I let him lead me inside. The house—well, mansion really—was gorgeous the last time I was here. But I never had a chance to explore beyond the ground floor.
The hallway is wide and lined with sleek, modern fixtures. The silver track lighting that follows us feels almost theatrical, and the hardwood floors gleam underfoot.
The kitchen is striking in its own way, with granite countertops and a stainless steel fridge that looks like it belongs in a five-star restaurant, although I know most of it is crammed with medical supplies.
“You don’t strike me as someone who cooks too much,” I tease as I examine the extensive display of Japanese cooking knives on the wall.
“I get by,” he admits sheepishly before gesturing out. “Shall we?”
I wait for him to slip out before I hastily wrap one of the knives in the sleeve of my jacket.
“Follow me,” he murmurs when I reappear, guiding me down another hallway that opens into a study.
But calling it a study feels almost inadequate.
One wall is taken up by monitors, each displaying an array of code, maps, and schematics. High-tech equipment hums on awide, glass-top desk, surrounded by low-lit towers of servers, the quiet whir of electronics filling the air.
He definitely notices my wide-eyed look because he gives me a smug smile. “Like it?”
“It’s…like my own personal playground.”
“I’ll introduce you later,” he replies mildly before taking my hand again. “There’s something else I want to show you first.”
We take the stairs up and head toward a set of double doors at the end of the hallway.
He winks at me before he twists the handle and opens it, gesturing for me to step inside.
It’s his bedroom.
The room is massive but feels surprisingly warm. The lights are dimmed to a soft glow, accentuating the rich, dark wood of the floors and the deep charcoal walls.
The bed dominates the room, king-sized with dark, plush bedding that looks soft enough to sink into. The pillows are perfectly arranged, though a few of them bear the faint creases of someone who’s often up late, lying awake, thinking.
A sliding glass door on the far side of the room opens to a small balcony with a view of the river, the city lights spilling in to cast faint patterns against the walls.
I take a step forward, mildly amused. “The thing you wanted to show me was your bedroom? Has the subtlety of romance been lost?”
He chuckles behind me as the door locks with a soft click. Then, another click. Then another.
I whirl around in alarm.
“This room is entirely soundproof,” he says as he casually stalks forward. “There’s nothing you can hack into to get the doors open. The glass is bulletproof, so you can’t scale the side of the building to make your escape.”
There’s something quite menacing about his approach, but I hold my ground. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
His midnight eyes graze over me lazily. “I suppose you think you could just stab me and make a run for it.”
My mouth opens in shock. “How did you?—”
But his hands are on me, shoving me firmly backward until I crash into the wall. The knife drops into my hand instinctively, and I press the blunt end into his neck.
We stand there for a moment, each breathing heavily.
“Any particular reason you have a knife in your hand, my love?”
“Old habits,” I breathe back. “Why did you lock us in here?”
“Because I’m not letting you go this time.”
