Chapter 12 Chapter 12
Scarlett’s POV
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. I changed into my pajamas and grabbed my phone.
Dead.
The screen was completely black. I pressed the power button. Nothing.
Shit.
I looked around my room for my charger. Not on the nightstand. Not by the desk. Not plugged into any outlet.
Then I remembered. This morning Damon had seen my phone dying and told me to charge it in his room because the outlet by his desk had a fast charger.
I'd completely forgotten to get it back.
I stared at my dead phone. I could survive one night without it, right? Just go to sleep like a normal person?
Who was I kidding. I was twenty-two years old. My phone was basically an extension of my body. Going to sleep without it felt wrong. What if there was an emergency? What if someone needed to reach me?
What if I can't fall asleep because I'm thinking about my dead phone all night?
I looked at the clock. 11:47 PM.
Damon was probably still awake. The man barely slept. Always working. Always on his phone or laptop until crazy hours.
I could just knock on his door. Quick in and out. Grab my charger. Say goodnight. Done.
Simple.
I walked down the hallway to the master bedroom. The house was quiet. Most of the staff had gone home for the night.
I stood in front of his door.
Knocked softly.
Footsteps. The door opened.
Oh my God.
Damon stood there in a white dress shirt. The top three buttons were undone. I could see his chest. The defined lines of his pecs. The smooth skin. A hint of muscle.
My face went hot.
I immediately looked at the floor. At the wall. At literally anywhere except his chest.
"Scarlett?" His voice was confused. "Is something wrong?"
"No! Nothing's wrong!" I said it too fast. Too loud. "I just... my charger. I left it here this morning. Can I grab it?"
He stepped aside. "Come in."
I walked past him. Tried very hard not to look at his chest again.
Stop being weird. You've seen shirtless men before. You're a trained assassin. You've killed people. Why are you acting like a teenager who just saw her crush at the pool?
Oh right. Because this is your husband. Your very attractive husband. Whose baby you're carrying.
I headed straight for the balcony. The charger was still plugged in by his desk.
"Found it," I said. I unplugged it and turned around.
That's when my elbow bumped into something on the wall.
A panel. Touch-sensitive. It lit up blue.
"Don't touch—" Damon started.
Too late.
The door slammed shut with a loud BANG.
I jumped. "What the hell?"
I ran to the door. Grabbed the handle. Tried to turn it.
It wouldn't move.
"Uh," I said. "I think it's stuck."
Damon walked over. He looked at the door. Then at the panel I'd accidentally activated. Then at me.
"You triggered the security system," he said. His voice was very calm. Too calm.
"I what?"
"The lockdown protocol. The room is sealed."
I stared at him. "Sealed?"
"Sealed."
I turned back to the door. Tried the handle again. It felt loose. Weird.
Okay. Don't panic. Just open the door normally. You can do this.
I gripped the handle with both hands. Twisted hard.
The handle came off in my hands.
I looked down at the broken metal in my grip.
The silence was deafening.
Then an alarm started screaming. Loud. Piercing. The kind of sound that made your teeth hurt.
Red lights flashed along the ceiling. The balcony doors locked with an audible CLICK.
"SECURITY BREACH IN MASTER BEDROOM," a robotic voice announced. "LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL INITIATED."
I stood there holding the broken door handle.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
"I think," I said slowly, "there might be a defect in the hardware."
Damon stared at me. Then at the handle in my hands. Then back at me.
"That," he said, "is a military-grade security system."
"Oh."
"Installed three months ago."
"Uh huh."
"Top-of-the-line German engineering."
"Right."
"And you just... ripped the handle off."
He took the broken handle from me. Examined it. His jaw tightened.
"What kind of garbage product breaks this easily?" He turned it over in his hands. "What a joke."
"Maybe it was just a defective unit?" I offered weakly.
"A pregnant woman shouldn't be able to break a titanium handle by turning it." He tossed the broken piece onto his desk with disgust. "This is unacceptable. What if there was a real emergency? What if the system failed when we actually needed it?"
I nodded along. Tried to look equally outraged by the poor quality control.
Someone pounded on the door from outside.
"Mr. Wolfe? Sir? What's happening?" Arthur's voice was panicked. Muffled through the reinforced door.
Damon walked over to the wall panel. Pressed a button. "Arthur. We have a situation."
"Sir, the entire security grid just went into emergency lockdown. What's wrong? Are you under attack?"
"No. Mrs. Wolfe accidentally activated the system."
A pause. "She... accidentally?"
"She broke the door handle."
Another longer pause. "She broke the door handle. The titanium-reinforced door handle."
"Yes."
"I... I see." Arthur's voice had gone up an octave. "Sir, I'm terribly sorry. I personally oversaw the installation of that system. I chose the supplier myself. This shouldn't be possible. I'll file a complaint immediately. Let me get to the control room and override it."
I tried to look innocent.
This is definitely my fault. Normal people don't accidentally break titanium handles. But former assassins who spent years doing strength training? Yeah. We do.
"Can we get out through the balcony?" I walked over and tried the glass doors. They didn't budge. I looked at the reinforced frame. The triple-pane glass. "Is this bulletproof glass?"
"Yes."
"So probably not."
"Probably not."
I turned around. Damon was typing something on his phone.
"How bad is this?" I asked.
"You triggered the highest level lockdown protocol. The system thinks someone is trying to break into my bedroom by force. Everything is sealed. Doors. Windows. Ventilation is on emergency mode."
"Can we turn it off?"
"Arthur will handle it from the control room. He can do a remote override. Should take about fifteen minutes."
I let out a breath. "Okay. That's not too bad."
Damon went back to whatever he was doing on his laptop.
I sat down in one of the chairs by the window. Plugged my phone in to charge.
Thirty minutes passed.
Arthur's voice came through the intercom again. He sounded miserable.
"Sir. I have some bad news."
Damon looked up from his computer. "What is it?"
"I... I entered the wrong override code. Multiple times. The system has now entered failsafe mode."
Silence.
"Failsafe mode," Damon repeated.
"Yes, sir. I'm locked out of the control panel. I can't access any of the security functions."
"How do we fix it?"
"I need to contact the manufacturer in Germany. They can do a remote system reset. But because of the time difference, it will take approximately eight hours."
Damon's jaw tightened. "Eight hours."
"I'm so sorry, sir. This is entirely my fault. I take full responsibility."
"This is coming out of your Christmas bonus, Arthur."
"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."
The intercom clicked off.
I looked at Damon. He looked at me.
"So," I said. "We're stuck here until morning."
"Yes."
"In your bedroom."
"Yes."
"Together."
"Yes."