The elevator ride to Alex’s penthouse felt endless. My whole body ached from being tied up during the kidnapping, and my mind kept replaying those final moments—James’s twisted smile, the gun pointed at his own brother, the chaos when Alex’s security team burst in.
But worse than all of that was the hollow emptiness where my grief for Mom lived.
“You should have taken me to my apartment,” I muttered, leaning against the elevator wall. My legs felt like jelly.
“Your apartment isn’t safe,” Alex stood close, too close, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. “James might have accomplices we don’t know about yet.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Like you took care of yourself when DuPont grabbed you in Paris?” The words came out harsh, and I saw him instantly regret them. “
