Spencer King has everything-except the one thing he truly wants.
As the head of a multi-million dollar empire, Spencer enjoys power, prestige, and a stunning view of New York City. But behind the success lies a lingering ache-he's alone. The woman h...
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SPENCER
I begin to climb the familiar concrete steps to Brooklyn's front door, the quiet of the early morning disrupted by the sound of shouting. At first, I think I've misheard—maybe a neighbor watching TV too loud—but then I hear her.
Her cries split through the wall like glass shattering.
They're not cries of frustration or anger.
They're screams for help.
I knock—once, hard—but get no answer. My fists slam into the door again and again, but nothing. The screaming gets louder. Then I hear the man's voice. Harsh. Familiar.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
Elijah.
Adrenaline surges. I don't hesitate—I kick the door open and nearly rip it off its hinges.
And there he is.
Elijah King.
Standing in the middle of her living room, gun raised.
Brooklyn's blood paints her nose, her cheeks bruised. Her hands tremble. She's on her knees, and she's crying. My Brooklyn. My heart fractures in two.
I move to run. To tackle. To scream. But I'm too late.
The gun fires.
A single shot echoes like thunder in my ears.
She falls.
Elijah runs. The door slams behind him, leaving nothing but silence and the sharp scent of gunpowder.
I fall to my knees, gathering her limp body in my arms. My hands are shaking as I try to stop the blood. It's everywhere—on her shirt, on her floor, on me.
Her eyes flutter open for a moment, locking onto mine.
"I love you," she whispers, barely audible.
And then she goes still.
Everything stops.
My sobs tear through the quiet. My arms tighten around her like they could pull her soul back into her body.
"I love you too," I whimper, breaking completely.
⸻
My body jerks upright. My chest heaves like I've been drowning. Sweat clings to my skin, cold and suffocating.
It takes a moment to remember.
I'm in my room. It was just a nightmare.
But it felt real.
Too real.
My phone buzzes beside me and the ringtone slices through the quiet. I grab it with trembling fingers.
"Hello?" My voice is hoarse.
"Good morning, Mr. King," Charles, my lawyer, says on the other end. "Just wanted to let you know the contract is drafted and in your inbox. Once it's signed and scanned, everything's official."
"Thanks, Charles. I'll have it back to you by noon," I murmur, my mind still swirling.
I end the call and lean forward, elbows on my knees. That nightmare—it's haunting me. Her face, her blood, her last words. I can't shake it. I won't let anything happen to her.
Not while I'm alive.
⸻
The café is calm as I sip my coffee, the clink of silverware and quiet chatter doing little to distract me. I glance toward the door every few seconds, waiting for her. Brooklyn said she'd meet me here at ten. I got here early—couldn't sleep, and I needed air.
Just then, the bell above the door jingles—and it's not her.
It's Grayson.
He spots me and walks over, looking more tired than usual. I wave him over.
"Hey, man," I say, trying to be casual. "It's been a while."
"Yeah, things have changed," he says with a hollow smile.
"I heard. How's the breakup?"
He sighs. "It's rough. I messed up. Cheated. There's not much coming back from that. But... silver lining: I accepted an internship in Hollywood. Just got the confirmation last night."
"That's huge," I nod. "Congrats, man. When do you leave?"
"Tonight." He smiles faintly. "It's short notice, but I need the escape. Just came for coffee before the flight."
"Well, I hope you come back in one piece." I grin.
He laughs once. "I'll be back in a few weeks—for Brooklyn's wedding, actually."
At that moment, the door jingles again.
Brooklyn walks in.
My heart lurches.
God, she's beautiful—even when she's exhausted. Her eyes scan the room until they land on me. And I see the flicker of surprise when she notices Grayson.
"Guess that's my cue," Grayson mutters, standing up. He stops to hug her gently before slipping out.
She watches him go, a question in her eyes. "What was that about?"
"He's leaving for an internship. We were just catching up," I explain.
She nods slowly. "Oh. Well, I'm here to sign the papers."
"Straight to business, huh?" I tease with a weak smile.
"Liam's waiting in the car," she says. "We're heading to my house to grab some stuff."
I swallow the bitterness in my throat. Liam. Of course.
"Right. Here you go." I slide the folder and pen across the table.
She signs without hesitation, her handwriting graceful as always. She hands them back.
"Thanks," I say quietly. "I'll send them over to Charles tonight."
A waiter appears to refill my coffee. "Can I get anything for you, miss?"
"No, I was just leaving. Thank you." She smiles politely, then starts to walk away.
And something inside me breaks.
I can't watch her go again. Not when I know what I feel.
"Brooklyn," I call.
She stops. Turns.
Our eyes lock across the café.
I open my mouth. Say it. Tell her.
I love you.
But the words collapse on my tongue.
"Nothing," I say instead, voice barely above a whisper.
She gives a puzzled smile and walks out.
I stare at the door long after she's gone.
Ten minutes pass before I pick up my phone. I scroll through emails mindlessly, trying to distract myself.
Then, a message pops up.
Unknown Number
I click it open.
I warned you. Now suffer the consequences.
The mug slips from my hand and crashes to the floor, shattering.
My heart races as I shove my chair back and bolt for the door.
