Chapter 6
1183 Words
It had been three weeks since I last saw my father.
Audrey had tightened security around his hospital room so much that I wasn’t even allowed near the floor anymore. Luckily, Dr. Hayes had been keeping me updated whenever he could, slipping information to me between rounds. I never thought she could stoop this low—but I had underestimated her. Again.
Everything was becoming too much. To keep myself afloat, I had picked up extra shifts, working double whenever possible. Exhaustion had become my constant companion.
I was wiping down a table when the smell of food suddenly made my stomach churn. Nausea rose fast and violent. I placed the plates on the counter and hurried toward the kitchen, handing them off before rushing to the bathroom. I barely made it before everything came up.
“Elara, are you alright, child?” Mrs. Brown’s worried voice followed.
“I’m fine,” I lied, flushing the toilet and washing my hands.
She wasn’t convinced.
“You look pale. Take the afternoon off and get some rest.”
“I’ll be fine—one nausea pill and I’ll be sorted,” I insisted.
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re going home. Now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I drove straight home, texting Dr. Hayes on the way.
Hi, Doc. I’ll pick up the files tomorrow. Feeling a bit under the weather.
As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I noticed a man coming down—well-dressed, expensive suit, completely out of place in this building. He slowed when he saw me, confusion flickering across his face before he offered a polite smile.
For a brief, irrational moment, my mind went somewhere dark and dramatic. This is it, I thought. This is how I die.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“I’m sorry—it’s late and I really need to go,” I said quickly, trying to hide how unwell I felt.
He rushed forward when I stumbled slightly and caught my hand.
“I can see you’re not feeling well,” he said calmly. “Please—let me help you up the stairs. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just looking for someone.”
“In this part of town?” I muttered weakly. “People with criminal records live here, not privileged ones.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I grew up on these streets, miss.”
We reached my door, and I pulled my hand back. “You can call me Elara. And you are?”
“Jason.” He hesitated. “Do you know if anyone in this building works for a hotel or—”
“Or?” I prompted.
“…accompanies men.”
I stared at him flatly.
“I’m not following.”
“Someone who works with wealthy clients,” he clarified. “Someone connected to hotels… or a Dominic Blackwood.”
The name sent ice through my veins.
I forced myself to breathe evenly. If he noticed even a flicker of recognition, I was done.
“I’m sorry,” I said calmly. “Most people here work in restaurants or cleaning jobs. Nothing like that. But thank you for helping me.”
He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “Of course. Take care.”
The second I was inside my apartment, I locked the door and leaned against it, my heart racing.
He’s looking for me.
But if he thought I was a paid companion—then he still had no idea who I really was.
That realization should have terrified me.
Instead, it brought a strange sense of relief.
I changed into comfortable clothes and tried to eat something—fish seemed harmless enough. The moment the smell hit me, my stomach rebelled again, and I barely made it back to the bathroom.
This wasn’t the time to get sick.
Not now.
Dominic Blackwood – POV
Something was wrong.
Dominic Blackwood sat in the back of his car, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, yet all he could see was her. The pale girl on the stairs. The way her hand trembled when Jason touched her. The way her eyes—dark, guarded, sharp—looked at him like she was already calculating escape routes.
He hadn’t planned to stop. Hadn’t planned to speak to her.
And yet his body had moved before his mind could catch up.
“Sir?” Jason’s voice broke the silence from the front seat.
Dominic didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened as his thumb brushed over the faint scar on his knuckle—a habit he only had when irritated.
“She lied,” Dominic said finally.
Jason glanced at him through the mirror. “About knowing anyone connected to the hotel?”
“Yes.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “And about being afraid.”
Jason hesitated. “She looked sick, sir.”
“She was,” Dominic agreed. “But fear wasn’t what made her pulse jump.”
He leaned back, closing his eyes. The scent of her still clung to his senses—clean, faintly floral, with something sharper beneath it. Not perfume. Not practiced. Real.
That bothered him more than it should have.
“She recognized the name,” Dominic said quietly.
Jason stiffened. “Dominic Blackwood?”
“Yes.” His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Just for half a second. Then she buried it.”
Silence filled the car again.
Dominic exhaled slowly. He had spent three weeks tearing apart hotels, financial trails, security footage—hunting a ghost who had slipped into his bed and out of his life without leaving so much as a name behind.
And now she was here.
In his city.
In his reach.
“She’s not a paid companion,” Dominic continued. “Not trained. Not owned. Not careless.”
Jason nodded. “You want her followed?”
Dominic opened his eyes, gaze sharp. “No.”
Jason frowned. “Sir?”
“If she realizes she’s being watched, she disappears,” Dominic said. “I don’t chase shadows anymore.”
His phone buzzed. Another message. Another update he couldn’t focus on.
“Find out who lives in that building,” Dominic ordered. “Quietly. No pressure. I want names, jobs, hospital affiliations—everything.”
“And the woman?”
Dominic’s fingers curled slowly into his palm.
“I want her to walk into my life again thinking it was fate,” he said. “Not that I dragged her in.”
Jason swallowed. “Understood.”
As the car pulled away, Dominic stared out at the night, his reflection staring back at him—cold, controlled, ruthless.
And yet—
For the first time in years, his thoughts refused to obey.
She had looked at him like she wasn’t impressed.
Like she wasn’t afraid.
Like she didn’t belong to anyone.
That was unacceptable.
“Run if you want,” he murmured to the empty car. “You’re already mine.”
- Writer
