Breathless.

Chapter Two: Breathless

The world was a roaring, suffocating blackness. The pressure on Ian's face was absolute, crushing his nose, stealing the very last gasp of air from his lungs.

His thrashing grew weaker, his thoughts turning to sludge. This is it. This is how I die.

Then, suddenly, the weight was gone.

Ian gasped, a raw, ragged sound as sweet, cold oxygen flooded back into his chest.

He was dimly aware of a struggle in the dark…grunts, the sickening thud of a fist hitting flesh, and the swift sound of the door swinging open and shut.

The overhead light flicked on, blinding him for a second.

Zhedya stood there, looking as calm as if he’d just stepped out of a board meeting. Not a hair was out of place. His grey eyes found Ian, wide and terrified in the bed.

“Are you okay, Ian?” he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble.

Ian could only nod, his body trembling so hard his teeth chattered. He clutched the hospital sheets, his knuckles white. He had been here. The killer had been right here, his hands on me.

Zhedya’s gaze swept the room before landing back on him. “You’re in deep trouble, little journalist. It seems your killer isn’t ready to let you go just yet.”

He let out a soft, almost amused sigh. “A good thing I decided to check on you. Who knows what would have happened.”

“Thank you,” Ian choked out, his voice still shaky. “For saving me. Again.” His eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall. 1:17 AM.

A cold suspicion trickled down his spine. “Do you… often sleep at the hospital? Where’s your office?”

“On the top floor. I do sometimes, when work demands it,” Zhedya replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering.

But Ian's mind was racing. Why was he checking on me at one in the morning? And how did he get here so fast? The struggle had lasted mere seconds.

“You can’t stay here,” Zhedya stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“And you certainly can’t go home. The man who wants you dead knows both locations. Since you’ve rather recklessly inserted yourself into this mess, the police will be of little use.”

He pulled out his phone, showing Ian a news headline. “They just found another body near where I picked you up. This is a serious predator.”

He pocketed his phone and looked at Ian, his expression unreadable. “I’m offering you my penthouse. For your safety. Until this is over.”

Ian's instincts screamed at him. He’s a stranger. A powerful, unnerving stranger. But the memory of the pillow smothering him was sharper, more immediate. What choice did he have?

*****

Zhedya’s penthouse wasn’t just a house; it was a monument to wealth.

The silent, sleek car, the uniformed driver, the maids who glided past without making a sound…it was a world away from Ian's cramped apartment with its takeout boxes and dusty bookshelves.

“If you keep staring like that, you’ll strain your neck,” Zhedya teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he led Ian to a private elevator. “Let’s make it easier on you.”

Heat rushed to Ian's cheeks. “Sorry, it’s just… a lot.”

“Don’t apologize. I had the best architect in the country design this. Blame my impeccable taste, not your curiosity.”

They walked down a hallway so quiet their footsteps were swallowed by the plush carpet. He opened a door and gestured for Ian to enter. “This is your room.”

Ian stepped inside and his jaw nearly hit the floor. It was bigger than his entire apartment.

A massive bed with a plush grey comforter dominated the space, and a floor-to-ceiling window offered a dizzying view of the city lights.

“There’s an en-suite bathroom through there,” Zhedya pointed, “a gaming setup in that corner, and your own balcony if you want to enjoy the night air.”

He watched Ian, those grey eyes taking in his reaction. “I hope you like it.”

“Like it? It’s… incredible,” Ian breathed, falling backward onto the bed. It was like sinking into a cloud. As he sat up, his eyes caught on the nightstand. And the desk.

His blood ran cold.

Framed pictures of him and his college friends. A photo of his late mother. His favorite novelty mug holding pens. They were his things.

He shot up from the bed. “How did you get these?” he asked, his voice tight. “Did you go into my apartment?”

Zhedya didn’t even flinch. “Oh, that. I did. I wanted this to feel like home for you. I brought a few of your personal items. Your laptop is on the desk,”

he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You should get back to writing. Dinner is in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

He left, closing the door with a soft click, leaving Ian standing alone in the middle of the luxurious room, a chill creeping down his spine.

He’d lost all his keys except one. The one he’d hidden in the empty vase on his porch. No one knew it was there.

Unless they were watching me.

*****

Finding the dining room was a mission. The penthouse was a maze of identical hallways and modern art. Ian finally ran into a young maid who pointed him in the right direction.

“You know,” she whispered, a shy smile on her face, “the boss has never had a guest stay here before. You must be really special to him.”

Her words sent an unexpected, confusing jolt through Ian. He just nodded and hurried away.

When he finally found the dining room, Zhedya was already seated at a long, obsidian table.

The spread of food looked like something from a five-star restaurant.

“You’ll want to sit before it gets cold,” he said, not looking up from his plate.

Ian slid into the chair next to him. “This place is insane. It’s way too big for one person. Especially if you never have people over.”

He smirked, that same dangerous, charming tilt of his lips. “Ah, one of the maids has been talking, I see.”

He reached over and served a portion of roasted vegetables onto Ian's plate without asking. “When I was a child, I loved hide and seek. A house like this is perfect for it.”

Ian stared at him, a piece of steak halfway to his mouth. What kind of grown man builds a multi-million dollar penthouse and thinks about hide and seek?

“I’m still stuck on how you found my key,” Ian said around a mouthful of food. “Or did you just pick the lock?”

“I found it. I didn’t break in,” he stated simply, his eyes finally lifting to meet Ian's.

As Ian ate, he could feel Zhedya's gaze on him. It was heavy, intense, like a physical touch.

It made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. His skin prickled with a mix of unease and something else he couldn't name.

“Do I have something on my face?” Ian finally asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, his gloved fingers surprisingly gentle as he cupped the side of Ian's face.

His thumb stroked his cheekbone once, a slow, deliberate caress. Ian's breath hitched.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Ian,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate vibration in the quiet room. “I will always protect you.”

Ian's heart did a crazy, frantic flip-flop in his chest. For a terrifying second, he was frozen, lost in those stormy grey eyes.

He pulled back, his face burning, and gently removed his hand. “That was… weird. But, uh, thank you, Zhedya. Goodnight.”

He snatched an apple from the fruit bowl and practically fled from the room, not waiting for a reply.

He didn’t stop until he was back in his assigned bedroom, leaning against the closed door, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Why did that make me feel so shy? he thought, pressing his cool hands to his hot cheeks. And why did it make my knees feel so weak?