Safe With You

That went...Well

~Alyssa~

"Thank you for not letting me starve.”

“That’s what Elle is for,” I say. “She’s thwarted many a self-cannibalising CEO.”

He’s about to answer when the first shout lands — sharp, ugly, and far too loud.

For a heartbeat, the lobby is a painting: rain misting beyond the glass, marble shining, staff moving in soft lines.

Then it shatters.

A second bellow. The crash of glass. A vase skids across the floor and explodes against the far wall.

I stop dead. My pulse spikes so hard it hurts.

There — across reception — a man pacing like a storm trapped indoors, knocking over vases, swiping at frames, sending them cartwheeling into stone. His voice is raw, every word thrown like a fist. The sound carries down into my bones.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

The last time I heard shouting like that, I left in an ambulance — bruised, broken, and praying the baby inside me was still alive.

The memory slams into me so fast the edges of my vision blur. Smell of glass. Taste of metal. Silence after screaming. I blink hard but it clings like smoke.

Greyson steps in front of me without a word. One second I’m exposed; the next, all I see is his back — broad, steady. He doesn’t know who the man is. He doesn’t need to. He lifts his arm slightly, a subtle bar — stay behind me.

I reach out before I know I’m moving, fingers gripping the back of his jacket. Warmth. Fabric. Weight. The only real things in a tilting room.

Security are already moving — two guards peel in on either side of Greyson, creating a wall between me and the chaos. Shouting ricochets off marble. Another crash. I can’t make out the words — just the sound, the anger, the wrongness of it.

The lobby tilts again.

I try to focus on the slow rise and fall of Greyson’s shoulders — in, out, calm, anchor — but the air goes thin. My knees loosen.

I feel his hand reach back just as the floor rushes up.

Black.

~Greyson~

She’s gone before I can say her name. Light in my arms, trembling even unconscious. I lift her, turning away from the noise.

Across the lobby, the man is still shouting, security forcing him back towards the doors as he kicks a broken vase aside and tries to lunge around them. “You think you’re better than me? You think this makes you someone? Everything you have should be mine!”

Marble makes everything louder. Every word lands like a c***k.

“Hold him,” I snap to a guard as we pass, and they do — wrists pinned, chest to glass, the sound of sirens faint outside.

We get Alyssa back upstairs. Elle is already there, composure like armour, voice low and quick as she clears a small lounge and brings water, a cold cloth, too-calm orders into her headset. “He’s being detained until the police arrive,” she tells me, breath controlled. “He’s not getting back in.”

“Good,” I say, because the only other thing I can say isn’t helpful.

Alyssa comes round slowly, eyes glassy and lost before focus returns. Panic flashes, then catches, like she’s bracing for the second wave.

“Hey,” Elle says, palm hovering close but not touching. “He’s gone. You’re safe. Breathe with me.”

I kneel, voice softer than I remember it being. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She looks at Elle. Then at me. Then at her hands, which won’t stop shaking.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?” I ask.

“For—” She swallows. “For stepping in. For blocking me. For catching me before I hit the floor.” A beat. “You didn’t know what was happening. You still—” She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh and isn’t. “You still protected me.”

Elle slips out with the quiet grace of someone who knows when to leave. It’s just the two of us. The room hums.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” I say, and reach for her hands, stilling them gently with mine. “No one’s getting near you while I’m here.”

Her eyes shine. One tear breaks free. I pull her in, not thinking about protocol or optics or anything except the fact she’s shaking like a winter branch. She fits against my shoulder like she’s been holding herself upright too long. I trace slow circles between her shoulder blades and feel the tremor ease under my palm.

“You’re safe,” I say again, because sometimes the only thing that helps is hearing it. “I promise.”

After a minute, her breathing evens. She pulls back, embarrassed, smoothing her blouse, reclaiming calm one button, one breath at a time. The transformation back into Alyssa Rose, CEO, is the quietest, strongest thing I’ve seen all week.

“Thank you,” she says, clearer now. “I’ll see you Friday for our next meeting.”

“Friday,” I confirm, standing when she does.

When we return to the main reception, the chaos has been erased. The glass is gone. Fresh flowers stand where the smashed ones fell. Staff carry on with the dignity of people who will not let ugliness stain their workplace. If I hadn’t watched it unfold, I might doubt it happened at all.

Alyssa speaks briefly with security. She’s measured, firm, precise. Guards straighten. Heads nod. Orders move.

At the doors, drizzle threads the air. She gives me that professional smile with the faintest fracture at the edges. “Safe drive, Mr Riley.”

“And you,” I say. “Take care, Miss Rose.”

She turns, heels clicking toward the lift, back straight, head high. Unshakeable to anyone who wasn’t here ten minutes ago.

I step out into the mist and pull my phone from my pocket.

G: Held up at AQ. Please pick Poppy up from her first day. She’s got dinner with a friend later — make sure she’s ready. I’ll collect her after.

S: Will do, love. See you later.

I slide the phone away and look back through the glass at the pristine lobby, reflection of the city rippling across it. Whoever that man was, he wasn’t just angry. He was fixated. And Alyssa was terrified enough that the past walked right back into the room and knocked her flat.

I’m not leaving that alone.

Not now..