CHAPTER 2 : ARRIVAL OF CALLA MORENO

Ronan Vexley pov

She stepped out of the car like she wasn’t sure if she was arriving or being delivered.

Bare legs. Scuffed sneakers. Thin jacket like she didn’t know where the hell she was going. She clutched a beat-up duffel bag like it held all the pieces of her left-over life.

I watched from the second-floor balcony, one hand wrapped around a glass of neat whiskey, the other still tingling from my last call with Dominic.

He’d laughed when I told him I hired her.

“You sure she’s not gonna break if you breathe on her too hard?”

She looked breakable. That’s what made her interesting.

Elijah, my head of security, stood by the car. Said something to her. She didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, stiff.

She followed him up the steps like she was walking into a trap she saw coming but didn’t know how to avoid.

Good. Smart girl.

I turned from the window before she looked up.

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“She’s here.”

I barely looked at Elijah when he said it. “Put her in the south quarters.”

“She looks like she hasn’t eaten in two days.”

“Then feed her.”

He raised a brow but didn’t push it. He’d worked for me long enough to know when not to prod.

“You gonna introduce yourself?”

“No.”

Elijah smirked. “Classic.”

I didn’t plan to see her that night. Let her settle. Let her walk around and wonder if the walls were watching her.

They were.

But then I heard her laugh. 

Soft. Stupid. Like she wasn’t supposed to be happy here but forgot for half a second.

I stepped into the hall, barefoot, silent. The security cams showed her in the kitchen, unpacking her bag of toiletries at the corner counter like it was a hotel and not a goddamn prison.

She was talking to the cat.

The damn cat.

“I don’t even like cats,” she whispered, rubbing under its chin like she’d known it for years. “But I like you. You look like you bite people.”

I did bite people.

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I walked in without saying a word.

She jumped. The cat darted.

She turned—eyes wide, mouth parted. She was smaller than I expected in person. More delicate. Pale skin, tangled dark hair in a bun that looked like it barely held on. That jacket again. Too thin. Cheap.

Her fingers clenched the counter.

“Mr. Vexley,” she said. Like someone told her to say it.

I liked how it sounded coming from her. Soft. Unsure. Slight tremor in the vowels.

“Calla Moreno,” I said.

She nodded. Didn’t speak.

I walked closer. Stopped a few feet from her. She didn’t move. Her throat bobbed once. She didn’t look away.

Brave. Or stupid.

“I have one rule,” I said.

She blinked. “Okay.”

“You don’t lie.”

She swallowed. “I won’t.”

I stepped closer. Saw the flicker in her eyes. Fear. Not the flinching kind—more like the kind you hide under your tongue.

I leaned in just a little, voice low. “You already have.”

Silence.

Her breath hitched.

“I didn’t—”

“You used a fake name when you applied. Your ID doesn’t match your real records. You’re running from something. Or someone.”

She said nothing.

Smart girl.

I let the silence stretch until it got uncomfortable.

“Do I need to be concerned about whoever’s looking for you?” I asked.

She finally spoke. “No.”

“Should you be concerned?”

Her voice barely cracked out: “Always.”

Hmm.

Interesting.

I straightened, watching her try to breathe evenly. She didn’t ask what I meant. Didn’t protest. Just waited for whatever came next like she’d already learned the hard way not to argue with men like me.

“I don’t care about your past, Calla. Just do your job, keep quiet, and stay out of places you’re not invited.”

Her voice was hoarse when she replied. “I can do that.”

“We’ll see.”

I turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“Elijah will give you a keycard. You’re restricted to the main floor, staff wing, kitchen, and laundry. You go anywhere else, I’ll know.”

She didn’t speak. Just nodded.

“And Calla?”

She looked up.

“If you’re thinking of running,” I said slowly, “run now. Not later.”

Then I left her there—alone with a black cat, a cracked bar of soap, and the echo of a warning.