Chapter 13
BEA
The pale glow of the late October sun pressing against the hotel windows should have been what woke me.
Instead, it was a six-foot-four menace shaking the entire side of the bed like the building was under immediate evacuation. Violent. Unrelenting. Irksome.
I groaned, half-buried in the sheets, swatting blindly at whatever part of him I could reach. My arm connected with something solid—his forearm, probably—but it didn’t slow him down.
“Bea,” Alois barked, his voice cutting clean through the last layer of sleep clinging to me. “Bea, wake up. We’re going to be late.”
The urgency in his tone snapped something in my brain.
Adrenaline flooded in, hot and immediate.
I bolted upright, throwing the covers off in a tangled rush and nearly tripping over my own feet as I lunged for my phone on the nightstand.
My vision blurred, eyes still adjusting, thumb fumbling across the screen as I tried to make sense of the time.
“What time—” I started, my voice thick, sleep-heavy, panic already rising—and then I heard it.
Low. Rough. Completely unrepentant.
Alois was laughing. Not a polite chuckle. Not even close. A full, satisfied, deeply amused cackle that made something violent spark at the base of my spine.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
He was leaning back against the wall like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, watching me unravel like this was the best part of his morning.
My phone screen finally came into focus. An hour before my alarm. Hours before we needed to leave.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, the words landing somewhere between disbelief and murder.
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and bright, catching every ounce of irritation building in my expression.
“What in the fuck, Alois?” I planted my feet, crossing my arms tight across my chest, holding his gaze like I could set him on fire with it alone.
“We are going to be late,” he snickered, completely unfazed. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Before I could respond, he was already moving—closing the space, grabbing my wrist just enough to redirect me, steering me toward the bathroom. The tile was cold under my bare feet as I stumbled inside, the overhead light too bright, too early, too much.
This was so far past annoying I could taste it.
I reached for my toothbrush with more force than necessary, jamming it under the faucet, already plotting exactly how I was going to make him regret waking me up so early.
And the second the thought formed—he leaned into the doorway again. “Bea.”
I turned, toothbrush halfway to my mouth, foam already building as I pointed it directly at him like a shank.
“If you don’t tell me what is going on,” I babbled, words slurred and sharp around the toothpaste, “I am locking myself in here, and you can explain to security why I’m refusing to leave.”
His jaw tightened—not angry, amused. “Don’t fight me this morning,” he sighed. “Trust me.”
I narrowed my eyes, not moving.
“You’re going to be glad you rushed.”
I should have known better.
The second a man like Alois Müller says trust me with that tone—low, final, not asking—you don’t get answers.
You get dragged.
I barely had time to rinse the toothpaste from my mouth before he was moving again—fast, efficient, already halfway through whatever plan he’d decided I didn’t need clearance on.
“Shoes,” he ordered, tossing them toward me without looking.
I caught them out of pure reflex. “You are unbelievable.”
No response.
By the time I’d shoved my feet into them, he already had my bag slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, his phone in his hand, texting someone with the kind of clipped focus that told me this wasn’t spontaneous.
The car waiting downstairs wasn’t ours. Not the team SUV. Not anything recognizable. Black. Sleek. Quiet in a way that felt expensive.
I stopped short on the sidewalk. “Absolutely not.”
He didn’t even slow down. Just reached back, caught my wrist, and pulled me forward like this was already decided. “Get in.”
“Where are we going?” I demanded, digging my heels in just enough to make a point.
He glanced down at me, expression flat, unreadable. “Get in the car, Bea.”
No explanation.
No softening.
Just… that.
God, I hated that it worked.
The city blurred past in streaks of gray and gold, early morning Manhattan still waking up around us. The streets weren’t empty, but they weren’t loud yet either—like the entire place was holding its breath before the day hit full speed.
I crossed my arms, pressing back into the seat. “Kidnapping is illegal, just so you know.”
Silence.
I turned my head slowly.
He was watching the road like nothing in the world could touch him. Elbow braced against the door, fingers resting lightly at his jaw, completely unaffected by the fact that I was one inconvenience away from committing a felony.
“This is insane,” I muttered.
Still nothing.
I huffed, shifting in my seat. “If I end up in a ditch somewhere—”
“You won’t.” The words cut clean through me.
Not sharp. Not defensive.
Certain.
I snapped my mouth shut. Because the worst part? I believed him.
The car pulled cleanly to the curb in front of a building that didn’t scream for attention—but didn’t need to.
Tall. Glass and steel. Doorman already stepping forward before we even fully stopped.
Alois was out of the car before I could process it, opening my door, reaching for my hand like this was routine. “Let’s go.”
“What is this?” I asked, letting him pull me out anyway.
“You’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
He didn’t answer.
The elevator ride was silent.
Private. No buttons. No stops. No one else. Just the two of us and the quiet hum of machinery carrying us somewhere I hadn’t agreed to go.
I shifted beside him, hyper-aware of everything—the enclosed space, the absence of anyone else, the way Alois stood like this was routine for him, like being carried up through a private building in Manhattan before sunrise didn’t warrant explanation.
“Last chance,” I growled. “You want to tell me what’s happening?”
His gaze flicked to mine. “No.”
I exhaled, long and slow. “Unbelievable.”
The elevator stopped.
A beat of stillness.
Then the doors slid open—the space unfolding slowly in front of me, clean lines and warm light settling over dark wood floors that looked almost black in the early morning glow. The air felt different—warmer, quieter, like the outside world had been deliberately left behind.
I didn’t move right away.
I took one step forward, then another, my gaze pulling toward the far end of the room—and then I saw it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the entire back wall.
The Hudson spread wide beyond them, steady and endless, the city rising up around it in layers of steel and glass and light just beginning to wake.
The sun hadn’t fully broken yet, but it was close—soft gold threading through buildings, catching on the water, turning everything into something that felt almost… suspended.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, the words breathlessly falling as I moved toward the glass without thinking, drawn in by it.
My hand lifted instinctively to rest lightly against the cool surface.
From up here, the city didn’t feel chaotic.
It felt… structured. Beautiful. A moving masterpiece dancing below.
“There’s no better view in the city that I know of,” Alois said behind me.
Not a question.
I shook my head slowly, still staring out at the skyline. “It’s amazing. I’ve never…” the words trailed off as the awesome view consumed me.
“You said that last night,” he sighed, like that explained everything.
I turned then, slowly, trying to reconcile the man standing behind me with the one who had dragged me out of bed like the building was on fire.
“You brought me here… for this?” I asked.
His expression didn’t shift. All he offered was a slight shrug. “Flight leaves in a few hours,” he stammered. “You weren’t going to see anything from the bus.”
I eyed him for a second longer than I should have, something quiet and unsettled shifting in my chest. “This doesn’t make sense,” I murmured, more to myself than him.
He didn’t respond.
Footsteps sounded from deeper inside the space—measured, unhurried, and suddenly the room didn’t feel quite so empty.
Alois’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly beside me. Subtle enough that most people wouldn’t catch it.
Two figures stepped into view.
The man moved first—broad-shouldered, grounded, carrying himself with a kind of authority that didn’t need volume to be felt. His gaze landed on Alois immediately, sharp and assessing, like he was cataloging everything in front of him in a single sweep.
The woman beside him softened the space without trying. Warmth layered over composure, her presence balancing his in a way that felt practiced and natural.
I straightened instinctively, suddenly aware of the fact that I had no idea where I was or who I was standing in front of.
Alois stepped forward before I could say anything. “This is Bea,” he announced, his voice even. “Bea, this is Gavin Hayes and his better half, Myla.”
No explanation.
No titles.
Just names.
Should I know these people?
Gavin’s eyes flicked to me briefly, a quick acknowledgment, before settling back on Alois. “You still hit like you mean it,” he chuckled.
Alois didn’t react immediately. He held his gaze, steady, unflinching.
“Usually do,” he replied.
Something passed between them then—quiet, unspoken, but solid enough that I felt it standing a few feet away. Respect. The kind that didn’t come easily.
“Good,” Gavin returned simply, like that closed the subject.
Myla stepped forward then, her attention shifting fully to me, her smile immediate and disarming. “Hi,” she sang warmly, closing the distance without hesitation. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”