Chapter 5: Too Close for Comfort

The inside of Christian's mansion is exactly like him—grand, cold, and ridiculously expensive.

Marble floors stretch beneath my bare feet, reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers. A massive staircase curves toward the second floor, and paintings worth more than my old apartment hang along the walls.

Beautiful.

Impressive.

Completely irrelevant.

My attention is on the man standing behind me.

Christian shuts the heavy front door and locks it. The click of the lock sounds louder than it should.

His eyes drop to my bare feet before slowly moving back up.

"You're freezing."

I glance down at myself.

The oversized coat he gave me hangs from my shoulders, almost swallowing me whole.

"I'll survive."

His eyebrow lifts.

"That's what you said at the hospital."

Before I can answer, he steps closer.

He reaches for the coat, pulling the lapels together around me. His fingers brush my neck, and I instinctively stiffen.

Too close.

I can smell his cologne now. Clean, masculine, with something darker underneath.

My pulse betrays me.

Annoying.

"I can take care of myself, Vance," I mutter.

"Clearly."

His eyes flick down to my bare feet.

"That's why you're standing there shivering."

I glare at him.

He almost smiles.

Almost.

Then he steps away.

"Come on. I'll show you your room."

He turns toward the staircase.

I follow.

Every step sends a dull ache through my ribs, but I refuse to complain. I'm halfway up when my knee suddenly gives.

Damn it.

I reach for the railing.

Too late.

A strong arm wraps around my waist.

Christian catches me before I hit the stairs.

My back presses against his chest.

For one second, I forget to breathe.

"Careful, Vivian."

His voice is right beside my ear.

"I didn't bring you here just to watch you break your neck on my stairs."

"I'm fine."

"You almost fell."

"I said I'm fine."

"You can barely stand."

I turn my head slightly.

"I'm walking, aren't I?"

He looks down at me.

His expression says he isn't impressed.

Then, without warning, his other arm slips beneath my knees.

"What are you—"

He lifts me.

I gasp and grab his shoulders on instinct.

"Put me down."

"No."

"Christian."

"Save your strength."

His voice is calm.

Infuriatingly calm.

He carries me up the remaining stairs as if I weigh nothing.

I should be angry.

I am angry.

But my traitorous mind is too busy noticing how steady his arms are around me.

Wraith has escaped armed men.

Wraith has survived gunshots.

Wraith has never been carried around like fragile cargo.

I hate this.

Especially because a tiny part of me doesn't completely hate it.

Christian reaches the end of the hallway and pushes open a door.

The room is enormous.

A king-sized bed sits in the center, surrounded by soft lighting and dark furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, and a walk-in closet sits behind another door.

He carries me to the bed and sets me down carefully.

The mattress sinks beneath me.

Christian straightens and runs a hand through his damp hair.

"There are dry clothes in the closet."

I glance toward the closet.

"Your staff?"

"Already informed."

Of course.

"Get some sleep," he says. "My room is across the hall."

He turns toward the door.

Then stops.

His hand remains on the knob as he looks back at me.

"And Vivian?"

"What?"

His eyes narrow slightly.

"Don't try to sneak out tonight."

I give him an innocent smile.

"Why would I?"

"Because you have the survival instincts of a criminal and the curiosity of a thief."

I almost laugh.

If only he knew.

His mouth curves into a faint, dangerous smile.

"I'm a light sleeper."

He opens the door.

"And I don't mind catching you again."

The door closes behind him.

I stare at it for several seconds.

This man is a problem.

A very distracting problem.

I look around the room.

Too luxurious.

Too secure.

Too many cameras.

I get off the bed and walk toward the window.

The glass is reinforced. The lock is electronic.

I check the door.

Locked from the outside.

I smile faintly.

Golden cage indeed.

Christian thinks bringing me here keeps me safe.

Maybe it does.

But he has made one mistake.

He brought a trained assassin into his home.

And now he has no idea what she's going to find.

I turn away from the door and walk toward the closet.

Then I stop.

Something catches my attention.

A photograph sits on the dresser.

Three people.

Christian.

A younger man who looks strangely familiar.

And Vivian.

My breath catches.

Why would Vivian have a photograph with Christian?

I step closer.

My fingers reach for the frame.

Then I notice something written on the back.

A date.

Three months before Vivian's fall.

And beneath it, four handwritten words.

He can't know yet.

My blood runs cold.

What the hell was Vivian hiding from Christian?