Page 48 of Lured By Shadows

“Allow me,” Culver said at last, his low voice breaking the silence that had followed us the entire drive.

I watched him step out of the car and move around to my side with the same quiet authority he carried everywhere. There was no hesitation in him, only purpose, as he opened the door and waited for me.

Sitting there while he waited so patiently made me feel oddly cherished and deeply wary all at once. Because honestly, that was pretty much all I knew about him at this point: his violence and restraint, the careful way he handled me, and the way he watched me as though I were something precious he wanted to protect… but also something he could destroy if he lost control. Worst dating profile imaginable, honestly.

And while my body still reacted to his nearness in ways I didn’t fully trust, my mind stayed painfully alert. Every instinct I had was awake, cataloging exits, reading faces, wondering how easily I could disappear if things went wrong.

Totally healthy behavior for a first dinner invitation.

Still, part of me couldn’t ignore the opportunities standing beside him opened. Even if I didn’t fully trust Culver, being close to someone like him could change things. Not only for me but for my ma too. Maybe, if I stayed careful, some of those open doors might actually lead somewhere worthwhile.

The thought settled heavily inside me, tangled somewhere between ambition and survival.

My gaze drifted across the garage, lingering on the sleek lineup of cars resting like predators at ease. Then I spotted the motorcycle from yesterday.

The one he’d taken me away on.

Warmth fluttered low in my stomach, softer than nerves this time. Something closer to nostalgia, as though that ride had quietly shifted something in my life.

I blinked and pulled myself back into the moment, only to find Culver still standing there with the door open like he had all the patience in the world. I scrambled out carefully, trying not to trip over my own awe. Because dying face-first in a billionaire’s garage would’ve been deeply humiliating.

My hand slipped into his again, and those same tingling sensations swept through me while he guided me toward the door leading into the house.

The walls inside were painted in soft shades of pale yellow and ivory, colors that loosened something tight in my chest the second I stepped through. The air carried a faint scent of milk and honey, warm and indulgent without becoming overwhelming. I instantly wanted to repaint my bedroom the same colors, as though I could steal some piece of this calm and hide inside it later.

Culver walked beside me in silence while I drifted from artwork to artwork, studying abstract paintings and black-and-white photographs that belonged more in a gallery than a home. With every step, I felt smaller somehow, like the house itself quietly understood exactly who belonged there and who didn’t.

“I apologize,” he said softly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked down at the plush carpet beneath my sneakers. “Is this about breaking that guy’s wrist?”

“No.” His voice carried gravity rather than defensiveness. “I hate making you uncomfortable.”

I turned toward him, the words I’d been holding back pressing painfully against my ribs. “Can I be honest?” I asked, folding my arms across myself.

He raised a brow, faint amusement flickering through his eyes. “Have you not been?” He gestured vaguely between us, as though referring to every reckless thing I’d already said to him.

I rolled my eyes before exhaling slowly, some tension easing from my shoulders. “Okay, fair. I know I’m outspoken, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared to say certain things.” I hesitated carefully. “I’m still trying to figure you out, and sometimes I just can’t. You’re a lot, Culver.”

That felt like the understatement of human history.

He didn’t bristle, but something shifted behind his eyes. Hurt perhaps. Or disappointment. I couldn’t tell. He drew in a slow breath as though preparing himself.

“There is nothing for you to fear from me, Ira,” he said quietly. “I would never lay a hand on you in that way. I know that may sound impossible after what you witnessed, but I mean it. You are… important to me. That has not changed since the moment I first saw you. I would never hurt you. Ever.”

That sounded exactly like the kind of sentence people said right before things got dramatically worse in movies.

“Tell that to my anxiety,” I muttered, because she was currently running the entire operation. “And who’s to say how long promises like that last? People change… especially men. They say whatever they need to say, and once they get what they want, the truth comes out.”

Culver stepped closer and threaded his fingers gently through my hair before his thumb brushed down my cheek to my chin. His long fingers curled there, tugging me slightly nearer. The touch was so tender my legs nearly gave out for a second, and I let my eyes close despite every warning in my head telling me not to.

My hand drifted up his arm to his bicep, guided more by feeling than thought. I heard his breath sharpen quietly. His muscle tightened beneath my nails, and I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling.

When I opened my eyes, he was already watching me.

His expression had softened while his gaze moved carefully across my face, as though he wanted me to understand exactly what standing beside him meant. Somewhere along the way, I’d already stepped too far into his world to pretend otherwise.

Yeah. I was absolutely screwed.