Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Grace
I didn’t sign up for this.
Standing in the middle of Dominic Beethoven’s ridiculously expensive penthouse, listening to his manager and security team argue over the newest security breach, I kept my arms crossed and my temper in check. Barely.
"We’re not taking any more chances," David, his manager, said, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"This is the third direct threat in two weeks, and now someone has leaked his personal We’re pulling him from public appearances, and until we figure out where the breach is coming from, Grace stays here. Twenty-four-seven protection."
I stiffened. "Excuse me?"
David didn’t even look at me. "You heard me."
"No," I said flatly. "That wasn’t the deal. I work in rotations. I don’t move in."
Dominic, who had been lounging on the couch like this was all some mild inconvenience, suddenly perked up, a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. "Oh, this just got interesting."
I turned to glare at him. "Shut up."
He held up his hands in surrender, but the smirk remained.
David exhaled heavily. "Grace, we need full coverage. Whoever is behind these threats isn’t just some overzealous fan sneaking past security. They know things. They have access. Until we figure out where the leak is, Dom stays locked down, and you’re his first line of defense."
I clenched my jaw. "Get another agent."
"No one else is as qualified for this," David said. "And frankly, no one else is going to put up with his shit."
Dominic let out a low chuckle. "See? We’re meant to be, Dauntless."
I ignored him. "I don’t need to live here to do my job."
"You do if we want him alive," David said sharply. "It’s non-negotiable."
I hated this. Hated being forced into a situation that went beyond the contract I had originally agreed to. But most of all, I hated the anticipation I saw in Dominic’s eyes, like hewas looking forward to watching me unravel.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to stay professional. "Fine. But I set the rules."
David nodded, already relieved that I wasn’t walking out. "Fair enough."
I turned to Dominic, leveling him with a hard stare. "No unnecessary contact. No reckless behavior. No?—"
"No flirting," he finished, grinning. "Yeah, yeah, I remember."
"Then act like it," I snapped.
He grinned wider. "No promises."
This was going to be hell.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, it was already evening.
I had moved my essentials into the guest suite—a spacious, sterile-looking room at the far end of the penthouse.
The place was everything I expected. Sleek, modern, extravagant.
A ridiculous amount of space for a man who probably spent half his life on tour.
Not that he seemed to mind the intrusion. If anything, he was thriving off it.
It started small.
A towel slung carelessly over his shoulder as he walked through the living room, shirtless, fresh from the shower, steam still clinging to his skin.
A casual stretch on the couch, muscles flexing just enough to be noticeable.
Leaning in just a little too close when he handed me a glass of water, his fingers brushing against mine, watching—always watching—for a reaction.
I gave him none.
"How long are you going to pretend you don’t notice me?" he mused one night, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
I barely glanced up from my laptop. "Forever sounds good."
He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the counter. "We’ll see."
The worst part? He wasn’t even being obvious about it. This wasn’t some aggressive, over-the-top play for attention. No, it was subtle. Deliberate. The slow, methodical unraveling of someone’s patience just to see what would happen when they finally snapped.
I wasn’t going to snap.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
It was later that night when things really sto test my limits. I had just finished securing the penthouse for the night, checking the locks, reviewing camera feeds. Everything was in place. Everything was secure.
Then I turned around, and he was right there.
Too close.
I stiffened but didn’t step back. If he thought I’d react to some childish intimidation tactic, he was mistaken.
"Problem?" I asked coolly.
His lips curled into something close to amusement. "Just testing something."
I raised an eyebrow. "Testing what?"
"How close I can get before you walk away."
I let out a slow, measured breath. "You’re not a test, Beethoven."
"Aren’t I?"
His voice had dropped lower, quieter, and I hated that I noticed the way it sounded. Smooth. Dark. Nothing like the charming, golden-boy act he put on in public.
I kept my expression neutral. "I don’t play games."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "I think you do."
"Then you’re wrong."
"Am I?"
I clenched my jaw, aware that we were still too damn close. He was watching me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve, like every second I didn’t react was just another reason to keep pushing.
I should have walked away.
I should have.
Instead, I hesitated for half a second too long.
And that was all he needed.
His smirk deepened, slow and knowing. He had caught it—the tiniest shift in my breathing, the flicker of awareness I hadn’t masked fast enough.
I stepped back sharply, forcing distance between us. "Go to bed, Beethoven."
His chuckle was low, almost victorious. "Sweet dreams, Dauntless."
I turned and walked away, forcing myself to keep my posture even, forcing myself not to react to the warmth still lingering in the space between us.
I hated him.
I hated this.
And most of all, I hated the fact that for one single second, I had wondered what would happen if I hadn’t stepped away.
I slammed my bedroom door harder than necessary, leaning against it for a brief moment before muttering under my breath.
"Too bad I didn’t believe myself."