The knock came just after midnight.
At first, Amelia thought she'd imagined it — the soft, almost polite tap against her apartment door.
She was curled on her worn-out couch, a legal pad balanced on her knees, Raven Corp's latest site inspection reports spread around her like a crumbling fortress.
Another knock.
Harder this time.
More insistent.
Heart pounding, she rose carefully, her bare feet silent against the creaky wooden floor.
"Who is it?" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.
No answer.
Amelia grabbed her phone and flicked on the peephole camera — an old, half-broken model installed years before she moved in.
The hallway was empty.
Silent.
Still.
She waited, breath caught in her throat.
After a long minute, she opened the door an inch.
Nothing.
No one.
Only a small white envelope taped to the outside.
Hands trembling, she peeled it free.
We know where you are, little Vale.
You owe blood.
No signature.
No address.
But she didn't need either.
She knew.
She knew exactly who had found her.
Amelia barely slept.
By dawn, she sat stiff-backed at her tiny kitchen table, cradling a mug of cold coffee, staring blankly at the envelope.
Chicago's gray morning light crept through the blinds, painting everything in dull, washed-out colors.
Every sound — the hum of the fridge, the distant wail of sirens — made her flinch.
She had fought so hard to leave that world behind.
Scraped and clawed her way into a life that didn't smell like cheap whiskey and desperation.
But ghosts didn't stay buried.
And debts didn't forgive.
Not in the world she came from.
At Raven Corp, she was a wreck.
She forgot a key data point in the Ridgemont report.
Spilled her coffee in the elevators.
Called Damien "Sir" too many times in one meeting, earning sharp looks from the team.
Finally, during a budget review, Damien's voice cut through the tension like a whip:
"Miss Vale. A word."
The room fell silent.
Twenty sets of eyes — amused, sympathetic, predatory — followed her as she trailed Damien into his office.
He closed the door behind them with a soft click.
"You're off your game," Damien said bluntly, folding his arms.
"Explain."
Amelia hesitated.
Every instinct screamed to stay silent.
To protect the fragile walls she'd built.
But then she looked at him — really looked — and saw not just the brutal CEO, but the man who had recognized something in her.
Something worth saving.
Maybe.
Maybe.
So she told him.
About the debts her father had racked up with men who dealt not in contracts but in fists and fear.
About the years she had spent ducking shadows, praying they would forget her.
About the note taped to her door like a noose tightening around her throat.
Damien didn't interrupt.
Didn't flinch.
He just listened.
And when she finished — throat raw, hands trembling — he said, in a voice like iron wrapped in velvet:
"You're under my protection now."
Amelia blinked at him.
"I don't want to drag you into this," she whispered.
A faint, humorless smile touched Damien's lips.
"You work for me. That makes this my problem."
Before she could protest, he was already dialing.
A man appeared minutes later — tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in the understated uniform of someone trained to be dangerous without advertising it.
"This is Hayes," Damien said.
"Private security. Former Intelligence. Best I employ."
Hayes gave a single nod.
"You'll have a tail for the next few weeks," Damien said briskly.
"24/7 surveillance. Unmarked vehicles. Silent backup. They won't know we're watching."
Amelia opened her mouth — to argue, to thank him, she wasn't sure which — but Damien cut her off with a look.
"No arguments, Miss Vale," he said softly.
And in that softness, she heard the steel beneath.
> No one touches what's mine.
He didn't say it aloud.
He didn't have to.
That night, Amelia lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Security or not, the fear was still there, coiling inside her like a living thing.
But for the first time, it wasn't the only thing she felt.
There was something else, too.
A reckless, dangerous spark.
Hope.
Not the naive, desperate kind she'd once clung to — but something fiercer.
Damien Raven had thrown his protection around her like a shield.
Not because he had to.
Because he chose to.
Maybe it was loyalty.
Maybe it was power games.
Maybe it was something darker, something neither of them dared name.
But whatever it was...
Amelia Vale wasn't running anymore.
Not from them.
Not from him.
Not from herself.
She pulled the covers tighter around her and finally, finally closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would bring new battles.
But for tonight, she was safe.
For tonight, she had someone in her corner.
And God help anyone who tried to take that away.
The attack wasn't supposed to happen so soon.
Amelia had just started breathing normally again, lulled by the invisible shield of Damien's protection.
She moved through her days under discreet watch, her bodyguards blending seamlessly into crowds, their eyes always scanning.
For the first time in years, she almost felt... untouchable.
She should have known better.
Ghosts never stayed at the edges.
They always came for blood.
It started small.
A flat tire on her company car — slashed, not punctured.
A coffee order replaced with a drink laced with enough sedative to knock her out for hours — intercepted, thankfully, by a sharp-eyed assistant.
Damien's security tightened immediately.
Cameras installed.
Background checks refreshed.
Routes altered daily.
But the threats didn't stop.
They escalated.
One night, returning to her apartment after a late meeting, Amelia found her door slightly ajar.
The chain hung uselessly, broken.
Inside, everything looked untouched — at first.
But when she crossed the threshold, she found a single object placed neatly in the center of her bed.
A cracked, blood-smeared photograph.
Her as a little girl, clutching a stuffed bear.
Someone had been inside.
Someone had been close enough to touch her past, to smear it with violence.
Her scream brought the building's security rushing in.
Within minutes, Damien was there too — storming through the door like a force of nature.
His suit jacket was rumpled, his tie hanging loose — a rare crack in his armor.
His hands closed around Amelia's shoulders, gripping too tightly.
"Are you hurt?" he barked.
She shook her head numbly.
Damien scanned the room with a feral sharpness Amelia had never seen before.
When his eyes landed on the photograph, something dark flickered across his face — something that promised vengeance without mercy.
"Pack a bag," he said without looking at her.
"W-what?" she stammered.
"You're not staying here another night," Damien said, already pulling his phone from his pocket.
"I'm moving you somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't touch you."
He barked orders into the phone — instructions rapid and lethal.
Amelia stood there, stunned.
This wasn't just corporate loyalty anymore.
This was personal.
Very, very personal.
Twenty minutes later, Amelia found herself inside a sleek black SUV, flanked by security agents.
Damien slid in beside her, his presence filling the vehicle completely.
He said nothing as the car sped through the glittering Chicago night.
The city blurred past them — a riot of lights and color Amelia barely registered.
She kept her hands clenched tightly in her lap, fighting back the tide of helplessness rising inside her.
Damien's hand closed over hers without warning — firm, grounding.
"You're safe now," he said quietly.
Amelia looked at him.
Really looked.
For the first time, the steel mask he always wore was cracked, just a little.
And beneath it, she saw something raw.
Anger.
Guilt.
And something even more dangerous.
Something that terrified her almost as much as the men chasing her.
Because whatever this thing was between them — this growing, blistering bond — it wasn't professional anymore.
It wasn't even logical.
It was messy.
Human.
Real.
And it could get them both destroyed.
The car pulled into an underground garage beneath one of the newest Raven Corp luxury developments — a fortress disguised as an apartment complex.
Amelia stepped out into the cool concrete cavern, blinking against the fluorescent lights.
"This way," Damien said, guiding her toward a private elevator.
Inside, he swiped a keycard.
The doors slid shut, locking them into a cocoon of silence.
Amelia felt his gaze on her — heavy, assessing.
"You should have told me about your past sooner," Damien said, voice low.
"I thought I could outrun it," she admitted, staring at the mirrored elevator walls.
Damien's reflection looked back at her — tall, lethal, beautiful in a way that hurt to look at.
"You can't outrun what you don't confront," he said quietly.
Amelia turned to him, frustration bubbling over.
"Easy for you to say. You're Damien Raven. You don't have to run from anything."
For a second, she thought he would snap.
Instead, he just smiled — a small, bitter thing.
"You think I built Raven Corp because I was fearless?" he said.
"I built it because fear chased me. Every damn day."
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open to reveal a penthouse bathed in warm gold light.
Amelia stepped out, stunned.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering skyline.
Plush leather couches.
A marble fireplace flickering gently.
Home.
But not hers.
"Stay here," Damien said, his tone brooking no argument.
"You're not safe until we find out who's behind this."
Amelia swallowed.
And if you can't?"
Damien's eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Then I'll burn every inch of Chicago until you are."
The certainty in his voice stole her breath.
Amelia nodded silently.
And for the first time in days, she let herself believe it.
Believe him.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't alone anymore.
Not really.
Not ever again.