It had been days since she’d said it.
Something worth killing for. She hadn’t brought it up again, and neither had he. But the words lingered between them like smoke in a closed room, unspoken, unsettling, undeniable. The skyline outside Killian Black’s office was blurred with rain, but he barely noticed. His elbow rested against the edge of his desk, chin in hand, as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. Behind him, Jane, his assistant, knocked once and entered. “Mr. Black,” she said, placing a file on his desk, “The Munich accounts are ready for review.” He didn’t respond. “Sir?” He looked up slowly, blinking. “Leave it.” The door shut quietly behind her. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk. But it wasn’t Munich on his mind. It wasn’t the merger. And definitely not the millions shifting hands. It was her. Calla. The woman hadn’t screamed, hadn’t cried. She’d also refused the job, refused his protection, and refused to tell him the truth. And that infuriated him. But maybe… maybe that’s what made her different. Infuriating, yes, but intoxicating too. He stood abruptly, grabbing his phone. “Put eyes on her again,” he said to his head of security. “And no more shadowing from a distance. I want someone close.” “But sir, she hasn’t left the premises.” “Not yet,” Killian murmured. “But she will.” * * * In her suite, Calla stared into the burgundy swirl of brandy in her wine glass, sitting cross-legged on the velvet chair by the fireplace. Killian had given her comfort, wine, and warmth. But not freedom. And that made him no different from the others. She flinched as the memory returned like bile in her throat, the day they dragged her into court. Three officers. There had been no warning. “Mrs. Calloway,” one had said, “You’re under arrest for suspicion of theft and embezzlement.” “What?” she whispered, hands trembling. “That’s insane. I didn’t–” “You have the right to remain silent,” another recited. She was cuffed. They read her rights as they dragged her away. Cameras flashed as she was led through the courtroom, her heels clicking against the marble floors, echoing in the sudden silence. A reporter shouted, “Mrs. Calloway, how does it feel to be a thief?” Another asked, “What did you do with the stolen money?” She didn’t answer. She couldn’t breathe. She kept waiting for Damien to appear, to tell them it was all a mistake. But he never came. She was taken away, booked, and thrown into a cell without a single word from him. And that was the beginning of the end. The trial was a blur of lies and manipulation. They accused her of stealing millions, of laundering money through offshore accounts. They showed forged emails, fake bank statements, and doctored phone calls. She tried to fight. She tried to explain. But no one listened. No one cared. She was the villain, the gold-digging wife who had married for money. And Damien? Damien testified against her. He stood in court, cool and composed, and lied. He told them she was unstable, that she had a gambling problem, that she’d stolen to feed her addiction. He never once looked at her. And with every lie, her world crumbled further. The verdict came quickly, guilty on all counts. The judge sentenced her to twenty-five years, eligible for parole in fifteen. But she got out in five. As they led her away in handcuffs, she caught a glimpse of Selene in the courtroom, a triumphant smirk on her face. And Damien? He was already gone. Calla blinked, returning to the present, the fire’s crackle filling her ears. She’d lost her husband, her freedom, and her life. But not anymore. Not now. She took a long sip of her brandy, letting it burn all the way down. The time for silence was over. She would rise. And she would burn them all to the ground. The fucking betrayal. “Fuck,” Calla muttered now, setting the glass down a bit too hard. “Careful,” came a voice from the doorway. “Alcohol stains silk.” She looked up sharply. Killian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. “You actually don’t knock?” she asked. “I do,” he said. “But you ignore knocks.” She turned away from him, retrieving the glass again. “What do you want?” He walked in, uninvited, and sat on the opposite armchair. “You.” Calla blinked. “Excuse me?” He shrugged. “I want to understand you.” “There’s nothing to understand.” “Then why did you not agree to the job?” “Because I'm not interested.” “You should say yes.” “Yes to.? helping you destroy Damien. and definitely not to parading around as your arm candy.” He chuckled. “You’re too smart to be just candy.” Calla stared at him. “Why do you care, Killian? Really? Is this just another power game for you?” His jaw flexed slightly. “You think I’m playing?” “You’re always playing,” she replied. “Everyone in your world is.” There was a pause. Then he leaned forward. “Then just tell me.” he said quietly. “Why did Damien really have you arrested?” Her breath caught. He watched her, waiting. Calla looked away. “You’ve read the charges.” “I don’t trust paper.” “Then maybe you should find someone else to play detective with.” “I don’t want someone else.” Her eyes snapped to his. “Then stop treating me like a possession. I’ve been locked up before. I know what gilded cages look like.” He didn’t move. His voice dropped. “And what if I told you I’m not your jailer? What if I’m your only real weapon?” Calla stood, pacing slowly. “Then let me leave. Let me act. You say you want Damien ruined , so do I. But I don’t need a leash.” Killian smirked. “You might.” “You don’t know what I’ve survived.” “I know enough.” “No,” she snapped, turning to him. “You don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be dragged into court and called a thief. To watch people whisper and point. To see the man you once loved sit beside another woman and smile while your life crumbles.” Killian was quiet. Her voice softened, but not her anger. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything because you married the wrong devil.” For the first time, Killian looked… unsettled. He stood, walked slowly toward her. “I may not know your pain,” he said, “But I know what it’s like to want vengeance more than air.” They stood face to face now. “I don’t need you to protect me,” she whispered. “I don’t offer protection,” he murmured. “I offer power.” Her chin lifted. “Then give me power. Not chains.” He stared at her for a beat longer, then gave a short nod. “Okay.” “Okay?” she echoed. “But on one condition. If you leave here, you’re fair game for Damien or whoever’s out there. But… if you want to fight, I’ll arm you. My lawyers. My security. My resources.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?” “Because,” he said slowly, “I believe in you, Calla.” For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. No one had believed her in years. No one had trusted her. Not even herself. Now, here was this man, whom she hardly knew, offering her the one thing she needed most. Calla swallowed. “Okay,” she finally said. Killian smiled. “Then let’s go hunting, but Calla I can't trust you, for us to work together we have to trust each other." “Well to let you know I can be trusted, I’ll take your offer,” she said. “Hire me, and I’ll make you a king.” Killian’s smile was slow, wicked. “Well, Calla,” he said, stepping forward until his chest brushed her back, “I’m already a king.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But there’s something else you can do for me.” She turned her head, gaze locked to his. She raised a brow, cautious but curious. “I know. Isn’t that the offer about me being your escort or something?” “Yes,” Killian said, reaching up to brush his fingers lightly along her jaw. “That… and more.” She didn’t flinch. Not this time. “More?” she asked softly. His eyes darkened, his mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered–He laughed, his fingers digging into her hips. “Make me.”Vanessa growled, pushing back against him. “Fine.”He smirked, meeting her rhythm. “That’s more like it.”As he drove into her, she reached back, tangling her fingers in his hair. He groaned, his grip tightening.“You like that?” he teased, tugging harder.BANG.A single gunshot shattered the air.The PI’s body slumped forward, right on top of her. Blood gushed, splattering her blouse, her lips, her shoes. She screamed, pushing him off with trembling hands.Footsteps echoed.From the corner of the room stepped a woman. Jeans. Black gloves. Dark braid down her back. No hesitation in her eyes.Neva."Wha–who are you?!" Vanessa gasped, staggering back, hands shaking.Neva didn’t blink. "This is your last warning."Vanessa stared in horror."Get involved in Mr. Black’s business again... and you’ll be in pieces before your father even gets to bury you," Neva said, her voice like ice.She walked past the bed, grabbed the folder from
“Damien Calloway Announces Upcoming Engagement to Selene Monroe”Her mouth twitched into a dry, unimpressed smile. “Cute.”“He’s making a move,” Killian said, eyes hard. “So we make ours.”Calla tossed the paper back on the desk. “He can marry her. Throw her a castle wedding. I don’t care.”Killian stepped closer. “Oh, but you should. The game has officially started, Calla. And this isn’t checkers, it’s chess. I need you to trust me.”“Like I have a choice?” she scoffed.“I believe they’ve given up looking for you. That engagement is them saying ‘We’ve moved on.’ Let them have their little party. Let them celebrate.”“And then what?” she asked, arms folded.Killian’s lips curled. “Then we strike, but for now... I want you to learn.”Calla blinked. “Learn?”“My company. You’ll have a role to play, as my escort. You need to know the face of the business before we start shaking more tables.” Killian said, leaving out the dangerous empire part of his business.She gave a dry laugh. “Let m
The city air was cool on her skin, and for once, Calla wasn’t being trailed by men in black suits or stiff guards with earpieces. Just one woman. One silent, stone faced, leather-jacket-wearing woman. They had walked past a small park, sipped overpriced coffee from a corner shop, wandered into a boutique Calla actually liked, and even shared a basket of fries at a tucked-away diner. But not once had the woman said her name. They were now sitting at the edge of a fountain in a quiet square when Calla finally turned to her. “You know… I think it’s weird that I’m spending the day with you and I don’t even know your name.” The woman slid her sunglasses down just a bit. “Neva.” Calla blinked. “Never?” “Chill,” she smirked. “You don’t have to tell me.” Neva let out a sharp breath, clearly holding back. “My name is Neva,” she said slowly. “Not saying never.” Calla grinned. “Ohhh. Got it. Neva, not Never. That’s... unnecessarily confusing.” Neva rolled her eyes but d
She groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He shrugged. “I don’t do rentals.” “Oh You actually own this place?” “Yes, The building. The chef. The parking space.” “You really are insane.” He simply smirked again, opened the door, and whispered, “Welcome to my world, Miss Not-So-Mystery.” The waiter poured champagne. “To mystery,” Killian said. “To mayhem. And to you—still pretending you hate this.” “I do hate it.” “You’re glowing in it.” She didn’t toast, but she didn’t stop smiling either. From a corner, Mateo snapped a few photos, perfect angles, perfect lighting. Calla’s face never showed. But the romance? It looked real. Later, as the night wore on and dessert was served, Calla leaned in. “So this whole setup… the dress, the dinner, the cameras… You planned it all?” Killian sipped his wine. “Of course.” “And my face?” “Still blurred. Not yet. Let the world keep guessing.” She tilted her head. “And when will they know?” “When it’s time,” he said.
The sun had barely risen when Killian stepped out of the mansion. He was dressed sharp, sleek, his black shirt rolled to his elbows and his sunglasses hiding the fire in his eyes. Matteo, his long-time assistant, was already waiting beside the sleek black SUV. "Is everything in place?" Killian asked as he slid into the back seat. "Yes, sir. The men are expecting you. And the room’s been prepared." Killian gave a short nod. "Let’s not keep them waiting." They drove through the city, weaving past the sleeping streets and waking traffic until they pulled up in front of what looked like a high-end restaurant—La Fiamma. Chandeliers sparkled through the front glass, waiters in pressed uniforms moved like dancers, and a hostess greeted customers with a smile. But this wasn’t the real entrance. Killian stepped through a side door, passed through the kitchen, then nodded at the chef who stood by the wine rack. The chef gave a slight bow, twisted a bottle, and click—a hidden doo
Killian leaned closer. “You sure can’t get revenge quietly, dressed like that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Keep talking, and this coffee is going in your lap.” He laughed. “Fine. No more flirting until breakfast.” “I’m not having breakfast with you.” “Too late. It’s already being served downstairs.” Calla stood, pulled her robe tighter. “I’ll be down in twenty. Don’t barge in again.” He raised his hands. “No promises.” Downstairs, Killian was already seated, scrolling through emails and sipping black coffee like nothing happened. Calla walked in wearing a simple fitted dress. No makeup. Hair in a low bun. Yet somehow, she still looked like someone who owned the room. Killian glanced up, eyes trailing slowly. “You clean up nice. Again.” “Do you ever shut up?” “Not when you look like that.” She ignored him and took a seat. The butler served eggs, bacon, and toast. As they ate, Killian said, “You actually did handled Vanessa well last night.” “I wasn’t trying to