Five

Katherine’s POV

I had done everything I could to stay away from him.

After that night in the elevator after the way his voice cut through the air, that question still echoing in my chest I swore I’d keep my distance. I thought if I just avoided him long enough, the memory of his eyes, his touch, his scent would fade.

But fate… it had other plans.

It happened at a private event on the outskirts of the city. A quiet, exclusive meeting meant to finalize a deal under my family’s name. The venue was a discreet glass-walled villa overlooking the dark stretch of forest. I’d worn calm like armor that night, dressed in black silk and quiet power. Everything was under control.

Until it wasn’t.

One moment, I was shaking hands with the client. Next, I saw movement at the edge of the terrace, men in dark suits stepping out of the shadows, their eyes cold and fixed on me. Lester’s men.

My pulse jumped.

For months, I’d known he was watching, waiting for a chance to drag me back under his control. But seeing them there armed, closing in made my stomach twist.

I tried to move, but there were too many of them.

And then, from the corner of the room, someone spoke.

“Step away from her.”

That voice. Low, steady, and full of danger.

Kendrick.

He emerged from the shadows like a storm breaking through the calm. Everything about him was sharp, deliberate, his eyes dark and unreadable, his body coiled like he’d been waiting for this moment.

The air shifted. I could feel it in my bones.

Lester’s men turned, but they didn’t stand a chance.

In seconds, the room descended into chaos. Kendrick moved like lightning—precise, brutal, unstoppable. The sound of fists meeting flesh, glass shattering, groans filling the air. My heart raced as I tried to stay out of the way, frozen between shock and something far more dangerous.

When it was over, the room was a wreck.

Men lay scattered across the floor, groaning or unconscious. The sharp scent of blood clung to the air. And there he was standing between me and the danger, chest heaving, his shirt torn, blood running down his arm.

I’d never seen anything like it.

He looked like sin and salvation all at once.

Without thinking, I rushed to him. “You’re hurt.”

He tried to brush it off, but I didn’t give him a choice. Within minutes, I had him in my car, and I was driving back to my apartment, my hands still trembling on the steering wheel, his silence heavy beside me.

Inside, I made him sit on the edge of the couch. The wound on his shoulder was deep, but not fatal. I pressed a clean cloth to it, trying to ignore the warmth of his skin under my fingers.

He didn’t even flinch. Just watched me with that quiet, unshakable focus that always made it hard to breathe.

“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low and rough.

I kept my eyes on the wound. “Because you’re annoying. Who told you to step in like that? What if something had happened to you?”

He tilted his head slightly, that half-smile tugging at his mouth. “I just wanted to help. What should I have done, stood aside and watched them bundle you back to your ex?”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I froze, meeting his gaze for the first time since the fight. His eyes were darker now, intense. The kind of look that saw straight through me.

“It has nothing to do with you,” I said finally, forcing my voice steady. “This is my fight. And besides…” I hesitated. “I have brothers.”

He didn’t say anything.

Instead, he reached out slowly, like he was testing how far I’d let him go and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. My breath caught.

Then he kissed me.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger and every word we’d been too afraid to say.

I slapped him out of instinct, the sound sharp in the quiet room. My pulse was racing, heart slamming against my ribs.

But he didn’t move away. He just looked at me, eyes steady, chest rising and falling hard.

And before I could stop myself, I kissed him back.

Harder.

It wasn’t gentle or romantic, it was raw, furious, and alive. Every touch was a confession, every breath a war. His hands found my waist, mine tangled in his hair, and for a moment, I forgot everything else. The betrayal. The lies. The ache I’d carried for years.

All I could feel was him.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling.

“This can’t happen,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together.

He smiled quietly, confident, infuriatingly certain. “It already did.”

I turned away, pressing a hand to my chest as if I could steady the storm inside me. “You don’t understand, Kendrick.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

The sound of my name on his lips made something inside me twist.

He was a pure, unrelenting danger. The kind that didn’t come with warnings or second chances.

I’d lived through betrayal, through heartbreak, through the hollow years of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. But nothing—nothing—had ever felt as terrifying as him.

Because this time, the threat wasn’t from the outside.

It was from me.

---

I cleaned the blood from his shoulder in silence. The tension in the room was high When I finally stepped back, my hands were still shaking.

“Thank you,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes.

“For what?”

“For saving me,” I said softly. “Even when you shouldn’t have.”

He leaned back slightly, watching me with a look that made my heart stumble. “Next time, Katherine,” he said, his voice low, deliberate, and rough with meaning, “I won’t stop.”

I swallowed hard, unsure if it was a warning or a promise.

He stood, towering over me for a moment, a smirk on his face,before walking away. 

When the door finally closed behind him, I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space he left behind.