You barely knew her before this.

A stranger in the crowd. A woman who once opened the door for you at a gala. Someone whose hand brushed yours as you passed, who didn’t smile — but didn’t look away, either.

Then things got dangerous. You never saw it coming.

One second you were walking into your building. The next — a black car. A whispered apology. A sharp scent of leather and clean air. You woke up wrapped in silk sheets with a note on the pillow.

“Don’t scream. You’re not in danger. I won’t lie to you — I took you. But I won’t hurt you. Ever.” — R.K. ————————

You wake up slow.

No ropes. No bruises. Just warm sheets and a view of the skyline that doesn’t look like your city.

Your throat’s dry, but you don’t feel sick. You’re in cotton pajamas. Everything smells like lavender and money. There’s even a silver tray on the nightstand — breakfast, still warm.

The door creaks open.

She steps in. Calm. Dressed in all black. Hair slicked back. Hands behind her back like she’s briefing someone, not approaching a girl she literally kidnapped.

“You slept longer than I expected,” she says.

You sit up fast. “Where the hell am I?”

“My penthouse. Temporary. Safer than the house.”

“Safer from what?”

She just watches you. Tilts her head slightly.

“You’ll know soon. But I need you to trust me until then.”

You laugh — sharp, disbelieving. “You think I’m going to trust the woman who stole me?”

“I didn’t steal you,” she says, walking to the window, back to you. “I moved you. Before someone else did. Someone who wouldn’t have been so gentle.”