He did not save her-he armed her

Episode seven

Andrew’s POV

Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxury hotel suite, pale gold slipping through the half-drawn curtains. The city below was already awake, traffic murmuring faintly in the distance, but inside the room, time felt suspended.

Andrew lay sprawled across the wide bed as though the outside world had no claim on him. The sheets beneath him were tangled and creased, evidence of a night lived without restraint. His broad chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, each breath deep and unhurried the breathing of a man who feared nothing and no one.

His body looked sculpted rather than born. Strong shoulders pressed into the pillows, muscles relaxed yet powerful even in sleep. His brows were sharply carved, lashes resting against skin untouched by worry. His lips were slightly parted, a faint trace of moisture clinging to one corner, an unintentional vulnerability that only made him more dangerously attractive.

Any woman who walked into the room and saw him like this would either fall instantly or leave with the image burned into her memory. Andrew had that effect. He didn’t chase obsession. It followed him.

Beside him, a woman lay wrapped tightly in a white sheet, her back turned to him. Her body curled slightly, as though trying to reclaim warmth or dignity. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. She was beautiful in the generic way beauty was bought and discarded in places like this.

The room smelled faintly of expensive cologne and crisp linen.

A phone vibrated on the bedside lamp.

The screen lit up.

Dude.

The vibration stopped.

Silence settled, thick and heavy.

Then the phone buzzed again longer this time, more insistent.

Andrew stirred, a faint scowl crossing his face as the interruption dragged him from sleep. He muttered something incoherent, his hand moving blindly across the bed. His fingers brushed fabric, skin, then finally closed around the phone.

Without opening his eyes, he answered.

“Speak.”

Whatever came through the line sliced clean through the fog of sleep.

Andrew’s eyes snapped open.

He pushed himself upright in one smooth motion, back pressing against the headboard, muscles tensing instantly. The lazy calm vanished, replaced by sharp awareness.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert.

Silence.

Then the line went dead.

Andrew stared at the dark screen longer than necessary. His jaw tightened. He hated unanswered questions. More than that, he hated being summoned and then dismissed.

Whoever that was didn’t call unless it mattered.

He tossed the phone onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he recalibrated.

That was when his gaze shifted.

The woman beside him stirred, the sheet slipping just enough to reveal bare skin.

Andrew frowned.

For a brief moment, confusion flickered not because he didn’t recognize her, but because she was still there.

Annoyance followed swiftly.

He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at her without warning.

She jolted awake with a sharp gasp, scrambling upright as the pillow struck her shoulder.

“Didn’t I pay you?” Andrew snapped. “And didn’t I tell you to leave immediately after?”

She blinked, disoriented, then forced a smile the kind learned through repetition. Pulling the sheet tighter around herself, she slid off the bed.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind if I stayed,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You were sleeping so peacefully.”

Andrew’s eyes hardened.

One look from him was enough.

“Before I count one,” he said coldly, “you’ll be out of this room.”

The warmth drained from her face.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t smile again.

She gathered her clothes in a rush, movements clumsy with panic, shoes in one hand, dress half-buttoned as she fled toward the door. Within seconds, she slipped out of the room like a frightened kitten escaping a predator.

The door clicked shut.

Andrew scoffed.

“Pathetic,” he muttered.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, rolling his shoulders once, shedding the last remnants of sleep. His reflection caught his attention in the mirror, a man fully aware of his own pull, his own power, and utterly uninterested in guilt.

He dressed quickly. Efficiently. Shirt. Watch. Wallet.

He picked up his phone again, staring at the dark screen.

Whoever had called wasn’t done.

And Andrew never liked being kept waiting.

With one last glance around the room, he walked out of the suite, the door closing softly behind him as the morning claimed the day.