Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Glass
By the third day, a strange, tense routine had settled over the fifty-eighth floor.
Willa spent her mornings working with Titan. She stretched his stiff legs, massaged his wasted muscles with warm oils, and cooked raw protein meals for him in the vast, commercial-grade kitchen. The dog was recovering at a pace that defied medical logic. The dull haze in his eyes had cleared, replaced by a deep, loyal glow whenever Willa walked into the room. He followed her everywhere, a towering silver shadow pressing against her knee.
Despite her unlocked door, Willa was entirely a prisoner.
She had tried the emergency staircase on the second afternoon. She had managed to open the heavy steel door, only to find two armed men sitting on folding chairs in the concrete stairwell. They hadn't touched her; they had simply stood up, their suit jackets shifting to reveal leather holsters, and politely escorted her back to the main living room.
Jared, meanwhile, was a ghost who occupied the same space.
He was constantly surrounded by men in dark suits who carried heavy leather folders and spoke in hushed, urgent Italian and Russian. He worked from his glass-walled office at the back of the penthouse, making phone calls that made the room feel twenty degrees colder. Yet, no matter how intense his meetings were, Willa would occasionally look up to find his storm-grey eyes locked onto her through the glass.
It was late on the fourth evening when the quiet fractured.
Willa was sitting on the floor of the living room, brushing Titan’s thick coat, when the private elevator chimed.
The doors slid open, and a man stepped out unannounced. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with slicked-back silver hair, a scarred lip, and an air of greasy authority. He was flanked by three large men whose hands remained tucked inside their coats.
Titan immediately let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the floorboards. Willa instinctively laid a hand on the dog's neck, sensing the sudden spike in tension.
"Victor," Jared’s voice rang out from the hallway. He stepped into the living room, completely unbothered, though Miles immediately flanked his left side, his hand subtly hovering near his belt. "I don't recall inviting you up to my home."
The older man—Victor—smiled, revealing a row of unnaturally white veneers. "When a man stops answering his phone, Jared, his partners get nervous. The docks in Queens are backed up. The shipments from Palermo are three days late. And I hear rumors that you're spending your time playing nursemaid to a dying mutt."
Victor’s eyes flicked over to Titan, then settled on Willa. His gaze slithered over her faded clothes with an unpleasant, predatory appraisal.
"And who is this?" Victor sneered, taking a step toward her. "A new little pet for the king of Manhattan?"
Before Victor could take a second step, Jared moved.
He didn't run; he glided across the floor with terrifying speed, placing himself directly between Victor and Willa. The air in the room instantly turned lethal.
"Look at her again, Victor," Jared said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, soft, and cold as liquid nitrogen, "and you won't leave this building on your feet."
Victor’s smile vanished. The three men behind him shifted, but Miles subtly stepped forward, a sleek black firearm appearing in his hand so fast Willa didn't even see him draw it.
"You're losing your edge, Kensington," Victor spat, taking a cautious step back toward the elevator. "You let a hound dog and a gutter girl soften you. The council won't tolerate a weak boss."
"The council knows where to find me," Jared replied softly. "Get out of my house."
Victor stared at Jared for three agonizing seconds before sneering, turning around, and stepping back into the elevator with his men. The steel doors slid shut, cutting off the toxic tension like a blade.
Willa was trembling. She gripped Titan’s collar tightly, her breathing ragged. She had seen men like Victor before—men who looked at women like objects to be used, broken, and discarded.
Jared turned around slowly. The deadly rage in his eyes faded slightly as he looked down at her, replaced by a subtle, troubled dark look.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Who was that?" Willa whispered, her knuckles white against Titan’s collar.
"A mistake I haven't corrected yet," Jared said flatly. He walked over, knelt down in front of her, and reached out his hand. For a terrifying second, Willa thought he was going to touch her face, but he gently reached past her to check Titan’s pulse at his neck.
"You should go to your room," Jared murmured, his face inches from hers. "Tonight is going to be loud."
"What does that mean?" Willa asked, pulling back slightly. "Jared, what are you mixed up in? What is all of this?"
Jared looked at her, his dark eyes searching her pale face. "I run this city, Willa. I protect what is mine, and I destroy what threatens it. That’s all you need to know."
"I am not yours!" Willa snapped, her fear suddenly twisting into white-hot anger. "You brought me here against my will! You're keeping me in a gold cage! You don't own me, Jared!"
Jared’s jaw tightened. He stood up, towering over her once more.
"If I wanted to own you, Willa Thornton, you would already be wearing my ring," Jared said, his voice dropping into a dark, hypnotic whisper that made her blood run hot. "I am keeping you here because outside those doors, men like Victor exist. And the moment he saw you in my apartment, you became a target."
Willa stared up at him, her chest heaving. "He only saw me because you dragged me into your world!"
"And now you're in it," Jared replied coldly. "Which means your survival depends on staying right where I can see you."
He turned and walked toward his office, calling out over his shoulder to Miles. "Double the guards on the floor. Prepare the cars for midnight."
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Willa sat on the floor, surrounded by the cold marble and the towering glass, realizing with a sinking heart that the glass walls of the penthouse weren't meant to keep the world out.
They were meant to keep her in.
