WHEN HE DESIRES

UNDER HIS ROOF

KILLIAN POV

The city rises in front of us like a promise I fully intend to keep—and break—depending on how she behaves.

Glass towers. Steel bones. My territory.

The moment we cross the bridge, November stops breathing. I can feel it without turning my head. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, eyes tracking the skyline like she’s witnessing a world she never expected to enter.

She has no idea she’s stepping straight into my cage.

The drive from her old life into my domain has taken three hours, but the silence stretching between us feels older, heavier. We didn’t speak once after we left the warehouse. She slept for a bit—her head leaning against the window, lashes trembling with nightmares—but the moment we neared the city, she woke like her body sensed danger.

Or maybe it sensed me.

The elevator doors slide open directly into my penthouse—a privilege only three people alive have access to. Four now.

“Step in,” I say.

November stands frozen just outside the elevator glancing around nervously. Yet there’s iron underneath her skin. I tasted it in the warehouse when she argued with me instead of cowering.

She finally steps through.

The elevator closes.

She’s inside my world.

Inside my reach.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

The penthouse is dark marble, tall windows, clean lines. My life has never needed clutter. Chaos happens outside these walls. Inside, everything bends to order—mine.

Her eyes scan every detail, cautious but curious. She’s trying to memorize exits. Cute.

“You live here?” she asks.

“I own the entire building,” I answer.

Her lips part slightly, the way they always do when she’s surprised. My mind comes up with a dozen inappropriate uses for that mouth, but I force them down. Barely.

She walks slowly, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s pretending she’s not scared, pretending she’s not overwhelmed, pretending she hasn’t stepped into the lion’s den.

I admire the effort.

“Do you… live alone?” she asks.

“No.”

Another small inhale. She’s assessing her odds.

There are none.

“You’re safe here,” I tell her, because she needs the truth—even if she’ll misunderstand it.

Safe from Romanov.

Safe from her past.

But not safe from me. Never safe from me.

I lead her down the hall to the guest room. The view faces the river—calm, black water that reflects the city lights.

“This is where you’ll sleep.”

She crosses her arms. “For how long?”

“As long as necessary.”

“I need a real answer.”

“No,” I tell her softly. “You want a reassurance I won’t give.”

She looks away, jaw tightening. She doesn’t like my control. Good. It means she feels it.

“There are clothes in the closet,” I continue. “The door locks from the inside. No one has access here except me and the building security, who won’t bother you unless I tell them.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

I leave her alone to settle in, though every instinct demands I stay. Watch her. Study her. Learn every expression she tries to hide.

But I don't. I leave her be. For now that is

NOVEMBER POV

The room is too beautiful.

That’s the first thought that hits me when Killian closes the door. Beautiful and wrong. A place someone like me doesn’t belong. The walls are a soft charcoal gray, the bedding layered and plush, the windows so tall it feels like the sky is inside the room with me.

It’s overwhelming.

Too clean. Too quiet. Too much.

I sit on the edge of the bed, still in the clothes I wore when he pulled me out of my life ten hours ago. My phone—dead and useless—is somewhere inside his car. My old apartment is already a ghost. Romanov’s men will go there soon. Maybe they already have.

I’m in another city.

Another world.

In the home of a man who should terrify me more than he does.

And for some reason I'm not terrified.

Killian Russ. Bastard to the Russ family. I've only heard things about him from Dimitri.

Unpleasant things. And from what I picked from my stay with Dimitri, he hates Killian. Like a lot.

And here I am under the roof of a man my fiancé hates more than anything in the world. Under his protection.

Don't trust him.

The silence presses on me until I force myself to stand. I test the window. It doesn’t open. Not surprising. Men like Killian don’t leave vulnerabilities lying around. I wouldn't be surprised if he was watching me as well.

I check the closet—my breath catches. There are clothes inside. Women’s clothes. All new. Neutral tones. My size. But not my taste

Did he plan this?

The thought sends a shiver up my spine.

I walked into the bathroom next. The lights turn on automatically, soft gold reflecting off the marble. There are towels, bath salts, things I haven’t owned in months.

He prepared everything.

Or does he always have things ready for… guests?

My stomach twisted.

I turn on the shower, letting the steam blur out the world. The hot water hits my skin and the tension breaks like a fragile dam. My hands press to the tiles as I let myself breathe for the first time today.

Not safe.

Not safe.

Not safe.

But safe from what I ran from.

There’s a difference, I think, but that doesn't mean I trust him.

When I step out, my reflection in the mirror looks softer, hair wet, cheeks flushed. Still shaken. But alive. My hand subconsciously touched my stomach. "We are both alive." If I want us both to survive this I'll have to leave this place. Killian Russ only promised me my safety but not my child. What if he finds out about my baby and tries to use it against Romanov not that I care about the bastard. He tried to kill our baby when he found out thinking it wasn't his, and I fear that Killian might do the same. After all, they are both in the same line of work.

Sigh.

it's best to think of them all as monsters.

But what if he's not?

What if he's different?

No. I shake my head. No matter how safe I think I feel now, I can't trust it.

Sighing, I put on one of the shirts from the closet—a pale cream cotton that falls to my thighs. Too intimate. Too comfortable. It irritates me that it fits perfectly.

I walked back to the bedroom and found Killian leaning against the wall just outside the door.

I jump. “Jesus! How—how long were you standing there?”

“Ten minutes,” he answers casually.

“Why?”

“Because you took twenty in the shower and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t passed out.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s not a thing people do.”

“That’s not a thing normal people do.”

I swallow, staring at him. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing the ink on his forearm. His hair is slightly messy from running a hand through it. He looks too alive. Too real. Too close.

He steps inside the room without waiting for permission, lowering his voice.

“You’re trembling.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises a brow. “Lie better.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

He walks closer, slow enough that I could move away if I wanted. I don’t. I hate that I don’t.

The air thickens between us.

“Romanov won’t touch you,” he murmurs. “Not in this city. Not anywhere I stand.”

I snorted as I looked up at him. “I don't think you know Dimitri well enough. You're not..."

His expression changes, making me choke on the words I wanted to say. He's looking at me like he’s considering how much truth I can handle.

“And you don't know me well enough.” His voice drops to a whisper as he leans closer, his breath brushing my cheek.

“I took you, November.”

My chest tightens.

“You’re in my city. In my building. In my home.”

His gaze drops to my lips briefly, devastating—before rising to meet my eyes again.

“And Romanov will have to die trying before he gets to you.”

My knees weaken.

“And you,” he adds softly, dangerously, “should really stop comparing us."

He turns and walks out, leaving me breathless and trembling in the center of his room.

I sink onto the bed.

Not safe.

Not safe.

Not safe.

But when I finally lie down, pulling the warm blanket over me, I realize something horrifying.

For the first time in months…

I fall asleep without a nightmare