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Cain curses violently under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair as he paces two short steps away before whipping back to face me.

"Fine," he rumbles, his voice tight with restrained fury. "But you sure as hell aren't staying here tonight. Alright?"

I drop my arms, looking at him skeptically. "Why?"

"Because Elijah is bringing in a specialized security team to tear this place apart," he explains, gesturing toward the front door. "They're changing all the locks, setting up an integrated alarm system, and sweeping every corner to make sure this house is completely locked down and safe before you step foot back in it."

I let out a long sigh, my shoulders sinking. I hate how much control Nolan is stripping away from me, but I know better than to argue against basic security after someone just waltzed into my bedroom.

"You're staying at my house tonight," Cain states, leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation.

Before I can even open my mouth to protest the idea of sleeping at his place, he points a firm finger toward my bedroom door.

"Go pack a bag for an overnight stay," he commands, his dark eyes locking onto mine with uncompromising authority. "I'll be waiting in the car. Ten minutes."

Two hours later, I'm standing in the center of Cain's apartment.

We have just returned from getting Milly completely settled into the secure safehouse. To my immense relief, she absolutely loved the place.

Cain wasn't exaggerating about the medical care either—he brought in top-tier, in-house personnel, and an assigned nurse, giving her an instant companion to chat and hang out with. Seeing her relaxed and smiling took an enormous weight off my chest. I told her that there had been some break-ins in the neighborhood and that work had insisted on putting in an alarm system in the house. I know it was not the best story, but she believed it. I guess because I never told her what George is really like, so that she doesn’t get upset. I said told her I would be staying with a colleague tonight, so I would be closer to work.

Cain carries my overnight bag up the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing against the polished floorboards. I follow close behind. He stops outside a wooden door near the end of the hall, turning the brass handle to push it open.

"This is your room," he says, stepping aside to let me pass. "You can freshen up. I'll be waiting downstairs for you."

"Okay," I murmur, catching his dark gaze for a brief second. "Thanks, Cain."

He gives a single nod before turning back toward the stairs. I step into the room, hearing the door click softly shut behind me.

My heart gives a sudden, nervous thump against my ribs. Looking around the immaculate, quiet space, a deep wave of peace washes over me. Knowing that Milly is completely safe and surrounded by round-the-clock care—and that I'm tucked away behind Cain's security—allows my body to finally let go of the relentless tension it's been holding all for weeks.

I head straight into the adjoining bathroom, turning the shower dial to steaming hot. The water washes away the exhaustion, the terrifying chill of Nolan's violation, and the lingering residue of the long day.

Stepping out, I dry off and figure out what to wear. My hands hover over my options, and I catch myself trying on two different tops before immediately catching my own reflection in the mirror. My face warms.

I am being ridiculous—frustratingly self-conscious—all because I know I'm going back downstairs to face Cain.

I shake my head at my own foolishness, finally settling on a simple, ultra-soft knit lounge set. Taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, I open the door and step back out into the hallway.

I make my way down the wide staircase, my bare feet quiet against the hardwood steps.

Cain is down in the kitchen, leaning against the marble counter. The moment his gaze rises and lands on me, the atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. His eyes burn with pure, unadulterated heat, sweeping slowly over the soft knit set before rising back to hold my gaze.

"What are you doing?" I ask, desperate to break the tension between us.

"Making tea," he rumbles, turning back toward the stove where a kettle is beginning to steam. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat."

"No, I'm fine," I say, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the opposite side of the island. "I'd love a cup of whatever you're making, though."

A faint, rare smile touches his lips. I quiet down, watching him move effortlessly around his space. He pulls down two mug options, measures out the loose-leaf tea, and pours the boiling water with calm, practiced movements.

There is something unnervingly domestic about seeing a man who commands so much violence look so completely at home in a kitchen. It stirs a soft, dangerous warmth deep in my chest.

Cain glances up, catching my gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

A hot flush creeps up my neck, and I quickly avert my eyes to my hands.

He lets out a soft, amused grunt, sliding one of the freshly poured mugs across the sleek marble counter to me. I take a careful sip, the warm, fragrant liquid instantly soothing my throat.