The morning sun always hits the hallway of Jack’s loft at a sharp, dusty angle. I smoothed down the plaid skirt of my high school uniform, checking my reflection in the vintage mirror by the door. Nineteen. A bit older than the other seniors, but a chaotic childhood had delayed things. Jack didn’t care. He just wanted me to finish. I grabbed my backpack, my eyes scanning the living room until they landed on him. He was sitting on the leather sofa, a cigarette burning slowly in the astray next to him, his fingers tapping lazily against a glass of whiskey. Dark hair messy, tattoos peeking out from his rolled-up flannel sleeves. My protector. My guardian.

I walked over, leaning down to wrap my arms tightly around his broad shoulders. The familiar scent of leather, tobacco, and expensive cologne washed over me.

Jack didn't smile, but his dark eyes softened just a fraction as he looked up at me.

I turned and walked out the heavy metal door, the click of the lock echoing behind me.

Jack's POV The silence of the loft returned the second Lana left. I took a slow drag from my cigarette, staring at the door. Daddy. She had called me that since she was a scared, quiet kid, but lately, hearing it come from a nineteen-year-old woman with her mother’s hauntingly beautiful eyes made something shift uncomfortably in my chest. I had to keep my distance. I had to remember my promise to protect her—even from myself. Suddenly, the lock on the back door click-clacked. It wasn't Lana.

A woman stepped into the room. She was wearing a heavy trench coat, her face partially hidden by oversized sunglasses. I didn't move an inch. I just watched her. She closed the door behind her, locking it, and looked at me with a desperate, manic look in her eyes

She didn't wait for me to answer. With a swift, practiced movement, she unbuttoned her trench coat and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing she was wearing almost nothing underneath. Half-dressed, she took a step toward me, her hands trembling as she reached out.

Before I could even wrap my fingers around the glass on the table, the front door clicked open. Lana walked back into the loft, holding a textbook she had forgotten. She froze in the entryway. Her eyes went from the half-naked woman to me, sitting perfectly still on the couch. A sudden, heavy suffocating silence filled the room. Lana's cheeks flushed, but her voice remained strangely calm, carrying that signature, melodic coolness.

She didn't wait for an explanation. She gripped her book tight, spun on her heel, and closed the door behind her, her footsteps fading quickly down the hallway. The moment the door shut, the cold, ruthless version of myself took over. I stood up, my hand instantly slipping under the sofa cushion. In one smooth motion, I pulled out my sleek, black handgun and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the mystery woman’s forehead. The woman’s breath hitched. All the seduction vanished from her face, replaced by pure, blinding terror.

She didn't even wait for 'two.' She scooped up her coat in a panic, sobbing as she fumbled with the back door lock, and fled into the alleyway like a ghost. I safed the gun, tucked it into my waistband, and stared at the front door. Damn it.

Lana's POV The school day passed in a complete blur. Every time a teacher spoke, all I could see was that woman standing in our living room. It shouldn't have bothered me—Jack was a grown man, an artist, a powerful figure. He could have whoever he wanted. But a dark, suffocating knot had formed in my stomach, and it wouldn't go away.

By the time dinner rolled around, the loft was quiet again. The vintage record player was spinning a slow, melancholic jazz tune in the corner. Jack had cooked, setting two plates of steak and potatoes on the dark wooden table. We ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the scrape of silverware. Finally, Jack cleared his throat. He didn't look up from his plate.

I cut a piece of my steak, keeping my expression perfectly smooth, though my heart gave a strange, heavy thud. I looked across the table at him and smiled softly.

Jack paused, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth. His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and unreadable.

Jack stared at me for a long, quiet moment. The shadows from the dim chandelier danced across his sharp jawline. When he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher than usual.

My smile widened just a bit, a spark of something dangerous and thrilling lighting up inside me. I leaned my chin on my hand, looking directly into his eyes.

The school bell had rung ten minutes ago, but I was still lingering behind the bleachers, the cool afternoon breeze fluttering the hem of my uniform skirt. Standing in front of me was Leo. He was my boyfriend—a secret I had kept locked away from the brick loft for three months. Right now, he was holding my hands, his face bright with excitement, but my heart was hammering against my ribs in pure panic.

Leo laughed, shaking his head as he squeezed my fingers. He didn't understand the world I lived in. He didn't know the dark, protective shadow that Jack cast over my entire existence.

I swallowed hard, looking down. The thought of university was my only escape, but it felt like a distant dream.

Before I could finish, the heavy roar of a familiar engine cut through the school parking lot. Jack’s black vintage car pulled up directly to the curb. The door opened, and Jack stepped out. He looked imposing, his tall frame clad in a dark leather jacket, his tattooed hands shoved deep into his pockets. His jaw was set tight, his eyes locking onto Leo like a predator sizing up its prey. Leo tried to play it cool, stepping forward with a polite smile

Jack didn't even look at him. He completely ignored Leo's outstretched hand. His eyes remained fixed on me, cold and unyielding.

The absolute silence radiating from Jack was terrifying. Leo froze, his smile fading into confusion and slight fear. I gave Leo a quick, apologetic look, my hands trembling as I grabbed my backpack and hurried into the passenger seat. Jack slammed his door, threw the car into reverse, and tore away from the curb without a single word.

My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my knuckles turned white. A boyfriend. A high school kid with soft hands and a naive smile touching what was mine. The rage boiling in my chest was blinding, but I kept my eyes glued to the road, refusing to let her see how much it affected me.

Lana let out a frustrated sigh, leaning her head back against the leather seat.

Hearing those words made my chest tighten. The thought of her leaving the loft, leaving me, and going somewhere I couldn't protect her—somewhere other men could look at her—was entirely unacceptable.

Lana turned her head sharply, staring at me with a mixture of disbelief and a strange, sudden realization.

The word jealous echoed in the tense silence of the car. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to that soft, teasing whisper that always managed to unravel my sanity.

I pulled the car hard into the driveway of the loft, slamming on the brakes. I turned to face her, our breath mingling in the small space, the boundary between us stretching until it was ready to snap.

The heavy oak dining table had never felt so vast. Lana’s chair sat completely empty. After our argument in the car, she had locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to come out for dinner. I had sent the maids up three separate times with trays of food, but each time, they returned down the spiral staircase, their heads bowed, the plates untouched. I sat alone in the dim light of the loft, staring at my own glass of whiskey, the silence chewing away at my patience. If she thought she could starve herself to punish me, she was entirely wrong. I wasn't going to let her ruin her health over some high school boy.

By morning, the tension in the house was suffocating. I stood by the kitchen island, watching the head maid, Martha, nervously arrange a fresh breakfast platter.

A cold, ruthless anger flared in my chest. I set my coffee mug down hard enough to rattle the porcelain. If Lana wanted to play a game of control, I would show her exactly who held the keys to this house.

Before Martha could even move, the heavy wooden door to the upstairs hallway clicked open. Lana stood at the top of the stairs. Her long, dark hair was slightly messy, and she was wearing an oversized flannel shirt that belonged to me, the hem swallowing her shorts. Her eyes were bright with a furious, defiant storm as she marched down the steps.

I had tried to stay in my room to clear my head, but hearing him threaten the maids was the final straw. He was being completely unreasonable. I stepped into the kitchen, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor as I glared directly at him

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, walking straight over to the island. I snatched a piece of toast from the platter, taking a sharp, angry bite just to satisfy his ridiculous demand.

I slammed the rest of the toast back onto the plate, stepping closer to him until the scent of his leather jacket and tobacco completely surrounded me. The anger inside me overflowed, and the words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them—each one aimed to hurt him as deeply as he was hurting me.

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath his beard. The coldness in his eyes shattered, replaced by a raw, sudden flash of vulnerability.

The kitchen fell into a dead, horrifying silence. The maids immediately scurried out of the room, terrified of the explosion that was sure to follow. I looked at Jack. The anger on his face had drained away, replaced by a look of profound, heavy hurt. My words had cut straight through his tough, rugged armor, hitting the exact forbidden truth he had been trying so hard to bury. He looked at me, his throat moving as he swallowed, but for the first time since he had taken me in, he had absolutely nothing to say. I grabbed my school bag from the chair, spinning on my heel.

I stormed out of the loft, slamming the heavy front door behind me, leaving him entirely alone in the wreckage of the silence.