Chapter 73

Lila’s POV

Drew didn’t let me carry my bag.

The moment I stepped out of my bedroom, still rattled and still half holding myself together, he was there by the door. Tall and immovable like a presence that filled the room. His hand came out, palm open towards my bag and though he didn’t say a word, I knew what he wanted.

I hesitated for half a second. It was my bag, my space and my life packed into that small bag. It didn't feel like I was only handing him my bag and I wasn't sure if I was making the right decision. But his eyes, dark and unyielding, left me no room to argue. He took it from me without asking when he saw that I was hesitating, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and slung it over his shoulder with a sharp motion.

Then he turned away from me and started checking everywhere.

First it was my bedroom door. The lock clicked once and then the second time. He still tugged the knob twice and hard, until the door rattled in its frame and this was because he was trying to make sure that it had locked properly.

He didn’t stop there. He moved through the apartment with a cold efficiency, checking every window latch, pulling on the balcony door until I was sure the glass would crack, testing the chain lock twice before finally stepping back.

It should have felt suffocating or even overbearing. But after Max had been here, after his voice had pierced into every corner of my walls, the sound of those locks clicking into place felt like the faintest thread of air in drowning lungs.

Still, it unnerved me. The way Drew moved like he had done this before, like he knew exactly what kind of evil he was preparing against.

When he finally turned back to me, he didn’t ask if I was ready. He just gave me one short nod and tilted his head toward the door. Silent, commanding, absolute.

It felt like he had suddenly gone mute and his head was in another universe all together. But still I followed.

The hallway felt too quiet, every sound was exaggerated, the shuffle of our steps, even the hum of the lights overhead. When we passed Mrs. Williams’s apartment, her door opened. She stood there, wrapped in a night robe, her kind eyes scanning me first, then Drew, then the bag he carried.

“Lila,” she said gently, worry lacing her voice.

I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “It’s okay, Mrs. Williams. I’ll be staying with Drew tonight. Just… so you don’t worry.”

Her gaze flickered between us, sharp and knowing. Something warm settled in her expression, though she didn’t comment. Instead, she nodded slowly, relief loosening the lines of her face.

“Good,” she murmured. “That’s good. You’ll be safer with him.”

There was weight in the way she said it. A certainty I wasn’t sure I believed, but wanted to. She squeezed my arm lightly before retreating back into her apartment, shutting the door with a soft click.

I felt Drew’s hand on my back again; firm, steady and guiding me down the hall as if the ground itself couldn’t be trusted.

The space seemed too small for the tension pulsing between us. His hand never left my back, hovering just above the fabric of my blouse, and though he didn’t say a word, I could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me harder than if he had shouted.

My heart thudded in my chest as every step we took dragged us further from the nightmare of my apartment, closer into his world.

And his world was terrifying in a different way.

The car ride was no better. The city blurred past the windows, headlights streaking across the glass, but inside the car was nothing but silence. Not the comfortable kind, not the kind that rested easy between two people. This silence had edges. It scraped against my skin, lodged itself in my throat.

I stole glances at him as he drove. The way his jaw locked tight, the way his knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. His eyes never left the road, but the air between us vibrated with his fury, his restraint, his… something else that I couldn't quite name.

I wanted to ask what was going through his head. I wanted to ask why he looked like every breath was a war inside him. But the words wouldn’t come. So I sat in silence too, feeling my chest rise and fall too fast, praying the ride would end soon.

When we finally pulled into the underground garage of his building, I almost sagged with relief. His car slid into a private space, perfectly aligned, like everything else in his life. He got out first, circling to my side before I could touch the handle. He opened the door for me, hand extended, and when I stepped out, he reached for the bag again before I could think to protest.

The warmth of his hand hovered at my back again, steering me toward the elevators.

The ride up was the same, tense and silent with his presence pressing against me like a shadow I couldn’t escape. When the doors opened, he guided me into his penthouse.

His house looked the same way it did the last time I was here. All clean lines and glass and steel, the city skyline spilling in through wide floor to ceiling windows. Everything was pristine and untouched, like it was designed for show, not for living.

But the man beside me was anything but pristine.

He didn’t say a word as he carried my bag down the hall, disappearing into a room. When he came back, he didn’t look at me. He went straight to the chair across from me, dropped into it, and pulled out his phone and began to dial.

And finally he spoke for the first time since I went in to pack my bag, his voice shattered the quiet.

“Patrol her building,” he ordered as soon as the person on the other end of the phone answered, his tone was sharp and merciless. “Do it tonight, in fact all night. And if you see anyone suspicious, anyone at allI want a report immediately.”

My breath caught. He wasn’t asking, neither was he suggesting. He was commanding, and whoever was on the other end was clearly obeying.

He ended the call only to dial again.

“Find out what Max has been doing. Every move, every word, every person he has spoken to. I want it all. Don’t miss a detail. If he as much as breathes wrongly, I want to know.”

The venom in his voice made my skin prickle.

When he finally ended that call, the phone slipped from his hand and landed on the table with a dull thud.

For a heartbeat, the silence returned.

And then Drew bent forward, elbows braced on his knees, his head sinking into his hands.

At first it was just a slow shake. Then another. Then his fingers dug into his hair, and he shook his head harder, sharper, like he was trying to rip something from his mind.

The sound that came from him wasn’t anger this time. It was something worse. Raw. Shattered. A low noise that sounded like it had been trapped inside his chest for years.

I froze.

The man in front of me looked like he was unraveling thread by thread.

And it did something strange to me.

Because I wasn’t just shocked. I wasn’t just unnerved. I was… hurting. Hurting to see him like this. Hurting in a way I didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand.

For a long moment I stood there, watching him fight demons I couldn’t see. My body wanted to stay back, to protect itself from whatever storm lived inside him. But something deeper pushed me forward.

Before I realized what I was doing, my feet were carrying me across the room.

One step and then another. My hands trembled at my sides, my pulse drumming like a drum.

I stopped beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to smell the faintest trace of his cologne mixed with something rawer, sweat, stress and humanity.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t move. His hands still clutched his head, his body trembling.

And slowly, carefully, I lowered myself onto the seat beside him.

Close. Too close.

The silence between us roared, but I didn’t care.

Drew Sinclair looked like he was breaking.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I couldn’t let him break alone.