The apartment seemed different than normal; its slick surfaces and immaculate flooring accentuated the discomfort that had crept between Noah and me during our quarrel. The stillness was stifling for the first time, not just embarrassing.
Busy myself with my task, giving logo designs for a new customer every last of their attention. But on the screen the lines blurring into Noah's words: "Because it's the only way to protect what's mine."
He was guarding precisely what? The business is? his standing? Alternatively, was something more concealed behind his under-control façade?
My phone rang with a message from Grace before I could slide any further:
Grace: Tomorrow dinner My present. You have to get away from the ice castle.
For the first time throughout the day, a grin pulled at my mouth. Grace had a natural ability to centre me and remind me of my former self before I started Mrs. Blackwood.
Me: I will be present. @ 7 PM
Grace: Perfect. And wear something entertaining. Not "business," but rather true enjoyment.
My phone rang with an unknown number the following morning as I got ready to go out for a brief client conference. I hesitated for a second then responded.
"This is Isola Harper."
" Mrs. A masculine voice, cold and professional, said Blackwood. Here from Sentinel Security is Gerald. There have been reports of odd behaviour close to your job.
My gut turned over. "What kind of activity?"''
"A guy claiming to be a former partner has been observed prowling close to your business. He has questioned your whereabouts many times.
My blood flowed coldly. Do you go by a name? — "
"Markus Steele," he responded, confirming my biggest anxiety.
I tightened the counter's edge, terror and resentment whirling in my breast. Once my boyfriend, Markus had been poisonous enough to emotionally scar me; now he was lurking like a vulture.
"Thank you for letting me know," I responded, my voice tighter than I meant. I will take care of it.
Gerald remarked, "really," "Mr. Blackwood has already told us to boost monitoring and, if needed, take extra care.
That put me on cold pause. "Noah guided you?"
"Yes, ma'am. He received a notification right away.
My mind racing, I hung up without answering. Why had Noah not revealed this? And why was he engaged in such a personal endeavour?
I was waiting for Noah in the living room when he came back that evening, arms crossed and my heart thumping with resentment.
We really should discuss, I replied sternly.
He browsed, unbuttoning his jacket as he entered. Good evening to you as well.
I stopped him off, snapping "don't." "Why did you not share with me Markus?"("")
His face changed to become unreadable. "Because it's handled."
"That is not the goal here! I cried and moved forward closer. "You had no right to get involved without first telling me."
No rights? He said again, his voice sharp. "Markus is stalking you, Isla." You expected me to overlook that? "
"I expected you to find out from me how I intended to treat it.''
His jaw clenched, and for a second the mask came off. "You need help handling it."
The words softened the edge of my wrath and hit me harder than I expected. But no matter how well-meaning he seemed, I couldn't let him define my existence.
Quietly, "I'm not your responsibility, Noah," I whispered.
His eyes fixed squarely on me, sharp and relentless. Sure, you are.
His comments had weight that made me temporarily mute. His tone was not hostile; it was just pure conviction—not arrogant.
I met Grace at a small Italian café in downtown the following evening. A nice relief from the stifling formality of the penthouse was her simple laughter and the friendly atmosphere.
Halfway through supper, however, my back of my neck was covered with standing hairs. One recognisable man loitered close to the door—Markus.
My breath stopped as our gazes crossed the space. He grinned, that same confident, predatory expression I had spent years trying to forget.
Island? You seem OK. Grace inquired, eyes flashing with alarm.
Markus started towards our table before I could reply. My pulse accelerated, terror boiling beneath the surface.
I said, "No," clutching the edge of the table. "He's here."
Grace looked where I was pointing, her face deepening. Do you want me to give someone a call? — "
But a shadow between us—Noah—stepped before Markus could get here.
I blinked, surprised. Noah's big form blocked Markus's path, like a shield. Though he was composed, he exuded quiet might; his grey eyes were steel.
"Is this where the issue resides? Noah questioned, his voice low and menacing.
Markus stumbled and was obviously surprised. "Who the heck are you? «
Noah moved forward, his tone lowering even another octave. "If you do not walk away right now, you will regret crossing this man."
Markus attempted to recover while his smile faded. Between me and Isla, this is.
"Not anymore," Noah murmured, his voice like ice.
Though Markus eventually backed off, murmuring something under his breath as he withdrew, the conflict buzzed between them.
Though I could not get rid of the weight of what had just transpired, my shoulders slumped with relief.
I circled Noah as we exited the eatery. "How came you to know I was here?"
"I have my ways," he remarked simply, his cool head annoying.
Now you are spying on me?I caught myself snapping.
He said, "No," with equal weight. "Protective of you."
His comments stopped me right there. He was matter-of-fact, as if guarding me was as natural as breathing; he was not contrite.
My voice shaking, "You cannot just swoop in and take over my life, Noah," I replied.
He approached, his eyes fixed on mine. Do you honestly believe I would allow someone like Markus threaten you?"
The weight of his words made me shudder down my spine. I saw something ferocious and very protective for the first time, something beneath his icy façade.
"I asked not for your help," I replied gently.
"No," he acknowledged. But you wanted it.
Sitting alone in my room that evening, I couldn't get rid of the picture of Noah standing between me and Markus, his cool authority slicing through the turmoil.
Still, his behaviour begged more questions than answers. The guy behind the mask, who also cared so much about shielding me, was who?
More essential still: could I believe him?