Chapter 6 Scared

He typed a quick message to his security team, she assumed his fingers were flying over the screen with practiced speed. Then he walked to the front door of the penthouse and peered through the peephole.

The package, a medium-sized rectangular box wrapped in simple brown paper, was sitting on the floor just outside in the private hallway.

"Probably nothing," he said, but his body was coiled tight, every muscle ready for action. He was a predator sensing danger. "But we don't take chances. Not after tonight.

He unlocked the door but kept the security chain on. He squatted down, examining the package from a distance without touching it. He pulled a small, pen-like device from his pocket, a chemical sniffer, and carefully slid it through the crack in the door, running it over the paper. The device gave a soft, persistent beep. He stilled, his entire body freezing.

"Chloe," he said, his voice dangerously calm, but with an undercurrent of steel she had never heard before. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to go into your bedroom. Now. Do not run. Walk calmly. Go to the far corner, away from the door and the windows, and get down on the floor. Put your hands over your head."

The blood drained from her face, leaving her numb. "What is it? Rhys, you're scaring me."

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, and the expression on his face was one she would never forget: pure, unadulterated fear. It was more frightening than any anger could ever be.

"It's wired," he said softly, his eyes locking with hers, pleading with her to obey. "The box has wires. I can see them through the paper. Now, Chloe! Go!"

Terror seized her, sharp and paralyzing. The fancy engagement party, the romantic looks, the whispered promises all vanished, replaced by the cold, hard, metallic taste of fear. This wasn't a game. Someone wasn't just trying to take her company.

Someone was trying to kill her.

Scrambling off the couch, her legs like jelly, she ran toward her bedroom. As she stumbled into the room and dropped to the floor in the farthest corner, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her head with her hands, she heard his voice, tight with an urgency that turned her blood to ice.

"This is Thorne. Code Black! I repeat, Code Black!" he barked into his phone. "I have a confirmed, live explosive device at the principal's location! I need a full bomb disposal unit at my coordinates, now! Evacuate the entire building! Top five floors, now! Do it now!"

She curled into a tight ball, trembling uncontrollably. The silence that followed his shouted orders was worse than the noise. It was a waiting silence. A deadly silence.

And the only thing standing between her and the bomb was the man she had hired to be her pretend husband.

The only sounds were the frantic drumming of her own heart and the low, tense murmur of Rhys’s voice from the living room. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of the brown-paper package. A wedding gift, the guard had said. It felt like a sick joke.

She heard him speaking on the phone, his voice clipped and authoritative, using words she didn’t understand. “Confirming Code Crescent. I need a full sweep. Yes, the top five floors. Now.”

“Code Crescent?” What did that mean? It sounded nothing like the police codes she heard on TV shows. It was cool, professional, and utterly terrifying.

Then, the sirens. First one, then a chorus, growing louder until they cut off directly below her building. Heavy, booted footsteps pounded down her hallway. There were new voices calm, but edged with an urgency that made her stomach clench. She heard Rhys directing them. “The device is just outside the primary entrance. Wires are visible through the packaging. Exercise extreme caution.”

He was still there. He hadn’t fled.

After an eternity, a soft knock came on her bedroom door.

“Chloe?” It was Rhys. His voice was strained, but controlled. “It’s clear. You can come out.”

Her legs trembled as she pushed herself up. She opened the door to a scene from a nightmare. Her elegant penthouse, still bearing the ghost of the party, was now filled with serious-faced men in tactical gear. The front door stood open. The package was gone, but the air smelled of adrenaline and something metallic.

Rhys stood in the center of it all. He had removed his jacket and tie, and his white shirt was smudged with dust. He was speaking with a man in a police captain’s uniform. When he saw her, he excused himself immediately and crossed the room to her.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

It wasn’t the practiced, gentle embrace from the party. This was raw. His arms wrapped around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, holding her tightly against his chest. She could feel the solid, frantic beat of his heart against her cheek. He was shaking. Or maybe she was.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough. “You’re safe. It’s disarmed.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. She just breathed him in, letting his strength steady her. When he finally loosened his grip, he kept his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her gaze scanning his for any sign of injury.

He shook his head, his voice trapped.

“It was a warning,” he finally said, his voice low, for her alone. “A simple device. Loud, messy, but not designed to be structurally devastating. It was meant to scare you. To make you feel vulnerable.”

“It worked,” she whispered.

The police captain approached, his expression grim. “Ms. Sterling, I’m Captain Miller. We have some questions.”

The next hour, she answered what she could, which was nothing. She hadn’t seen anything. Hadn’t ordered anything. Rhys, however, was a fortress of calm efficiency. He provided times, descriptions from the night guard, and a clear, concise timeline of events. The police, she noticed, treated him with a level of respect that went far beyond a mere employee. They listened to him, nodding as he laid out the facts.

After they finally left, promising a full investigation, a heavy silence fell over the penthouse.

Chloe stood by the window, staring at the city lights. They seemed distant and cold.

Rhys came to stand beside her. “You should try to get some sleep.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Right.”

He didn’t insist. He just stood there, a solid, silent presence. The tension between them was different now. The professional boundary had been shattered by the bomb. Something more intimate, more dangerous, had taken its place.

“Who were those other men?” she asked quietly. “The ones in the black gear. They weren’t police.”

Rhys was silent for a moment. “They’re a private tactical team. I called them.”

“A private team? How? Why?” She turned to look at him. “The police were on their way. You used a code word… ‘Code Crescent’. What is that?”