Safe With You

Fortress

~Greyson~

The morning after the break-in feels strange. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums with unease.

Alyssa’s still asleep on the sofa, her head tucked beneath the blanket, face pale but peaceful. I’ve barely slept myself — every time I closed my eyes, I saw that footage. Her shaking hands. The look in her eyes when she said he found me.

I don’t know who he is yet, but I know enough. Whoever he is, he’s dangerous. And he’s back.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

Tray stands there, still in the same clothes he wore last night, exhaustion etched across his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept either.

“Morning,” I say quietly, stepping aside.

He nods in greeting, his voice low. “Did she sleep at all?”

“Eventually,” I answer, glancing back at the sofa. “She crashed around six. I wasn’t about to wake her.”

Tray sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. She needs it.”

There’s a heaviness between us — unspoken understanding. He’s her brother, the man who’s been protecting her for years. And yet, here he is, standing in my hallway, looking at me like he’s ready to let me in on something sacred.

He gestures toward the back garden. “Got a minute?”

I nod, slipping out with him into the crisp morning air.

We stand by the patio, the early light filtering through the trees, our breath fogging in the cold.

Tray crosses his arms. “I wanted to thank you. For last night.”

“No need,” I say honestly. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

He shakes his head. “No. They wouldn’t have. Most people would’ve called an ambulance, handed her off to someone else, and gone home. You didn’t. You stayed. And… she’s different around you.”

I’m not sure what to do with that, so I say nothing.

He watches me for a long moment, then nods toward the house. “I know she won’t talk about it, but whatever — whoever — that was last night, it’s not over. I saw her face when she recognised him.”

“You recognised him too,” I say quietly.

Tray doesn’t deny it. His jaw tightens, eyes darkening. “Yeah. And that’s all you need to know for now.”

Fair enough. I won’t push him.

He shifts his stance, his tone turning practical. “I’m calling in a few favours today — contractors, security specialists, maybe a couple of old mates from my army days. We’re reinforcing AQ and Alyssa’s house. Top to bottom.”

“Good,” I reply instantly. “I’ll help however you need.”

Tray studies me for a moment, then nods. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’ve got an eye for layout, security flow, structural blind spots — you see things the rest of us miss. If we’re doing this, we do it properly.”

I can’t help a small smirk. “You’re recruiting me for home and office defence now?”

“Consider it an extension of your architecture empire,” he says dryly. “Except this one involves steel, cameras, and bulletproof glass.”

“Sounds like my kind of project.”

We share a quiet laugh — the first one since last night — and for a moment, the weight in my chest lightens.

~Tray~

If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be trusting another man to help keep my sister and niece safe, I’d have laughed in their face.

But Greyson’s different.

He doesn’t ask for information he doesn’t need. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. And he sure as hell doesn’t walk away when things get hard — I saw that last night.

That’s all I needed to see.

As we stand by the garden table, mapping out what needs doing, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through notes.

“We’ll start at AQ,” he says, all business now. “We’ll get the new reinforced glass ordered today, triple the locks, move the server room wiring so it can’t be tampered with again.”

“Agreed.”

He looks up. “Then your sister’s house — she’s got a coded gate already, but I can run fibre sensors through the perimeter. I’ll send in a team from REH to do an internal rework. No logos, no questions. No one outside our circle will know what we’re doing.”

I raise a brow, impressed. “You’ve done this before.”

He shrugs. “For a few clients who needed privacy. And now for the one person I can’t risk losing.”

That last part lands heavy between us.

“Good,” I say quietly. “Because if that bastard comes near her again, I’ll kill him myself.”

Greyson’s gaze hardens. “You won’t have to.”

We shake on it — firm, silent, understanding.

Two men, different worlds, but the same mission: keep her and Quinn safe.

~Greyson~

The rest of the day passes in a blur of logistics.

We start at AQ. The place looks worse in daylight — glass replaced with temporary boards, tape stretched across the doors, forensics dust marking everything.

The police are still there when we arrive, cataloguing evidence. They let us through after Tray flashes his ID and introduces me as a consultant.

Inside, it feels hollow — the life drained out of it.

We move through each floor in silence, noting vulnerabilities, planning reinforcement. Tray makes calls, and I sketch quick layouts on my tablet: reinforced entry points, hidden cameras, emergency shutters that can be triggered remotely.

Every plan we make feels like a small way to give Alyssa control back.

When I step into her office, something in me twists. Her favourite mug is shattered on the floor. A photo of her and Quinn, face-down, glass cracked.

I pick it up carefully, brushing the shards away before setting it upright on her desk.

Tray watches me, quiet. “You care about her.”

It isn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I admit, my voice low. “More than I probably should.”

He doesn’t look surprised. “Good.”

That catches me off guard.

He half-smiles. “She’s been through hell, Greyson. But you — you make her laugh again. That’s something I haven’t seen in years. If she’s letting you in, that means something. Don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t,” I say without hesitation. “Not her. Not Quinn.”

“Then we’re on the same side.”

We get back to work.

By late afternoon, AQ feels different — still damaged, but no longer defenceless.

The police wrap up, and Tray signs off on the reports. “They’ll keep patrols near here for the next few nights,” he says, locking the door behind us. “That’ll have to do for now.”

“Until we finish the upgrades,” I reply. “Then no one’s getting in here again.”

~Alyssa~

I wake to the faint sound of voices outside the house — low, serious tones that I recognise instantly.

Tray and Greyson.

For a moment, I just lie there, the events of last night washing over me all at once. The fear. The footage. That face.

Then the memory of Greyson holding me anchors me again.

By the time I pad barefoot into the kitchen, the men are back, covered in dust, smelling faintly of rain and concrete. They both look exhausted, but determined.

“What have you two been up to?” I ask, trying to sound lighter than I feel.

Tray glances at Greyson before answering. “Making sure you and Quinn don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

My chest tightens. “Tray…”

He steps forward, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about the details, Liss. Just know we’ve got it handled. AQ will be better than new in a few days, and Greyson’s having some people come by tomorrow to assess your place too.”

I look at Greyson, who gives me a small, steady smile. “No more sleepless nights, Alyssa. Not if I can help it.”

The weight in my chest finally starts to ease. “I don’t know how to thank you both.”

Tray shrugs. “You don’t. You just keep doing what you’re doing. Build. Design. Be happy.”

He squeezes my hand once more before heading out the door, leaving me alone with Greyson.

~Greyson~

The silence that follows is soft. Heavy with exhaustion but lighter somehow — as though the house itself knows we’ve taken one step back from chaos.

Alyssa stands by the counter, arms folded loosely, watching the rain start to fall outside. She looks smaller today — fragile, yes, but not broken.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says quietly, her voice still a little raw.

I step closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I know. But I wanted to. I need you safe, Alyssa. You and Quinn.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine. There’s something unguarded there — gratitude, confusion, maybe even the start of trust.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “Don’t thank me. Just… let me be here, yeah?”

A long pause stretches between us, filled with the soft rhythm of rain against the glass.

Finally, she nods. “Yeah.”

I exhale slowly, the tension I didn’t know I was carrying finally easing.

She leans her head against my chest, and without thinking, I wrap my arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

For the first time since that awful night, she feels warm again — her breathing even, her body relaxed against mine.

And in that moment, I know Tray was right.

I care about her — too much to ever walk away.

Because this isn’t just about security anymore.

It’s about her.

It’s about them.

It’s about keeping safe the only people who’ve made me feel alive in years.