Chapter 34 Wonderland
Wonderland
Later that evening, Lena curled into the plush armchair that had mysteriously appeared in David’s office—if you could call the high-tech, dimly lit wonderland of glowing monitors and quiet hums an “office.” The room smelled of ozone and cedar, thanks to the diffuser on his desk that puffed a subtle mist every few minutes.
It was comforting—cool, steady, and scent-matched to him in a way that made her want to close her eyes and forget everything biting at her heels.
A plush blanket—gray, cashmere, luxurious—draped over her shoulders. Her ankle rested on a cushioned ottoman, bandaged and aching with that persistent, dull burn that promised a hell of a bruise tomorrow.
Lena nursed a steaming mug of ginger tea in her hands. Spiced and slightly sweet—it coated her raw throat with warmth. She hadn’t asked for it. David had silently handed it to her, like he knew she needed something to hold on to. Figuratively and literally.
She stared into the swirling tea, watching the steam curl in delicate ribbons toward the ceiling.
“I feel like I’m unraveling,” she confessed to the tea. “I was doing so well, you know? I had a timeline. A budget. Color-coded folders.”
Her voice cracked.
“I had saved up a tiny little box of hope. I had a job. A goal. A place that seemed safe. I found this weird sense of peace in the spreadsheets and folding towels right. I let myself think maybe I was building a whole life.” Her laugh was rough and dry. “Stupid, right?”
“No. Not stupid.”
She focused on the dim lamp behind his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes as she ignored his interruption. “And now…” The words lodged in her throat. She couldn’t finish. What did she have now?
A hacked golf cart. A stalker who knew where she lived. A list of creepy, maybe clues a mile long. Her best friend left her for a traveling job. Her family had been gone for a decade. There was no one to call. No one but the almost-strangers in that boardroom and—
Well. Him.
David didn’t speak right away. His silence was comforting, not empty. He moved with graceful precision, powering down the glowing wall of screens behind his desk with a few subtle gestures—one hand brushing over a sensor, the soft chime of a shutdown filling the room like digital rain.
He leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folding loosely across his chest. His gaze settled on her—not with pity. With intent.
“You still have all of it,” he said quietly. “The job. The goal. The peace you built. None of that disappears just because someone is trying to scare you out of it.”
His jaw tightened slightly—not anger. Resolve.
“You don’t lose a life just because someone’s trying to rattle it.”
Lena blinked, eyes burning with unshed heat. Her fingers tightened around the mug like it might anchor the tremor running through her bones.
“And now,” he said quietly, certainty threading through every word, “you have me.”
Her breath stalled, caught somewhere between her ribs. Time didn’t stop—but it narrowed. Focused. Like the world was waiting to see whether she would accept what he’d just offered.
She forced her eyes to his, heart pounding hard enough to bruise. “Do I?”
David didn’t blink. He reached for her without hesitation, covering her hand where it clutched the mug. His palm was warm. Solid. Steady.
“Yeah.” A small smile curved at the corner of his mouth—no charm, no deflection. Just truth. “You do.”
No grand declaration. No heroic speech. Just him.
He straightened, fingers still wrapped around hers, and gently tugged her to her feet. Her body protested—the training, the crash, the strain of holding herself together—but she stood anyway.
“Come on,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “Let’s go home.”
Home. The word did something to her.
She met his gaze—and something inside her gave way. Not shattered. Not broken. Opened. He wasn’t trying to rescue her from the chaos. He was choosing to stand in it with her.
Her hand tightened in his. And this time, when she followed him, she didn’t feel alone.
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
When they reached her suite, salt and jasmine drifted through the air from the flowering vines climbing the lattice beside her door.
The sky had deepened to velvet purple-blue, the first stars piercing through.
Lena fumbled with her keys, her fingers still unsteady—but David gently took them from her and unlocked the door himself.
The moment it swung open, a tiny gray blur launched from the couch.
Minx.
The kitten’s paws hit the floor with barely a sound before she bolted toward them like a furred missile, meowing indignantly at the top of her tiny lungs. Lena couldn’t help the startled laugh that bubbled up from her chest—something light and unexpected after the heaviness of the day.
“I know, I know,” Lena bent—wincing slightly—to scoop up the wriggling ball of fluff. “I’m late. I’m a terrible mother. You’ve clearly been abandoned and left to starve.”
Minx purred, the traitorous little beast, head-butting Lena’s chin with enough force to make her stumble. David’s hand grabbed her elbow, steadying her.
“She’s dramatic,” he observed, one brow raised as Minx twisted in Lena’s arms to stare at him with accusatory green eyes.
“She’s a diva.” Lena pressed a kiss to the kitten’s fluffy head. The silky warmth of her, the vibration of her purr—it soothed something raw inside Lena’s gut. “Aren’t you, baby?”
Minx chirped, then squirmed free and darted for the kitchen, tail high like a victory flag.
“Translation: feed me or perish,” David said dryly.
Lena laughed again—a real one this time. God, when was the last time she laughed twice in one minute? She moved toward the kitchen, but David’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“Sit,” he nodded toward the couch. “I’ll feed the tyrant. You need to rest that leg.”
“David, I can—”
“Lena.” His voice was soft, but unyielding. “Let me.”
And somehow, those two words—let me—undid her more than anything else today. She nodded mutely and sank onto the couch, tugging the throw blanket over her lap.
From the kitchen, she heard the clink of a can opener, Minx’s escalating meows, and David’s muttering, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. You’re very important. We’ll never delay your dinner again.”
Lena pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
A moment later, he returned—sans diva—and settled beside her. Not too close, but close enough that his presence filled the space like warmth from a fireplace.
“She’s fed. You’re home. Leg’s elevated.” He glanced at her, something playful flickering in his dark eyes. “Anything else on the crisis list?”
Lena shook her head, throat tight again, but this time for a different reason. “No. I think… I think I’m okay. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.” David’s hand found hers again, fingers lacing through hers with the ease of inevitability.
Minx chose that exact moment to leap onto the back of the couch, perch behind Lena’s head like a tiny sentry, and begin grooming herself loudly.
Lena looked up at the kitten, then at David, and despite everything—the fear and the chaos and the unknown waiting outside her door—the faintest flickers of safety warmed her chest.
And maybe a little bit of hope.