Betrayal From A Safe Space

Zara

Zara didn’t cry. Not when her landlord threatened to raise the rent again. Not when the market rejected her latest designs. And definitely not over a man who had more aliases than I*******m filters.

But the fire in her throat said otherwise.

She hadn’t looked back after storming out of Carmella’s. Her feet carried her through the city like they had a grudge, her blood boiling with betrayal and shame. Not just because of Alec—but because she’d let herself feel something. Hope. Curiosity. Maybe even a flicker of wanting more.

She’d known better.

Trust was a currency she couldn’t afford. And Alec just proved why.

He’d lied without technically lying. Hidden the truth behind charm and clever smiles. She should’ve known that no one who looked like that, moved like that, and had cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds was ever simple.

And Marissa?

That woman hadn’t just walked in with perfume and poison—she’d cracked open a secret Zara wasn’t ready to confront.

The next morning, Zara didn’t check her texts. She didn’t give herself the chance.

She rolled out of bed, pulled on a hoodie, shoved her curls into a messy bun, and headed to her studio two blocks over. It wasn’t much—just a converted storage unit with a skylight and peeling paint—but it was hers. The one place in the world where she felt in control.

Or so she thought.

She knew something was wrong the second she unlocked the door.

It swung open with a creak.

And then—silence.

Zara stepped inside.

The smell hit first: smoke, burnt fabric, and something chemical.

“No…”

Her feet moved on instinct, heart pounding. The racks were overturned. The sewing machines—smashed. Fabric bolts unraveled and scorched. Her pinned-up sketches were torn down and stomped into the stained concrete floor.

She dropped to her knees beside a blackened mannequin, its torso melted halfway through. One of her best jackets—charred. Unrecognizable.

“No. No, no, no.”

Her chest caved as reality struck.

This wasn’t an accident.

This was sabotage.

And someone had made it personal.

She scrambled for her phone, hands trembling.

First call—911. Second—her landlord, who didn’t pick up.

Third…

She hovered over Alec’s number.

Her pride screamed no. Her heart whispered maybe.

She hit call before she could stop herself.

⸻

Alec answered on the first ring. “Zara?”

She didn’t even greet him. “My studio. It’s gone.”

“What?”

“Someone trashed it. Torched it. I—I don’t know who, but it’s bad.”

“Where are you?”

She gave the address and hung up before he could offer sympathy.

Fifteen minutes later, a black Range Rover pulled up. Alec stepped out in a leather jacket, sunglasses pushed to his head, no pretense today. Just raw urgency.

Zara stood in the alley, arms crossed, jaw tight.

He approached slowly, scanning her face. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Just humiliated.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t touch her. Just looked past her, into the broken mess of her dreams.

Then he walked inside, assessing everything with a precision that didn’t belong to a ‘freelancer’ or a ‘poet’ or whatever he was pretending to be last week.

Zara followed, arms folded. “You’ve done this before.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Security consulting was part of my life. Before.”

“Before what?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out his phone, snapped photos, then opened his notes app and started documenting.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, hating how hollow her voice sounded.

He paused. “Someone targeted you.”

“I don’t need saving.”

“This isn’t about saving you. It’s about stopping them.”

Zara’s throat closed. “I don’t even have enemies.”

“You have fire. Fire threatens people. That’s enough.”

His words hit her harder than she expected.

She looked down, her fists clenched. “I had two orders left to finish. Clients waiting. And now it’s all—”

“I’ll help you rebuild.”

She glared at him. “You think throwing money at this is going to fix what you broke?”

His jaw tensed. “I didn’t do this.”

“No, but you brought her into my space. And the second she walked in, everything changed. Don’t pretend that’s coincidence.”

Alec stepped closer. “You think I’d ever let someone hurt you?”

“I think I don’t know what the hell you’re capable of.”

He didn’t respond.

She hated how silence with him was louder than shouting with anyone else.

Then he said, quietly, “Let me make this right.”

“You can’t.”

“Zara—”

“Go.”

He didn’t move.

So she did.

She turned her back to him, not because she wanted to but because if she didn’t, she’d break. And she couldn’t afford to break—not again.

He left without another word.

⸻

Two days later, Zara found herself standing in front of a plain glass building on the Upper East Side, clutching a printed letter in one hand.

The letterhead read: Lexden Holdings.

The signature? Alec Black.

Not Maddox. Not any of the fake last names he used. Black.

He wasn’t just a billionaire. He was that billionaire.

The one who owned a controlling share in several tech companies, a private security firm, and—she’d Googled this part at 2AM—an elite fashion brand that once tried to buy out a couture house in Paris.

Zara had ignored the letter the first time. Then the second.

But now… now she had nothing left to lose.

Inside the lobby, she was met with sleek marble floors and staff who looked like they’d been born in designer suits.

“I have a meeting with Alec Black,” she said coolly, flashing the letter.

The receptionist blinked, then gestured toward the elevators. “Top floor. He’s expecting you.”

Of course he was.

The elevator ride felt like judgment.

When the doors opened, she stepped out into an office that looked more like an art gallery. Floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist furniture, and the kind of silence that made you feel small.

Then she saw him.

Standing by the window. Black suit. No tie. Looking like a king in exile.

He turned when she entered.

“Zara.”

“You lied.”

“I protected.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I know.”

She crossed the room slowly, deliberately. “Why did you send me money?”

“To replace what you lost. And because I knew you wouldn’t take it otherwise.”

“I haven’t cashed it.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

She dropped the check on his desk.

“I don’t want a handout.”

He nodded. “Then take a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I back your label. Quietly. You run it. Loudly.”

She blinked. “You want to fund my work?”

“Invest,” he corrected. “In you. In your fire. No control. No conditions. Just a runway.”

Zara stared at him.

And for the first time since the fire, something in her chest clicked.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

He smiled faintly. “You.”

Her breath caught.

A pause stretched between them—thick with tension, unsaid words, and all the nights she’d imagined kissing the mouth that now offered her a future.

Zara stepped closer.

Close enough to hear his breath hitch.

“You should’ve told me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You scared me.”

“I was scared too.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only person who sees the real me,” he said softly. “And I’ve never let anyone do that.”

The silence cracked.

Zara didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him.

But suddenly, their mouths met—urgent, hungry, unforgiving. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t clean.

It was raw.

He backed her against the edge of his desk, hands in her hair, her body arching into his like it belonged there.

She broke the kiss first, panting. “This doesn’t mean I trust you.”

His thumb brushed her jaw. “Then let me earn it.”

She met his gaze, her voice a whisper.

“You get one chance.”

And for the first time, Alec Black—king of secrets—looked like a man who finally had something to lose.