CHAPTER 4
A Dangerous Game
The weight of the headlines still pressed against Naarah's chest the next morning. She had barely slept, her mind a battlefield of thoughts—about Peter, about the risk she had taken, and about the unsettling way her body had responded to his presence.
She needed a distraction.
Pulling on a simple white blouse and black slacks, she grabbed her bag and left her apartment. If she was going to be dragged into this media storm, she needed to control the narrative.
Which meant confronting Peter Alexander again.
---
Alexander Enterprises – 47th Floor
When Naarah stepped into the lobby, she half expected security to throw her out. Instead, the receptionist gave her a tight-lipped smile.
They were expecting her.
A deep unease settled in her stomach as she was led through a corridor and into an elevator. The sleek interior of the elevator hummed as it ascended, each passing second tightening the knot in her chest.
When the doors finally opened, Naarah stepped into an office that was even more intimidating than she remembered.
And there he was.
Peter Alexander stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his broad shoulders framed by the skyline. He turned slowly, his piercing gaze locking onto her.
She swallowed hard.
"Miss Evans," he murmured, his voice like silk against steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Naarah steadied herself. "You knew I'd come back."
His lips curled into the faintest smirk. "I was counting on it."
She squared her shoulders. "I'm here for answers. Why haven't you stopped the evictions yet?"
Peter leaned against his desk, watching her like a predator indulging its prey. "Because, Miss Evans, I don't take orders."
Her fingers curled into fists. "So that's it? You're just going to sit back and let people suffer?"
He studied her for a moment, then exhaled as if she were exhausting him. "Tell me, Naarah…" He took a slow step closer. "Do you always charge into battles without understanding the enemy?"
Her breath caught. "You're not my enemy."
"Then you truly don't understand me."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to let him see her fear. "You don't scare me."
Peter's smirk deepened. "You should be scared, little dove."
That name—little dove—made something tighten in her stomach. It was mocking, but there was something else in his tone. Something almost… possessive.
She forced herself to stay firm. "I just want to know if you're going to stop the evictions."
Peter tilted his head, observing her. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of paper, and held it out to her.
Naarah hesitated before taking it.
She glanced down—and her heart nearly stopped.
It was a list of names. The same families she had been fighting for. Next to each name was a single word.
Protected.
She looked up at him, stunned. "You—"
"Already handled it," Peter murmured.
Confusion swirled inside her. "But why? Why go through all that in the meeting if you were just going to fix it?"
Peter took another step forward, invading her space.
"Because I wanted to see what you were made of," he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "And you didn't disappoint."
Her pulse pounded. She should have been relieved. She should have been grateful. But all she felt was… watched.
Like a piece on a chessboard.
She stepped back. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't be part of it."
Peter chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, little dove," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "You already are."
And the worst part?
She knew he was right.
---
Elsewhere…
Damien Carter sat in his private lounge, a glass of scotch in one hand, his phone in the other. The footage of Naarah leaving Alexander Enterprises played on the screen before him.
"She's interesting," Damien mused, his lips curling into a slow smile.
"Should I dig into her background?" his assistant asked.
Damien swirled his drink. "No need." He tapped a finger against the glass. "She'll come to me eventually."
His gaze darkened.
"And when she does… I'll make sure she never leaves."