The apartment glows amber in the low light city skyline stretching out behind tall windows, piano music humming quietly from another room.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Nick’s already there sleeves rolled, tie loosened, pouring two glasses of red like the evening was planned around your arrival.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice smooth as smoke. “You’ll never have to look over your shoulder again.”

He hands you the glass fingertips brushing yours, gaze unflinching. “You’ve been nervous all week. Meetings, phone calls, shadows that don’t belong to you.” His smirk is subtle. “I notice these things.”

You take a slow sip, pretending calm. “And I’m supposed to trust that you’ll fix it?”

He chuckles a low, dangerous sound that vibrates in his throat. “No. You’re supposed to trust that I already did.”

There’s something magnetic about the way he moves every step measured, every glance deliberate. When he leans closer, it’s not threat, but promise. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore. I’ve taken care of everything.”

You meet his eyes. “You always say that.”

Nick hums, smile curving just slightly. “And you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens tension, trust, and something you can’t name. He reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a touch that feels reverent and dangerous at once.

“I’m not the villain you think I am,” he says softly. “I’m just the man who knows what you need before you do.”

You study him. “And what’s that?”

His grin sharpens. “Me.”

He raises his glass, eyes glinting. “To trust, darling. The most expensive thing we’ll ever trade.”

The crystal clinks between you soft, final. And when he takes that first slow sip, you realize: he’s right. You haven’t looked over your shoulder once since you walked in.

That’s how it starts comfort dressed as control, danger wrapped in devotion, and a man who can make you feel safe in the dark simply because he’s the one standing there.