold.

I know that face.

So does Tray.

Our eyes meet across the room, the air thick with unspoken terror.

But neither of us says a word.

Greyson notices the way I’ve gone rigid. “Alyssa?”

I can’t answer. My pulse is a roar in my ears. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

Tray’s voice cuts in, too calm, too careful. “We’ll let the police handle the details. No sense jumping to conclusions.”

He stops the video before the part where the intruder looks straight into the lens — before Greyson can see what we saw.

A detective approaches, clipboard in hand. “Miss Rose, we’re collecting evidence now. Looks like they didn’t take much — mostly damage, not theft. We’ll need a list of anything that seems out of place.”

“Right,” I manage, my voice shaking. “I can do that.”

But the moment I turn, the world tilts.

All I can see is that face — those eyes. The same eyes that haunted my nightmares for years. The same man who left me bleeding and broken on a bathroom floor, praying my baby would live.

Not again. Not now.

I stumble back against the reception desk, gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles turn white. The room spins.

Greyson’s there in an instant, hands on my shoulders. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

“I can’t—” My breath hitches. “I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

He steps in closer, grounding me, voice low and steady. “Alyssa. Breathe with me. Right here.”

He places a hand over my chest, the other cupping my cheek. “In… and out. That’s it. You’re safe. No one’s touching you. I’m here.”

The tremors in my body start to ease, but the tears come hard and fast. “He was here, Greyson. He was here.”

He doesn’t ask who. He doesn’t push. He just pulls me into his chest, wrapping me up in the kind of hold that feels unbreakable.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against my hair. “Whatever this is, whatever he’s done — he doesn’t get to hurt you again.”

Tray moves quietly around us, speaking with the detective, doing what he always does — handling everything so I don’t have to. I catch fragments of conversation: “security upgrade,” “forensics,” “digital trace.”

But I can’t focus. The adrenaline, the fear — it’s all too much.

“I want to go home,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

Greyson nods. “You’re going home.” He looks to Tray. “I’ll take her. Call me if the police need anything else.”

Tray hesitates, his eyes soft with worry. “I’ll finish up here. Go.”

Outside, the night air hits like ice. Greyson walks me to the car, one arm still firm around me, as if I might crumble without it.

In the car, I can’t stop shaking. He reaches across and takes my hand again, thumb tracing slow, calming circles.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, his eyes on the road.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to. Just… don’t go silent on me, okay?”

I nod, barely.

When we pull into his drive, it’s close to four. The house is dark, peaceful. I envy it.

Winston’s waiting in the doorway, hair a mess, concern etched across his face. “Everything alright?”

Greyson answers for me. “She’s shaken, but fine. Go get some rest, mate — thanks for watching the girls.”

Winston nods, giving Alyssa a gentle smile before disappearing upstairs.

The moment the door closes, I break.

The tears I’d been holding back pour out, quiet at first, then uncontrollable. My whole body trembles.

Greyson doesn’t say a word. He just leads me to the sofa, sits down, and pulls me into his lap like I weigh nothing. My fingers grip his shirt as if letting go would undo me completely.

He strokes my back, slow and steady. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now.”

I shake my head against his chest. “He found me. After all these years, he found me.”

His arms tighten around me. “Then he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.”

I manage a weak laugh through the tears. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I mean it, Alyssa.” His tone is firmer now, protective. “He’s not getting near you or Quinn again. Not while I’m breathing.”

Something in his voice — the quiet certainty — grounds me. For the first time since that CCTV footage flashed on screen, I feel my lungs start to work properly again.

We sit like that for what feels like hours.

Greyson shifts just enough to grab the blanket draped over the armrest, wrapping it around us both.

“Sleep,” he says gently. “You’ve done enough for one night.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “If I close my eyes, I’ll see him.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Just stay here. Stay with me.”

And so I do.

The world outside could be burning, and I wouldn’t care. Right now, all that matters is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, the weight of his arms keeping the darkness at bay.

My breathing slows, the fear dulling into exhaustion.

Before I drift, I hear him whisper it — quiet, certain, meant only for me.

“You’re safe, Alyssa. Always.”

When morning comes, the house is filled with soft golden light. The girls’ laughter echoes faintly upstairs, and for a brief, fragile moment, everything feels normal again.

But I know one thing for certain now — this isn’t over.

And whoever he is, whatever he wants, I’m not running this time.

Because this time, I’m not alone.