CHAPTER 3: Safe Harbor at the Penthouse

Cassy

"Where the fuck are you taking me?" I gasped, my voice shaking so hard my teeth rattled together.

I grabbed the leather armrest with both hands, staring out the rain-streaked windshield of the Maybach. The heavy SUV was flying down the dark highway, fast and smooth, leaving the bright lights of the campus far behind us in the storm.

Karius didn't even turn his head. His massive hands held the leather steering wheel at ten and two, his dark ash brown hair cut short and neat against his thick neck. His broad shoulders completely filled out the driver's seat, his fair skin dusted with light freckles under the dark dashboard lights.

"I told you," Karius growled, his deep voice rumbling through the leather seats like distant thunder. "You're coming with me."

"Turn this car around right now!" I yelled, pulling my oversized hoodie tight around my soaked body. "I don't even know you! You can't just kidnap me because I accidentally scratched your stupid car!"

"Accidentally?" Karius scoffed, his sharp square jaw clenching tightly. He threw a quick, cold glance at me with his deep forest green eyes. "You dragged a metal ring across custom matte paint, Cassy. That's not an accident. That's a five-thousand-dollar mistake."

"I was having a panic attack!" Tears burned hot behind my round tortoiseshell glasses. "People were chasing me with cameras! My life was completely ruined five minutes ago, and you're screaming at me about a car!"

"I'm not screaming," Karius said, his tone flat, stoic, and unreadable. "If I were screaming, you'd know it."

"Just drop me off at my dorm," I begged, clutching my hands together in my lap. "Please. I'm freezing, I'm wet, and I just want to lie down and pretend today never happened."

"Your dorm is currently crawling with fake friends and reporters trying to film your crying face for views," Karius said, leaning forward slightly as he took a sharp right turn into an exclusive private driveway. "You think you're going back there tonight? You wouldn't last five minutes before someone put a phone in your face."

I squeezed my eyes shut as fresh pain sliced through my chest. He was right. Hendrix had made sure I was the joke of the whole university. The video of me hitting him was everywhere by now. I had nowhere to go. No one to call.

"So where are we?" I asked softly, my hazel eyes looking out the window as the Maybach rolled into a private underground garage.

The garage was huge, lined with polished concrete walls and glowing LED lights. Expensive sports cars were parked in neat rows, but Karius pulled into a private, gated section labeled with a gold badge.

"My place," Karius said, putting the Maybach into park and shutting off the engine. The sudden silence in the vehicle was heavy and suffocating. "Well, my penthouse. I share it with Elijah and Chase."

My stomach did a violent drop. "The Golden Trio's penthouse? Are you insane? I can't go in there!"

"You're already in my car with vomit on my shirt," Karius said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned his massive body toward me, his towering six-foot-four frame casting a huge shadow over me in the dim light. His green eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding. "You think stepping into an elevator is going to ruin your reputation any more than it already is?"

"Karius, please—"

"Out," he commanded, stepping out of the SUV and slamming his door shut.

Before I could even think about locking the door from the inside, Karius pulled the passenger side open. He reached in, grabbed my arm with his massive, warm hand, and gently but firmly pulled me out onto the concrete floor. His grip was impossible to break, his long fingers wrapping almost all the way around my thin wrist.

"I can walk on my own," I muttered, shivering as the chilly garage air hit my damp clothes.

"Then walk," Karius growled, not letting go of my wrist for a single second as he led me toward a private chrome elevator at the back of the garage.

He pressed his thumb against a biometric scanner next to the doors. A quiet chime echoed through the empty garage, and the heavy doors slid open. He pushed me inside gently, stepping in right behind me. The elevator was lined with dark tinted mirrors and polished gold trim.

I looked at our reflection in the mirror. I looked like a drowned rat—tiny, soaked, my dark chestnut hair sticking to my cheeks, my thick glasses crooked on my nose. Standing beside me, Karius looked like an absolute giant. His thick neck, barrel chest, and broad shoulders made me look impossibly small next to him. His dark flannel shirt was stained where I had thrown up, but he didn't even seem to care anymore. His stoic, rugged face was set in a hard line, his faint eyebrow scar making him look even scarier.

The elevator shot upward, the floor numbers flashing quickly. Fortieth floor. Forty-first. Forty-second. Forty-fifth.

Chime.

The heavy doors slid open directly into a massive, jaw-dropping high-rise penthouse. The ceilings were two stories high, lined with floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over the stormy city skyline. The furniture was all dark leather, dark wood, and minimalist luxury.

"Karius?" a warm, motherly voice called out from around the corner. "Is that you? You took forever at the arena—oh my goodness gracious!"

A short, plump woman with salt-and-pepper grey hair pinned in a neat bun came hurrying out of the kitchen area. She wore a comfortable simple dress covered by a crisp, immaculate white apron. Her round face was full of gentle laugh lines, but the moment her kind brown eyes landed on me, her jaw dropped in absolute shock.

It was Mrs. Mori, the famous penthouse housekeeper of Karius Hidalgo.

"What on earth?" Mrs. Mori gasped, bustling forward on her short legs. She took one look at my dripping, shivering body, then looked up at Karius with a sharp, angry glare. "Karius Hidalgo! What did you do to this poor girl?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Mrs. Mori," Karius grunted, finally letting go of my wrist. "Cassandra dragged her ring down my Maybach and then threw up on my shirt."

"I don't care if she set your automobile on fire!" Mrs. Mori scolded, stepping directly between Karius and me. She raised her soft arms, physically shielding my small frame from the towering athlete. "Look at her! She's trembling like a leaf in a hurricane! She's soaked to the bone!"

"Mrs. Mori, I'm sorry—" I started to whisper, my voice cracking with embarrassment.

"Hush now, sweet child," Mrs. Mori said softly, turning around to face me. Her kind eyes crinkled with deep warmth as she took my freezing, wet hands into her soft, warm ones. "You don't need to apologize for a single thing in this house. You're safe now."

She looked back up at Karius and shooed him away with her hand. "Go take off that filthy shirt and wash your face, you big brute! Leave this poor child to me!"

Karius let out a low, deep grumble in his chest, but he didn't argue with her. He shifted his broad weight, his forest green eyes lingering on my face for a long, intense second. His jaw clenched once, a strange, possessive flare flashing in his dark eyes before he turned on his heel and walked down the long, dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom.

"Come along, dear," Mrs. Mori said, gently placing a warm arm around my waist and guiding me down a side corridor. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia."

"Thank you," I breathed out, my chest aching with sudden, overwhelming gratitude. "I'm so sorry to bother you..."

"You are no bother at all," Mrs. Mori said firmly, pushing open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. "This is the guest suite. Nobody uses it."

The guest suite was bigger than my entire dorm room. It had a massive king-sized bed covered in plush white duvets, a fireplace flickering with warm orange flames, and an adjoining master bathroom made of pristine white marble.

Mrs. Mori immediately walked into the bathroom and turned on the heavy brass faucets over a massive clawfoot bathtub. Steaming hot water began pouring into the tub, filling the air with the comforting scent of lavender and sweet oil.

"Strip out of those soaking wet rags, child," Mrs. Mori instructed gently, pulling a stack of thick, fluffy white towels from a wooden cabinet. "Get into that hot bath and let the water warm your bones. I'll bring you something hot to eat."

"You don't have to do all this," I said, tears blurring my vision again as I looked at the kind woman. "I'm just... I'm nobody."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Mori smiled, reaching up to pat my wet cheek with her soft hand. "You are a human being who has had a terrible, horrible night. Now get into that water before I scold you too."

I gave her a tiny, shaky smile. Mrs. Mori patted my shoulder one last time and walked out, closing the heavy bathroom door behind her.

The moment I was alone, I peeled off my wet, heavy hoodie, my scuffed sneakers, my muddy jeans, and my soaked socks. My skin was goosebumped and pale from the freezing storm. I stepped over the edge of the marble tub and lowered my body into the steaming hot water.

A soft, breathless gasp escaped my lips as the extreme heat wrapped around my freezing skin. I sank deep into the bubbles, resting my head against the smooth porcelain edge. I closed my eyes and let the hot water wash away the rain, the dirt, and the lingering ache of Hendrix's cruel words.

For twenty minutes, I just floated, letting my racing heart slowly return to a normal rhythm.

A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Cassandra, dear?" Mrs. Mori called out softly. "I left some fresh clothes on the bed for you, and I brought some hot soup."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mori! I'm coming out now," I called back.

I drained the tub, dried myself off with the thick white towel, and stepped out into the warm bedroom. Laid neatly on the edge of the massive plush bed was a set of clothes—a pair of thick, oversized grey sweatpants and a matching soft grey long-sleeved sweatshirt.

I pulled them on immediately. The fabric was insanely soft, smelling like clean cotton and fresh linen. The sweatpants were long on my five-foot-four frame, pooling over my bare feet, and the sweatshirt hung loosely off my slender shoulders, hiding my soft curves beneath the heavy fabric. I felt cozy, warm, and hidden.

Sitting on the nightstand was a steaming bowl of homemade chicken vegetable soup.

I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the silver spoon, my hands still shaking slightly. The first bite of hot broth was so comforting I felt fresh tears slip down my cheeks. I ate greedily, finishing half the bowl before Mrs. Mori walked back into the room holding a soft dry towel and a wide-tooth comb.

"Look at you, much better already," Mrs. Mori beamed, setting a small wooden stool behind me. "Sit right here, child. Let me dry your hair."

I moved over to the stool, sitting quietly as Mrs. Mori gently wrapped the warm towel around my long chestnut brown hair, patting out the excess water.

"Mrs. Mori?" I asked softly, looking down at my hands in my lap. "Why did Karius bring me here? He was so angry at me."

Mrs. Mori chuckled softly, her hands working carefully to comb out the tangles in my straight hair. "Karius Hidalgo grumbles at everything, my dear. He was born with a scowl on his face. But he brought you here because he knew you needed a sanctuary."

"A sanctuary?" I repeated, my hazel eyes reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace.

"This penthouse is the only place on earth where those three boys can escape," Mrs. Mori explained gently, her comb sliding smoothly through my chestnut locks. "Elijah, Chase, and Karius... they are the Golden Trio. The captains of the ice. The whole university worships them, but the whole world expects them to be perfect."

I stayed quiet, listening to the soft rustle of the towel.

"On the ice, they are absolute monsters," Mrs. Mori continued, her tone turning fond yet serious. "They are cold, ruthless, vicious, and completely unstoppable. People look at them and think they are heartless alphas who care about nothing except winning championships."

Mrs. Mori paused, setting the comb down on the nightstand and placing her warm, motherly hands on my shoulders. She looked at my reflection in the mirror with kind, crinkling brown eyes.

"But listen to me very carefully, Cassandra," Mrs. Mori warned softly. "While they may seem terrifying and cold on the outside, they are fiercely protective of whatever enters their home. They don't let just anyone step through that front door. This penthouse is their domain."

"I... I don't want to intrude," I whispered, my heart fluttering nervously in my chest. "I can leave in the morning."

"You are not intruding, child," Mrs. Mori smiled, patting my shoulder gently. "Now that you are under this roof, you are under their shield. I saw the video of what happened to you… Listen to me, no one outside—not that foolish Sevilla boy, not that sneaky Portia girl, and certainly not those media vultures—can touch you while you are in this house."

She squeezed my shoulder gently before picking up her tray. "Get some sleep, Cassandra. You've survived enough for one night."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mori," I said, watching her give me one last warm smile before she stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, listening to the soft crackle of the fireplace. My mind was spinning. The warmth of the soup and the hot bath had loosened the tight knot in my chest, but my throat was completely dry.

I needed a glass of water.

I pushed myself off the stool, my bare feet sinking into the ultra-soft dark carpet. I quietly turned the door handle and stepped out into the dim hallway.

The penthouse was silent now. The main lights were turned off, leaving only soft, warm ambient floor strips illuminating the dark hardwood corridors. High above, the sound of rain tapping against the glass windows sounded faint and distant.

I walked softly down the long hallway, keeping my steps quiet as I searched for the kitchen. I turned a sharp corner near the main open-concept living room, my head down as I pulled the long grey sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt over my hands.

Bump!

My forehead slammed directly into a solid wall of warm, bare muscle.

"Whoa," a deep, commanding voice growled softly above me.

I stumbled backward from the impact, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished floor. Before I could fall, two massive, warm hands shot out and caught me by the waist. His long, thick fingers wrapped firmly around my sides, his touch burning straight through the soft fabric of my sweatpants and locking me in place.

My heart slammed straight into my throat. I gasped, my hazel eyes flying wide open behind my thick, round tortoiseshell glasses as I looked up.

Standing directly in front of me was Elijah Castanier.

He was six-foot-three of pure, sculpted muscle. He was completely bare-chested, wearing only a pair of dark, low-slung lounge pants that hung loosely off his broad hips. His olive skin was flawless, his chest broad and defined with corded muscles from years of dominating the ice. His jet black hair was cut short, immaculate even in the middle of the night, not a single strand out of place.

He smelled intoxicating—a sharp, rich blend of dark sandalwood, expensive soap, and crisp, fresh ice.

Elijah stared down at me, his sharp jawline set tight, his straight nose inches from mine. But it was his eyes that completely paralyzed me.

His eyes were ice blue—piercing, cold, fiercely intensely focused, and terrifyingly beautiful.

His ice-blue gaze swept down my petite body, taking in my oversized grey sweatpants, my messy dark chestnut hair cascading over my shoulders, and my wide, trembling hazel eyes. His big hands stayed clamped firmly around my waist, pulling my body an inch closer to his chest until I could feel the intense heat radiating off his bare skin.

His lips, which rarely ever curved into a smile, parted slightly as his breathing deepened.

"Who the fuck," Elijah whispered, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the dark, quiet hallway, "are you?"