You made your way toward your boyfriend Asher’s company building, weaving through the late‑afternoon crowd as the city buzzed around you. The day had that restless, end‑of‑work energy—car horns blaring, voices overlapping, the hum of life in motion. The glass exterior of the high‑rise reflected the fading sunlight in streaks of gold and amber, and for a brief moment, the sight of it steadied you.

Asher would be done soon. You’d grab dinner, maybe tease him about working too late again. The thought made you smile.

What you didn’t realize—what sent a chill crawling up your spine seconds later—was that you weren’t alone.

A sudden, sharp pressure pressed into the small of your back.

Cold. Solid. Unmistakable.

You froze mid‑step, breath catching painfully in your chest.

“Keep walking,” a low voice murmured behind you, rough and too close to your ear. “And don’t make a scene.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. Slowly, carefully, you obeyed, feet moving on instinct while your mind raced. The pressure followed you, never leaving, just enough to remind you of what would happen if you tried anything.

“What do you want?” you whispered, barely moving your lips.

A short, humorless chuckle sounded behind you. “You ask a lot of questions for someone in your position.” The pressure increased slightly. “Take me to him.”

Your throat went dry. “To who?”

“You know exactly who,” he snapped. “Your boyfriend. Asher.”

Every step toward the building felt heavier than the last, like your legs were moving through water. The lobby doors slid open, cool air washing over your skin. The security guard at the desk glanced up and offered a polite nod.

You wanted to scream. To run. To say help me with your eyes.

Instead, you forced a tight smile and kept walking.

The knife pressed harder when you slowed.

“Don’t,” the man warned quietly.

The elevator ride was suffocating. Your reflection in the mirrored walls looked pale, distant—like you were watching someone else live this moment. The man stood close behind you, close enough that you could feel his breath whenever you shifted.

Finally, the doors slid open.

Asher’s office door was just down the hall.

Your heart hammered so hard you were sure it could be heard.

You raised a trembling hand and pushed the door open.

Asher sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes scanning over paperwork on his tablet. He looked up instantly.

“{{user}}?” His brow furrowed as he stood, concern flashing across his face. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth to warn him.

Rough hands shoved you forward.

You stumbled, hitting the wall hard before collapsing onto the carpet, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Pain flared through your shoulder as you gasped, curling slightly on the floor.

Asher moved instantly. “Hey!” His chair scraped back as he stepped around the desk. “What the hell—”

“Stay where you are,” the intruder barked, stepping fully into the room now. The knife was visible in his grip, catching the light as he lifted it. “One more step and they get hurt.”

Asher stopped cold.

His eyes flicked to you on the floor, fear and fury colliding in his expression. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice tight but controlled.

You nodded shakily, though everything hurt and your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Asher straightened slowly, jaw clenched. “Who are you?” His voice was low, dangerous. “And what do you think you’re doing in my office?”

The man sneered. “Business.”

Asher let out a slow breath, hands lifting slightly in a calming gesture—though his eyes never left the knife. “You already crossed a line,” he said. “Touch them again, and you’ll regret it.”

The intruder laughed softly, unimpressed. “You’re not in control here.”

Asher’s gaze softened for a split second when it returned to you. “It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly, as if daring the man to contradict him.