For three days, Elara stayed locked in her room. She refused to eat, refused to play, and most of all, refused to see Julian.

But the world outside didn't care about her heartbreak.

A sudden, violent shatter of glass from the balcony jolted her awake at 2:00 AM. A shadow moved in the darkness—a man in tactical gear, a silenced pistol raised.

Before Elara could scream, the bedroom door burst open. Julian tackled her off the bed just as a bullet hissed into the mattress where her head had been a second before.

"Stay down!" Julian roared.

He didn't call for security. He drew a weapon from a hidden holster beneath the nightstand. The cold, calculated businessman vanished; in his place was a man who moved with the lethal grace of a soldier.

The room erupted in chaos. Bullets tore through the silk curtains. Julian shielded Elara with his own body, pushing her toward the panic room hidden behind the wardrobe.

"Julian, you’re bleeding!" Elara cried out, her hands coming away red from his shoulder.

"It’s a scratch," he lied, his face pale. He shoved her inside the steel-lined room. "Stay here. Don't open this for anyone but me. If I don't come back in an hour, there’s a phone in the wall. Speed dial one."

"Julian, wait—"

The heavy steel door hissed shut, locking her in silence. The last thing she saw was Julian turning back toward the darkness, a lone king defending a broken throne.