Leah blinked once. Twice.
The man had vanished.
One second, Daniel Blackwood was standing before her like an enigma wrapped in tailored silk. The next, he was gone—as if the night had swallowed him whole.
Before she could chase that thought, a low metallic click echoed from behind.
She spun on her heel.
A man in a shadowed suit pointed a silencer directly at her. She dropped low in a swift motion, the bullet grazing her shoulder as she dove behind a pillar. Pain burned, sharp and hot, but she had no time for it. She rolled to her side, pulled the weapon from her thigh holster, and returned fire.
Chaos erupted.
Two more men joined the attacker—dark suits, no insignia, all aiming with purpose. But then, a blur cut through them. Strangers—men she didn't recognize—joined the fray, neutralizing the attackers with practiced ease.
One of them—tall, lean, efficient—dragged an assailant to his knees.
Leah stormed toward him, fury and confusion sharp in her glare. She grabbed the man's collar. "Who sent you?"
The masked man didn't flinch. "We had orders to protect you."
Her eyes narrowed. "From who?"
But a second later, a shot rang out.
She ducked again—but not fast enough.
Blood bloomed from her shoulder. A snarl twisted her lips. She kicked her attacker to the ground and fired. One. Two. Three. All clean shots.
Elias Thorne—the ring's orchestrator—lay bloodied and groaning on the marble floor.
But... one name remained missing.
"Ivan Markov," she muttered under her breath, scanning the crowd. "Where the hell are you?"
Nowhere. He was gone. The snake had slithered out while she was distracted.
Her teammates rushed in through the grand doors. Luna approached at a run, gun raised, eyes wide.
"We've secured the victims. Most of the trafficking handlers are restrained. Leah—are you—?"
"I'm fine," she snapped, although blood still trickled. Her gaze dropped to Elias. "Take him for special treatment. We'll need him talking."
Luna nodded, but paused, watching Leah scan the room.
"Did the chief send back-up?" Leah asked, her voice low, suspicious.
"No... it was just us."
A shadow of confusion passed over Leah's expression. Her eyes darted to the ballroom's upper balconies—empty.
She was silent for a long beat.
Then Luna pointed to the blood. "You're hurt."
"It's just a graze." Leah waved her off.
They walked out together, but Leah's thoughts remained locked on the vanishing stranger... and the mysterious help that came from nowhere.
---
[Daniel's POV – The Penthouse]
"...She got hurt?"
Daniel's voice was velvet dipped in ice.
The man across from him shivered under his stare.
"I—I didn't know they'd aim at her like that—"
"That's your excuse?" Daniel stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "I send you to watch. To protect. Not to fail."
His expression darkened as he motioned with a finger.
"Send him to Kazan."
"No... no, wait—" the man's voice was cut off by the sound of two guards dragging him away.
Daniel stood by the penthouse window—floor-to-ceiling glass, the entire skyline of the city glittering below. His office was sleek, dressed in obsidian and midnight blue, like a modern throne room. The lights cast angular shadows that made him look more myth than man.
He dialed.
"Find Ivan Markov," he ordered. "I want to know who dared drag my name into this filth. And why."
The line buzzed.
"One more thing," he said casually. "Find out everything you can about Leah Davies. Every last secret."
There was a pause.
"Yes, sir."
As the call ended, Daniel stood silent for a moment, watching the moonlight bathe the city.
A slow smirk curled his lips. She's more than she seems... and far too stubborn to be just a 'cop'.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, musing to himself.
"Sharp tongue. Strong aim. And a tendency to attract bullets... I really should stay away from her."
He sipped.
"But I won't."
---
[Leah's POV – Her Apartment]
The bathroom was a soft haven of lavender and steam. Candles flickered. The scent of florals lingered in the air. Leah rested her injured shoulder on the cool porcelain edge of the tub, half her face submerged beneath the water.
The pain throbbed, but it was the puzzle gnawing at her thoughts.
Daniel Blackwood.
Not a trace of guilt in the trafficking ring. No hidden ties. Clean.
Too clean.
She rose slightly, letting the water drip from her lashes. Someone had planted his name... intentionally. But why?
And those men who'd helped her—if not the chief, then who?
She frowned, grimacing as she thought of explaining the wound to her boss.
He'd throw a fit.
Maybe she could claim she slipped on a marble floor?
The thought made her snort.
Right. Because that sounds like something I'd do...
She sank deeper into the tub, closing her eyes.
But one thought echoed, low and persistent:
Just who the hell are you, Daniel Blackwood?
She closed her eyes.
Just then Her phone buzzed on the sink beside her. One hand reached out, checking the message:
Luna: "Markov's trail's gone cold. Elias is locked in. Chief's asking for a debrief. Also… you okay?"
Leah stared at the screen. A pause.
She typed back:
"I'm fine. Just a scratch. I'll handle the report."
Then after a moment…
"Also… find out everything on Daniel Blackwood. Leave no stone unturned."
Her thumb hovered.
Let's see what's hiding under that perfect suit of yours… Daniel.
She hit send, and let her head sink under the water, her thoughts crackling like static.
Cut to Daniel's POV:
The elevator to the penthouse pinged softly as Daniel stepped inside. The walls were obsidian black, brushed with hints of midnight blue. Sleek, cold, and quiet—just like him.
He shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall onto a leather chair. Blood still stained the cuffs of his shirt.
A low chime echoed.
"Sir," his secretary's voice buzzed from the intercom. "Elias is captured. Markov escaped. No direct links found to us—except rumors."
Daniel walked to the edge of the glass wall, staring at the skyline with his jaw clenched.
"Then someone's dragging my name into their dirt."
His voice was ice.
"Find Ivan Markov. And make sure he remembers why the devil fears me."
A beat of silence. Then…
"And one more thing…"
He paused.
"…Track down everything on a woman named Leah Davies. Every single detail."
The line went quiet.
"Leah Davies again?" his secretary repeated, stunned.
"Yes."
His tone shifted—colder… but laced with something else. Something dangerous.
He downed a sip of whiskey and whispered to himself with a low chuckle,
"Little storm in disguise.who exactly are you? "