CHAPTER 27: THE ELEVATOR AMBUSH

EMBER'S POV

The penthouse door clicks shut behind me and I stand there for a moment, trying to make sense of the last four hours.

At 4 AM, Knox was inside me, calling me his, telling me no one else gets to touch me, fucking me against the window like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

By 5 AM, he was cold. Clinical. Reminding me our relationship is fake while I stood there naked and confused.

And for the three hours since? He's been on the phone. Endless calls, endless business, endless distance.

I showered alone. Dressed alone. Ate breakfast alone while he paced the living room talking to someone about pack territory disputes, never once looking in my direction.

When I told him I was leaving for the spa, he didn't even pause his conversation. Just crossed the room, pressed a brief kiss to my forehead like I was a child being sent off to school, and went right back to his call.

That's it. That's what I got.

A forehead kiss. After everything.

I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror—hair blown out, makeup fresh, wearing a cream silk wrap dress that probably costs more than my entire pre-Knox wardrobe.

I look polished. Put together. Like someone who has her shit figured out.

Funny how appearances lie.

Nathaniel and two security guards are waiting by the elevator, professional enough to pretend they don't notice the tension radiating off me.

I appreciate the discretion, even if part of me wants to scream did you see that? Did you see how he just dismissed me like I'm nothing?

But I don't scream. I've spent four years not screaming. Old habits.

"Spa level," I tell Nathaniel, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.

Small victories.

The elevator arrives and I step inside, pressing the button while Nathaniel and the guards follow at a respectful distance.

I lean against the railing and close my eyes, trying to collect myself.

Five more days, I remind myself. Five days and you walk away with enough money to start over. This was always the deal. Stop pretending it's something else.

The elevator slows at the thirtieth floor, and I open my eyes just as a hand slides through the closing doors.

Not Nathaniel's hand. Not security's hand.

A hand attached to Rafael Montenegro—the South American Alpha from the Welcome Dinner.

The one who watched me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Who kissed my knuckles and smiled like he knew secrets I hadn't figured out yet.

The one Knox hates.

He steps into the elevator with the easy confidence of a man who's never been denied anything in his life, and before anyone can react, he hits the close button.

The doors seal shut on Nathaniel's alarmed face, cutting off my security detail mid-stride.

"Apologies to your entourage," Rafael says, turning to face me with a smile that manages to be both charming and slightly dangerous. "But I find formal introductions tedious, and I've been trying to get you alone since we met."

I stare at him.

This man just locked me in an elevator. Alone. Without my security. And he's smiling about it like he's done something clever rather than potentially kidnapped the Lycan King's girlfriend.

"You have approximately forty-five seconds before Nathaniel takes the stairs and breaks down whatever door is between him and me," I say flatly. "So if you're planning to murder me, I'd work quickly."

Rafael laughs—a genuine, surprised sound that transforms his face from calculatingly handsome to something almost warm.

"I like you," he says. "Knox always did have excellent taste, even if he's too emotionally constipated to appreciate what he has."

"Is there a point to this ambush, or do you just enjoy making security details panic?"

"Both, if I'm honest." He leans against the opposite wall, giving me space, his posture deliberately non-threatening. "But mostly I wanted to introduce myself properly. Without Knox looming over your shoulder like a gargoyle with separation anxiety."

I shouldn't engage. I should stand here silently and wait for this elevator ride to end.

But Knox just spent three hours ignoring me after making me feel like the center of his universe, and there's something refreshing about someone who's openly interested rather than running hot and cold like a broken faucet.

"We met at the dinner," I point out. "You kissed my hand and looked at me like you were trying to read my soul. That counts as an introduction."

"That was a preview." Rafael's eyes crinkle with amusement. "This is the full experience."

"Lucky me."

"You wound me, Miss Aragon." He presses a hand to his chest in mock injury. "And here I thought we were building rapport."

"You trapped me in an elevator. This might as well be a hostage situation."

"Semantics."

Despite myself, I feel my lips twitch. He's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet there's something almost charming about his total lack of shame.

"What do you want, Rafael?"

His expression shifts slightly—still warm, but with something more serious underneath.

"I want to know if you're alright. You looked troubled when you left Knox's suite. I thought perhaps you could use a friendly face."

"You were watching his suite?"

"I was on my way to breakfast. The timing was coincidental." A pause. "Mostly."

I don't believe him for a second, and he knows I don't believe him, and somehow that honesty-within-the-lie makes me trust him more than if he'd pretended to be completely innocent.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just tired."

"Mmm." Rafael tilts his head, studying me with those gray eyes that seem to see too much. "You know, I've known Knox for almost a decade. Watched him build his empire, consolidate his power, turn himself into the Lycan King everyone fears and respects."

"Is there a point coming, or is this a history lesson?"

"The point," Rafael says, "is that I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I've also never seen him look quite so terrified of that fact."

Something in my chest tightens. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Perhaps not." He shrugs elegantly. "But I know what running scared looks like. And Knox Volkov is running. The question is whether you're going to let him get away with it."

The elevator slows, approaching the spa level, and Rafael reaches into his jacket pocket.

For a moment I tense—old instincts, Gale-trained instincts—but he only withdraws a sleek black card.

"My personal number," he says, pressing it into my palm. "Not my business line, not my assistant. Me. For if you ever want to talk to someone who isn't afraid of Knox Volkov, or invested in whatever game he's playing."

I look at the card. Heavy cardstock, embossed silver lettering. The kind of thing that costs more to produce than most people's monthly rent.

"Why?" I ask. "What's in it for you?"

Rafael smiles, and there's something almost sad in it.

"Maybe I just recognize someone who deserves better than to be a pawn in someone else's chess match." He steps back as the doors begin to open. "Or maybe I have my own agenda and you'd be wise to throw that card away the moment I leave."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement of your trustworthiness."

"No," he agrees. "But it's honest. And in my experience, honesty is rarer than diamonds in circles like these."

The doors open fully, and I can already see Nathaniel's scarred face approaching from the stairwell, his expression thunderous.