Pov (Kira)
I didn't sleep when the sedan dropped me off at 6:00 AM. I couldn't. My skin felt like it was on fire, the ghost of Julian's hands still imprinted on my waist.
I scrubbed my face with cold water, staring at the girl in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, my lips were slightly swollen from the tension of the night. I looked like a woman who had been through a war.
"Kira? Is that you?" Leo's voice came from the small kitchen.
I winced, pulling my sleeves down to hide my trembling hands. "Yeah, Leo. Just getting some water."
"You're working too much," he said, leaning against the doorframe. He looked better—the bruises were fading—but he looked at me with a guilt that made me want to scream. "I'm going to find a job, Kira. I'm going to make this right."
"Just stay out of trouble, Leo," I said, my voice hollow. "That's all the 'right' I need."
I didn't tell him I was headed to my second job. I didn't tell him I was about to serve coffee to the man who spent his nights listening to my soul bleed.
The Gilded Bean was the most expensive coffee shop in the financial district. It was where the sharks came to fuel up before they started biting. I moved through the morning rush on autopilot, my body was aching, my mind was trapped in the darkness of the penthouse.
"Next!" I called out, wiping the counter.
The door opened, and the air in the shop seemed to vanish.
A group of men in charcoal-grey suits walked in, talking loudly about stocks and acquisitions. In the center of them was the sun they all revolved around.
Julian Thorne.
In the daylight, he was terrifying. The "Ice King" didn't look like he had ever sat in a dark room listening to a girl cry through a piano. He looked sharp, lethal and perfectly polished.
My heart did a violent somersault. I ducked my head, hoping the visor of my uniform would hide my face.
"Three espressos, a black coffee, and whatever Julian wants," one of the sycophants said, leaning over the counter.
"Just water," a deep voice said.
I froze. I knew that voice. It was the same voice that had whispered Little Shadow into my ear just hours ago.
I kept my eyes down as I rang up the order. My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped the cup. I felt a pair of eyes on me—intense, heavy, and cold.
"That'll be twenty-four dollars," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Julian stepped forward. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, laying it on the counter. His long, elegant fingers were inches from mine. I saw a tiny scratch on his knuckle.
Had he gotten that last night?
"Keep the change," he said.
I forced myself to look up. I expected to see a flicker of recognition. I expected to see the man who had caught me when I fell.
But Julian Thorne looked at me like I was a bug he was considering stepping on. There was no warmth. No memory. Just a wall of billionaire arrogance.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice flat.
"You're staring."
"No, sir," I spat, the "sir" tasting like ash. "No problem."
"Good. Speed it up. We're on a schedule."
His friends laughed. "Come on, Julian, don't scare the help. She looks like she hasn't slept in a week."
Julian glanced at me again. His lip curled in a slight, cruel sneer. "Maybe she should spend less time out at night and more time doing her job."
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. The audacity. The sheer, calculated cruelty of it.
He was mocking me in front of his friends, knowing exactly why I was tired.
I handed him his water, my fingers brushing his for a split second. I felt the jolt of electricity again, but this time, it was laced with pure venom. I wanted to throw the water in his face.
He took the bottle and turned away, walking toward the door with his entourage. He didn't look back.
I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. I hate him, I thought. I hate him more than anything.
But just as he reached the door, he stopped. He turned slightly, as if he had forgotten something. He looked directly at me across the crowded, noisy shop.
The group was still laughing, but Julian was silent. He leaned back toward me, his voice was low enough that only I could hear it over the roar of the espresso machine.
"Your hands were shaking on the keys last night, Kira."
My breath hitched. The world stopped.
"Don't let it happen again," he whispered. "I don't pay for mistakes."
Then, he was gone.
I stood there, paralyzed, as the door swung shut behind him. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would burst through my uniform.
He knew. He had known the whole time.
He wasn't just a man in the dark. He was a man who played with his food before he ate it.
And as I looked down at my hands—still shaking, still vibrating from his presence—I realized the true horror of the Night Clause.
The darkness didn't protect me from him. It just gave him a head start.