It was late when Kian Steele's office door creaked open, the dim streetlight casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. He had just finished up another case that had gone sideways, as most of them did in his line of work. The city was always a few steps ahead of him, but that's how it worked—he was a detective, after all. He thrived in the chaos.

But tonight wasn't like any other. Tonight, you walked in.

Kian had always been the kind of man who preferred to work alone. He didn't have time for distractions, especially in a city like this, where everyone had an agenda. But when you stepped into his office, everything shifted.

You were different. There was an air of mystery about you, an unspoken sadness that hung heavy in your eyes. Kian had seen it before in others—the haunted look of someone who had lived through something they couldn't quite escape. But there was something in the way you held yourself—something that made Kian want to know more.

You took a deep breath, crossing the threshold as if you were about to face something far worse than what was waiting for you in this room. You had clearly been through something that had left its mark. The way you moved, the way your gaze kept darting to the shadows, told Kian that you weren't here by choice. You needed something, and you weren't sure if he was the one to give it to you.

"Kian Steele?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, but it had an edge—like you were testing him.

"That's me," he replied, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated, your fingers playing with the edge of your purse, eyes flicking nervously between him and the door as if you were debating whether or not to leave. But you stayed. "I need help," you said finally, voice breaking ever so slightly. "I'm being followed."

Kian's brow furrowed. It wasn't an unusual case for him, but there was something about the way you said it that piqued his interest. Most people didn't show up in his office looking this unsettled unless something bigger was at play.

"Who's following you?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet and walking toward you.

You shook your head, clearly unsure of what to say. "I don't know. But every time I turn around, I feel eyes on me. I've tried to go to the police, but they won't listen. They just... they don't believe me." You paused, staring at the floor. "But I know I'm not imagining it. Something's wrong, and I don't know who to trust."

Kian studied you closely. There was a vulnerability in your posture, something he didn't see often. It wasn't just fear—there was something else, something deep and raw. He knew what it was like to feel trapped, to have a life being controlled by things outside your control. And for some reason, he didn't want you to go through it alone.

He softened his expression, taking a step closer. "You're not imagining it," he said quietly. "I'll help you, but I need you to trust me. All the way."

Your eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room lifted. It was like you both understood—he had been down roads like this before. Dangerous ones. Ones that could change everything. But there was something in his gaze that made you feel like you were safer with him. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren't completely alone.