CHAPTER ONE
Cipher
Scarlett
My first thought is that I’m face to face with the largest man I’ve probably ever seen. My second is he’s also the most beautiful and absolutely deserves my place on the front covers of magazines.
“Scarlett Thomas?” I shiver at the sound of his deep, sexy voice.
“Hi,” I manage, feeling heat creep up my neck. It’s pathetic really. I’ve spent my entire life in the spotlight. Seen more attractive men than any twenty-eight year old woman truly has the right to and it’s hearing him say my name that does me in.
“I’m Cipher. I’ll be the head of your security detail while you’re in country.”
My eyes track him, raking down his fully kitted body, taking in the multitude of guns strapped to him, and back to his deep brown eyes. “Cipher? I’m supposed to trust you with my life but you don’t trust me with your name?”
He smirks. “Sorry ma’am. Just following protocol.”
I narrow eyes. “Ma’am? Do I look like I’m sixty-five?”
“No ma’am.”
I groan. “Whatever. What do you do? My manager didn’t tell me who was protecting me, just that someone was.”
“I’m Army ma—”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “If you ma’am me again, I will scream. Call me Scarlett.”
He chuckles and I fight the urge to lean closer to him. “Have it your way, Scarlett.”
I shift my weight, pretending to adjust the strap of my bag when really, I just need something to do with my hands. He’s standing close enough that I can smell him—soap and a faintly spicy scent that has no business being as distracting as it is.
“Army,” I echo, tilting my head. “So, what? You’re going to follow me around with your…guns?”
His mouth twitches, almost like he’s fighting a smile. “Among other things, yeah.”
I blink. “Do those other things include scaring off photographers? Because if so, I might start a fan club for you.”
“No, Scarlett.” His tone softens around my name, and something about the way he says it makes it sound more dangerous than the weapons strapped to him. “My job is to keep you alive. Not manage your press.”
I roll my eyes. “You say that like the press isn’t equally lethal.”
He doesn’t laugh this time. Just studies me, head slightly tilted, expression unreadable. The air between us tightens, and I suddenly feel like I’m being seen—really seen. Not as a model, not as the PR crisis waiting to happen—but as a person. It’s unnerving.
“So…where are we going?” I finally ask, trying to shake it off.
“Your safe house first. Then briefings. Then whatever is on your schedule. Your manager should have filled you in.”
I huff. “He said I was coming here for the charity event and some goodwill photos before prepping for fashion week. He did not say anything about body armor and men with codenames.”
He exhales slowly, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “Welcome to the reality of being a high-profile American in a place that doesn’t love Americans right now.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
Cipher—even his code name sounds sexy—steps aside and gestures toward the waiting SUV. “After you.”
Normally I’d make some quip about being a grown woman perfectly capable of getting into a car on her own, but something in his tone makes me bite my tongue. It’s protective without being patronizing. Confident without being cocky. And that’s new to me.
The interior of the SUV is dark and cool, the smell of leather and gunmetal sharp in the air. He slides in beside me, his muscular frame filling too much of my space.
“Have you done this before?” I ask, pretending not to watch the way his forearms flex as he checks his weapon.
He glances at me, one brow raised. “You mean protect super models who think I should tell them my real name?”
I smirk. “So that’s a no?”
He doesn’t answer, but the corner of my mouth curls.
The city outside blurs into sand-colored buildings and unfamiliar signs. My reflection catches in the tinted glass—perfect hair, flawless makeup, the carefully curated version of Scarlett Thomas the world expects. But sitting next to him, it all feels…flimsy.
“So, Cipher,” I say, turning toward him. “If you’re going to be glued to me, I should at least know something about you.”
“You already know the important part.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m not here to be your friend.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I blink, then laugh softly, trying to cover the sting. “Ouch. You always this charming?”
“Only when someone tells me they’ll scream if I call them ma’am.”
I grin despite myself. “You’re learning.”
He looks at me then—really looks—and for a moment, the air feels heavier. My pulse stutters, heat crawling up my throat.
Then he turns away, nodding to the driver. “Keep your head down when we get there.”
Just like that, the moment’s gone. Replaced by the reality that I have no idea what I’ve just stepped into—or why my heart won’t stop pounding like it knows something I don’t.
The city outside is chaos and color—sunlight glinting off rooftops, horns blaring, scooters zipping past like it’s a game of chicken. I’ve done fashion week in nearly every country, red carpets, private jets. But this? This feels different. More alive.
“So,” I start, tugging on my seatbelt. “Was Cipher given to you or something you came up?”
He glances at me, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “It’s a code name.”
“I gathered,” I say. “Because anything normal was taken.”
That earns the faintest grin—barely there, but I catch it. “Are you always this curious?”
“Occupational hazard. People usually tell me everything without me having to ask.”
He rips the aviators off his face. “I’m not ‘people,’ Scarlett.”
No, you’re not.
I don’t say it out loud, but the words hum between us anyway.
The driver weaves through traffic, and I can’t help myself. My eyes sweep over him again, slower this time, cataloging the details like some kind of…trained instinct—or maybe just shallow curiosity.
He’s in all black—long sleeves, tactical pants, boots laced tight—and I know every ounce of that armor is supposed to shield him, obscure him, make him a wall between me and whatever danger waits outside.
But even through the chest plates and weapons holstered all over him, I can see it.
His shoulders, broad and strong, the faint taper of his waist, the way his chest pushes against the body armor like it was made for him alone.
He’s ripped. Ripped to the point of lethal, and that thought alone makes my pulse skip.
And his face. Dark brown hair, almost black, cropped short on the sides and back, long enough on top that it’s messy in that carefully untamed way that somehow works.
Stubble dusts his jaw and upper lip, but it makes him look rugged rather than unkempt.
Two thin scars cut through his temple and one eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you’re staring for too long. Which I am. Clearly.
And then there are his eyes. Dark brown, almost too sharp for someone who’s supposed to be on my side. There’s calculation there, yes, but also something else…something that drags me in, that makes me imagine all the things I shouldn’t.
He smirks at me, probably reading my appraisal like an open book, and I have to remind myself to breathe. Sexy as hell doesn’t even begin to cover it. Dangerous, commanding, entirely in control—and completely off-limits.
“So how does one become a human wall?” I ask, breaking the quiet.
“Enlist. Train. Don’t die.”
I laugh, surprised. “That’s inspiring. You should put that on a t-shirt.”
“Maybe after I retire.”
“And what, start a self-help podcast? Cipher Says: Don’t Die.”
He tilts his head, fighting a smile. “You’re a lot chattier than my usual assignments.”
“Maybe your usual assignments aren’t interesting.”
“Or loud.”
I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me, I’m not loud. I’m…expressive.”
And usually don’t have anyone to talk to.
He glances my way again and I hate the way my pulse reacts. The gold in his eyes sparkles a little in the light. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”
“That sounded almost like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.” I grin. “I thrive on validation.”
He shakes his head, but the edge of his mouth curves just slightly. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Testing people.”
I shrug, pretending to study my nails. “Only the ones who pretend not to notice me.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, low and rough, “Trust me, Scarlett. I noticed you.”
My breath catches, heat blooming low in my stomach. For a man made of stone, he’s awfully good at cracking through mine.
Outside, the streets grow quieter. The SUV turns down a road lined with glass and steel high-rises. I recognize the skyline instantly—the Bosphorus glittering in the distance, sunlight stretching across the domes and spires.
We slow to a stop in front of a building that looks like it belongs on the cover of Architectural Digest. The kind of place that screams money without even trying.
“This is the safe house?” I ask, peering up at the sleek glass tower.
“Top floor.” He scans the area before opening his door. “Penthouse suite. Private elevator. Full security grid.”
“Of course,” I mutter, stepping out. “Because nothing says ‘in hiding’ like panoramic views.”
Cipher’s lips twitch. “You’ll be fine as long as you stay off the balcony.”
“Why? You afraid I’ll jump?”
He shuts the door behind me, gaze steady. “No. I’m afraid someone might see you.”
I roll my eyes but can’t ignore the little thrill that comes with his protectiveness. He’s all rules and boundaries, but underneath it, there’s something…personal.
We enter the building through a private garage, then into a gleaming elevator. The walls are mirrored, which feels like a cruel joke when the massive soldier beside me looks carved from marble and I’m trying very hard not to look interested.
I clear my throat. “So what do I call you when people ask who you are? My bodyguard? My…handler?”
He glances at me in the reflection. “Call me whatever makes sense.”
“Oh, that’s dangerous,” I say. “You’re giving me options.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You strike me as someone who takes them whether she’s given them or not.”
“Smart man.”