20 - frantic

I pressed my hands flat against the cold tinted glass of the passenger window while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I watched Maximilian lean down over David's kneeling form, but the thick soundproofing of the luxury vehicle blocked out whatever lethal words my boss was whispering into the cold air.

David let out another muffled scream that barely reached my ears, and he curled his body forward until his forehead touched the dirty pavement.

He cradled his broken right wrist against his chest while his shoulders shook with heavy, pathetic sobs.

A few minutes ago, I was terrified that David would find a way to hurt us both because he always used his loud voice and angry fists to get exactly what he wanted.

Now, the man who had tormented me for three years was crying on the sidewalk in a puddle of spilled alcohol.

I stared at the brutal scene unfolding outside, and a deep wave of pure awe washed over my trembling body.

Maximilian simply stood up from his crouched position and brushed a tiny speck of dust from the sleeve of his tailored suit jacket.

He did not look out of breath, and his broad chest rose and fell in a steady, relaxed rhythm.

He turned his back on my ex-boyfriend without a second glance and walked around the front bumper of the Maybach.

The heavy driver's side door clicked open, letting a sudden rush of freezing Chicago wind into the warm cabin before Max shut it again.

He settled back into his leather seat and adjusted his cuffs as if he had just finished a casual lunch meeting.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring at his handsome face while my brain struggled to process the sudden violence.

"M-Max, did you just break his arm?" I stuttered out while my wide eyes darted between his calm expression and the sobbing man on the sidewalk.

Max turned his head to look at me, and his dangerous gray eyes softened into a look of absolute devotion.

"I broke his wrist, so he will have a very hard time throwing empty bottles or hitting windows for the next few months," he answered in a smooth, quiet tone.

He did not sound angry or boastful about the injury he had just inflicted upon another human being.

"You did not have to go that far for me," I whispered while rubbing my sweaty palms against my cheap navy blue skirt.

"I will always go that far to make sure nobody ever makes you cry again," he promised while reaching across the console to hold my shaking hand.

The warm pressure of his palm grounded my racing thoughts, and the lingering terror inside my chest finally began to fade away.

"Do you have the keys to the apartment lobby in your purse, Alexandra?" he asked gently while shifting the conversation away from the ruined man outside.

"Y-yes, I have them right here," I replied while reaching into my worn leather bag to pull out my silver keychain.

Max unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door again to step back out into the gloomy afternoon air.

He walked around the hood of the car and pulled my passenger door open so I could step out onto the curb.

I hesitated for a brief second because David was still groaning loudly on the concrete just a few feet away.

Max noticed my fear, so he reached his large hand out to help me out of the low seat.

I grabbed his hand and stepped onto the pavement, expecting David to shout another nasty insult the second he saw my face.

Max immediately wrapped his heavy arm around my waist and pulled my side flush against his tall frame to shield me from any sudden movements.

We walked right past the spot where David was kneeling in the dirt.

I braced myself for the hateful words, but David just kept his face buried in his good arm and refused to even look up at us.

The realization hit me that David was truly terrified of the man holding me, and I felt a strange surge of empowerment replace my old insecurities.

I was no longer the weak, stuttering girl who hid in the bedroom while her boyfriend threw dinner plates at the wall.

I walked past the broken man without saying a single word, leaving him behind in the mess he had created for himself.

We reached the peeling double doors of the main lobby, and I used my silver key to unlock the rusty deadbolt.

Max pulled the heavy door open and held it so I could step inside the dim, terrible-smelling hallway.

The overhead fluorescent lights flickered erratically, casting long shadows across the stained carpet and the overflowing metal mailboxes.

"The elevator has been broken for six months, so we have to take the stairs up to the fourth floor," I mumbled while pointing toward the dark stairwell at the end of the hall.

"Lead the way, and take your time," Max instructed while placing his hand gently on the small of my back to guide me forward.

We started climbing the concrete steps, and our footsteps echoed loudly in the enclosed space.

My thighs burned slightly from the exertion, but I felt incredibly safe knowing Max was walking right behind me to catch me if I stumbled.

I focused on the thought of packing my books, my few decent skirts, and my grandmother's old necklace into a cardboard box so I could leave this awful place forever.

We reached the second-floor landing, and I paused for a second to catch my breath because the tight pencil skirt restricted my movement.

"Are you doing okay?" Max asked in a low whisper that sent a warm shiver down my spine.

"I am fine, I just hate these stairs," I answered honestly before resuming the climb toward my old life.

We reached the fourth-floor landing a minute later, and I let out a long sigh of relief because the hardest part of the day was supposedly over.

The hallway smelled like burnt cabbage and stale cigarette smoke, reminding me exactly why I hated coming back here every night after work.

We walked down the narrow corridor until we reached the scuffed wooden door of apartment 4B.

I pulled my keychain out again and slid the brass key into the lock.

I expected to walk into an empty, silent living room where I could quickly gather my things in peace while Max waited by the door.

I knew David always left a huge mess in the kitchen, but I was prepared to ignore the dirty dishes and just head straight for my bedroom.

The deadbolt clicked loudly, and I pushed the heavy door inward to reveal the small space I had called home for three miserable years.

I stepped over the threshold and froze instantly when my eyes registered the unexpected movement inside the room.

The apartment was definitely not empty.

My skinny, model-perfect sister Chloe was sitting casually on the center cushion of my faded beige couch with her long legs crossed over the coffee table.

She held a steaming mug of my expensive coffee in her manicured hands, and she was wearing my favorite oversized gray knit sweater.

The sweater hung off her thin frame, mocking my heavy curves because I knew she had raided my closet just to prove she looked better in my clothes.

She took a slow sip from the mug and lowered it to her lap while a cruel, amused smirk spread across her flawless face.

I felt all the blood drain from my face, and the protective empowerment I found downstairs vanished in an instant.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" I gasped out, my voice shaking with fresh betrayal.

Chloe let out a soft, mocking laugh and brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the fat little intern bringing her billionaire boss into this dump," Chloe sneered before looking directly past me at Max.