Leon's POV
Jim's eyes widened slightly when he saw me carrying a woman. He didn't ask questions—he knew better.
He moved quickly, opening the car door.
I slipped into the backseat, Cielo cradled in my arms. Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling, but the moment I whispered, "It's okay. It's over. I'm here now," something in her loosened. She leaned into me—and within moments, she was asleep.
"Jim, drive to my place," I said quietly.
"Yes, sir."
I pulled out my phone and called my mother.
"Mother, I won't be coming home tonight. I've got work to finish at my apartment."
I ended the call before she could ask questions.
The car slowed as we reached the gates. Jim signaled, and the security guard opened them without hesitation. The black car pulled into the wide driveway, tires gliding over smooth concrete. Once inside, I stepped out and lifted her again—bridal style.
She didn't stir.
I carried her into the house and took her straight to my bedroom. The sheets were fresh, the room clean and simple. I laid her down gently, brushed a stray hair from her forehead, then turned away.
After changing into fresh clothes and taking a quick shower, I made my way to the dining room. The maids had already served dinner—light, just how I preferred it. I ate in silence, brushing my teeth afterward, and then headed to the guest room for the night.
---
Cielo's POV
The warmth on my face woke me up.
Sunlight.
That was strange—sunlight never reached my bedroom like this.
I opened my eyes.
And froze.
This wasn't my room.
Everything was spotless. The curtains were long and white. The sheets were expensive. The furniture modern. I sat up slowly, blinking.
Where am I?
Then it came rushing back.
The three men.
The dark alley.
Their hands.
I clutched the bedsheet, heart pounding.
Wait… did they—?
No. I was still dressed, nothing seemed touched. My eyes darted around the room. That's when I saw him.
Leon.
He was seated in the corner on a grey couch, reading through some files. Calm. Cold. Beautiful.
"Wait," he said, not even looking up.
I stopped moving, startled.
"How… how did I end up here?" I asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you adopted me or something?"
His eyes flicked up, just once. "I don't do that. I don't have the time."
I swallowed hard.
"Instead," he continued, "ask yourself how a drunk girl in that state could get home safely through this city—alone."
I couldn't answer. My voice shrank.
"S-sorry," I stammered.
"No need," he said coolly. "But next time you decide to get drunk, do it in your house. Or else… you'll suffer the consequences."
He didn't even glance at me as he continued flipping through his documents.
Then, as if the conversation was over, he stood up and walked to the closet. He pulled out a neatly folded shirt and a pair of black trousers—both clearly new—and placed them on the bed.
"Take these. You should shower before leaving."
His voice was flat, but his actions said something else.
He picked up his files and moved toward the door.
"I've arranged everything," he said. "Jim will take you home."
And with that, he left, closing the door softly behind him.
I stood frozen in place, heat rising to my cheeks.
First his suit… now his clothes again.
Everything about this felt so… surreal.
And yet—somewhere deep down—I felt oddly safe.