Chapter Eighteen #2
“Anastasia Romanov approaching elevator. Fast. Alone.”
Chace’s head lifts at once, his posture shifting with a subtle alertness that doesn’t go unnoticed.
The doors nearly seal—and then a slender, golden, manicured hand shoots between them.
The sensors catch it, and the doors slide back open.
She stumbles inside.
Her cheerleader uniform is pristine, her hair still perfectly arranged as though nothing in her world is out of place, yet tears streak down her face in helpless contrast. Mascara tracks her cheeks, and on the left side of her face, blooming vividly against sun kissed skin, is a handprint so fresh it still looks hot.
She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t register us. She is too consumed by whatever storm she’s walked out of to realize the lift was occupied, most likely.
Chace moves before thought has time to catch up.
He catches her wrist mid-stride and pivots her in one fluid motion, pressing her back against the mirrored wall with a control that is neither reckless nor hesitant. His body closes the distance instantly, crowding hers without touching anywhere unnecessary, creating a barrier rather than a threat.
His free hand comes up, fingers firm but deliberate as he takes her chin and turns her face slowly from side to side, examining the damage with an intensity that makes the air feel thinner.
She gasps when she finally sees him.
“Valentino,” she whispers, shock overtaking her grief as her eyes widen and her complexion drains of color.
The temperature in the lift seems to drop several degrees.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is low and measured, which makes it infinitely more dangerous than if he had shouted.
He releases her chin, yet his knuckles brush lightly along the reddened skin as though memorizing the mark, committing it to something internal and irreversible.
Her eyes close as fresh tears spill over.
Chace’s jaw tightens visibly, tension rippling through his frame in a way I have rarely seen.
“I asked you a question, Anastasia.” He growls, turns abruptly and slams his palm against the emergency stop button, and the lift shudders to a halt between floors.
A ringing chimes out, a voice immediately crackles through a speaker asking for the nature of the emergency stop.
One of the large, dangerous men I don’t recognize starts speaking in short-clipped words.
I pull-in Sera, who is staring earnestly at the upset girl.
He hooks a knuckle beneath her chin again, lifting her face until she is forced to meet his eyes.
“Tell. Me.”
Damn, Chace, you’re making my stomach flip with that growl…
I lean in and press a kiss to the top of Sera’s head. She sighs, melting into me.
Begone, confusing dom-daddy thoughts.
The command is quiet.
I watch in silence, genuinely unsettled, because I cannot recall a single moment where I have seen Chace this close to losing composure. Not over business. Not over blood. Not over anything.
“It… it was my fault,” she manages, her voice shaking. “My father asked to see me and my sister, she— I don’t know.”
If you think it was your fault, it almost never is. Just excuses for stupid motherfuckers and their own issues…
Christ, I’m glad we punched our dad in the fucking head. Bam. Fuck you. Fucking—
Sera goes still, and it hits me—I’m not the only one carrying a history full of fucked-up family.
The girl, Ana something or other, hand lifts instinctively toward her cheek, as though only now feeling the full sting of the mark.
” You’re safe now.” Sera says. “Chace is—”
“I see,” Chace replies, cutting in before my dove can finish. There’s something in that quiet acknowledgment that feels like a promise—one that won’t end well for someone.
This is a side of Chace he kept buried for a long time… but it was always there, waiting. Like a sleeping wolf.
Maybe I should stop cracking jokes before he decides I belong at the bottom of the ocean.
…Nah, fuck that. He’s always been who he is. We’re good.
Though—fuck—he’s kind of hot when he looks like that, right?
He presses another button, and the lift resumes its descent. When the doors open on the floor below ours, he does not hesitate.
His hand remains wrapped around Anastasia’s wrist before sliding to the nape of her neck, guiding her forward with a possessive steadiness, sharpened into something lethal.
Uh-oh, kinda grabby there, broski.
“I’ll meet you later,” he says without looking back. “I have business to attend to.”
Getting down to business… or, you know, finger-blasting a cheerleader?
Nah. He’s not about to fuck—he’s about to fuck someone up.
The doors begin to close, sealing them off from view.
And because I am physically incapable of resisting the opportunity.
“Bro, save the cheerleader, save the world.” I salute and nod, as if I have a deeper understanding.
Chace goes still for half a heartbeat, just long enough to register that he heard me.
Then the doors close completely.
It is likely for the best.
The tension in that confined space was volatile enough to spark violence, and I am not entirely certain what has just ignited, but I have never seen him look that furious.
“Save the world?” the large brute of a guard asks, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“You know, from the TV show? Heroes.”
He shakes his head. So does Seraphina.
Right. That’s going on in the room later. Sorry, Geordie Shore.
Seraphina exhales softly beside me, her voice gentle when she speaks.
“It’s her birthday today. I hope he makes it better for her.”
Oh, he gonna make it all better, baby…
I glance down at my wife, her compassion as instinctive as breathing, and I cannot help the faint smile that touches my mouth.
If circumstances were different, and she hadn’t just turned eighteen, I would say he absolutely intends to.
Then again, knowing Chace, circumstance has never dictated his decisions.
Cheerleaders, though?
That detail gets filed away carefully—because I have no doubt it’ll come in useful one day.
Gimme a B, gimme an I, gimme a G.
Yeah… big dick energy.