Too bold.
Too dangerous.
Little Fire. A flare he would follow into oblivion if he had to.
She thought her independence was armor. She thought strength could protect her. But all it did was make her a target. For people like him. For worse.
Especially worse.
Men like Gideon Blackwelldidn’t see it. Not the real her. Not the way she tried so hard to outrun her past, to stay ahead of the world closing in.
Gideon would strip her down piece by piece, until she didn’t know who she was anymore. Not out of cruelty, but the slow death of misunderstanding.
Men like him always meant well.
They always destroyed.
She didn’t belong in his world of glass towers and silent threats, in his empire of lies dressed up as legacy.
She belonged with someone who saw through it.
Someone who could handle the heat without trying to extinguish it.
Someone who wouldn’t put her on a pedestal.
He’d worship the fire and guard it with his life.
She didn’t understandthat yet.
But he did.
That’s why he was here. Why he always would be.
Not just to watch.
To keep her safe.
To keep her his.
?
Arden turned to leave the alley.
Then—impact.
Solid.
Immediate.
She collided with a wall of muscle, not brick, and instinct took over. Her hands flew up—ready to shove, to strike, to survive.
Not panic.
Not fear.
A lifeline.
A sharp inhale clawed through her. She looked up, wide-eyed, and met his gaze.
