Chapter 15
Emily Windsor's POV
Luke turned to face me, his ice-blue eyes fathomless in the darkness, as if capable of absorbing all my pretenses and exhaustion. "Emily, welcome to my world."
I stared into his eyes, unable to speak for a long moment.
After that, work consumed my life entirely.
Luke kept his word. He handed me the complete restructuring of all the Victor family's legitimate business operations.
I buried myself in mountains of files and data every day, constructing a clean yet sprawling empire for him. Occasionally, when I'd lift my head, I could see through the connecting glass wall into the adjacent office where he handled family affairs.
That afternoon, I was reviewing documents for a port logistics company acquisition when Luke's internal line rang.
"Come to my office." His voice was unreadable.
I set down the files and walked over. He'd already changed into a long black overcoat that made his frame appear even more imposing. He handed me a folder. "There's been a situation at one of the warehouses near the west docks. I need legal counsel on-site to handle the aftermath. You're coming with me."
"What kind of situation?" I took the file, scanning quickly. It contained only the warehouse address and basic information—frustratingly vague about the actual problem.
"A minor complication." Luke's tone was dismissive as he strode toward the door.
The car sped through the city, leaving behind the glittering downtown and heading toward the desolate industrial port district.
The air gradually filled with the briny scent of seawater mixed with rust.
We finally stopped before a row of dilapidated warehouses. One stood with its massive door gaping open, flanked by several dark-suited guards whose expressions were grim.
I followed Luke out of the car. Before we even got close, a thick, metallic stench of blood ambushed my nostrils, churning my stomach. I instinctively frowned as dread crept through me.
Stepping inside the warehouse, the scene before me froze every drop of blood in my veins.
In the center of the open floor lay several bodies scattered haphazardly, blood soaking the concrete in pools of dark crimson.
Several men in black suits worked methodically, cleaning the scene. They wore gloves, efficiently zipping corpses into black body bags and hosing down the bloodstains with high-pressure washers. Their movements were practiced, as if disposing of nothing more than trash.
The air was thick with the nauseating mixture of blood, disinfectant, and the salty tang of ocean wind.
This was Luke's "minor complication."
My mind went blank. Though I'd read countless descriptions of death in the Victor family case files, when such raw, violent carnage presented itself so viscerally before my eyes, the visual and psychological impact stole my breath.
I forced myself to look away, my face draining to a sickly pallor. My fingers gripped the document folder so tightly my knuckles turned white, my body trembling uncontrollably.
A warm hand suddenly covered my eyes, blocking out the gruesome scene entirely.
Luke had moved behind me without warning, his broad chest nearly pressed against my back, enveloping me completely.
His familiar scent—cold cigars and winter fir—forcefully displaced the nauseating stench around us, giving me a desperately needed reprieve.
"Don't look." His voice rumbled low near my ear, carrying an unquestionable command yet oddly soothing my panicked heartbeat.
I stood frozen, not daring to move.
Through his palm, I could feel the warmth of his fingertips and the heat radiating from his body.
The sounds of rushing water and muffled conversation continued in the warehouse, but in my world, there existed only the steady drumbeat of his heart behind me and his warm breath against my skin.
After what felt like an eternity, as the heavy scent of blood gradually dissipated, he slowly lowered his hand.
"They were Marco's men," Luke said, his gaze fixed on the now-cleaned floor, his voice cold as ice. "Skimmed a shipment and tried to frame someone else."
I remained silent, the shock still churning through me.
This was his world. Betrayal's price was death. I thought I'd prepared myself mentally, but witnessing this scene firsthand revealed how naive I'd been.
Luke turned, looking down at me from his superior height. He raised his hand, his thumb gently brushing my cold cheek. Those unfathomable ice-blue eyes churned with complex emotions I couldn't decipher.
"Scared?" he asked.
I didn't answer, biting down hard on my lip. I couldn't show weakness before him.
"Emily," he suddenly gripped my chin, forcing me to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp as blades, as if determined to dissect and expose every part of me. "This is my world. Filthy. Bloody. Not a shred of light. You can still back out now."
I looked at him. Deep within those cold eyes, I caught a flicker of tension even he seemed unaware of.
He was offering me a choice. One last time.
I drew a deep breath, gathering every ounce of strength to suppress the fear roiling inside me and the nausea clawing at my throat. Meeting his gaze directly, I spoke each word deliberately: "Mr. Reed, I think you've forgotten—I'm your private legal counsel now." I lifted my chin slightly, my lips curving into a pale but defiant smile. "As your attorney, my only concern is whether this complication will affect the acquisition we're currently pursuing."
My answer seemed to surprise him. The ice and sharpness in his eyes gradually receded, replaced by deep, unmistakable intrigue.
He laughed—a low, rich sound—the vibration traveling through our close proximity and making my heart skip.
"Good," he released my chin, his thumb now tracing my lips in a gesture both intimate and dangerous. "Miss Windsor, you haven't disappointed me."
His calloused thumb pad brushed across my soft lips, sending a tingling shiver through me.
I instinctively tried to step back, but he caught my waist instead, pulling me closer.
"Emily," he bent down, his warm breath washing over my ear, his voice husky and seductive. "Don't be afraid. I'm here. These filthy things will never touch you."
My body went rigid, my heart hammering so violently it threatened to burst from my throat. People moved about the warehouse, yet he held me captive in his arms as if we were completely alone, speaking promises in the most intimate posture that made my pulse race dangerously.
I never imagined that someday, a man would say such things to me immediately after disposing of corpses in a blood-soaked warehouse.
And that I wouldn't feel terror—instead, I'd find a strange sense of security in his possessive declaration.
I must be losing my mind.
I must be.