The words sliced through the night like a knife. Ethan Cross, CEO of CrossTech Industries, froze. Just seconds ago, he’d been getting out of his car in a dark alley behind the Ritz Carlton, trying to avoid the paparazzi waiting up ahead. Now, a disheveled girl with tangled hair and smeared dirt on her cheeks was pulling him into the shadows.
Before he could ask, she pressed her lips to his.
For a moment, everything stopped. The smell of rain, his trembling hands on the collar of his shirt, the distant hum of traffic—all melted into silence. Then, a dark sedan sped past the alley, tinted windows and headlights off. A man leaned out the window, scanning the street. Ethan’s pulse pounded. Whoever it was, they were looking for him.
The girl—barely in her twenties, wearing a ripped sweatshirt—stepped away first.
“You’re safe now,” she whispered. “They would have recognized you if you’d looked up.”
Ethan blinked, stunned. “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, stepping back. “You shouldn’t be walking alone. Not tonight.”
He could have left. But something in her voice—calm, steady, despite the cold—made him stay. “Did you know I was being followed?”
“I notice things,” she replied simply. “When you live on the streets, you learn to observe before you move.”
Her name, he learned later, was Lena Hart. She had been homeless for two years, sleeping near the train station. And that night, she had saved the life of one of the richest men in New York.
But Ethan wasn’t the kind of man who left questions unanswered, or debts unpaid.
That night wasn’t the end of their story. It was the beginning.
Ethan found her again three days later. He had his security team track her movements, which wasn’t easy: Lena stayed off the radar, sleeping in different places every night. When he finally spotted her outside a soup kitchen, she looked smaller than he remembered. But her eyes—alert, gray, steady—met his instantly.
“I told you not to follow me,” she said curtly.
“You saved my life,” Ethan replied. “At least let me thank you.”
She didn’t want his money. “People like you give to feel better about themselves. I don’t want charity.”
“Then work for me,” he said. “You have instincts most people don’t.”
She laughed, a high-pitched, humorless laugh. “You want to hire a homeless girl who sleeps under bridges?”
“Yes,” Ethan said simply.
It took weeks, but she reluctantly agreed to a temporary security position. At first, his staff hated him. A woman with no background check, no college degree, and no address didn’t belong in their world. But Lena had something they didn’t: intuition. She could sense when something was wrong: a stranger staring too long, a car parked too close.
Soon, Ethan realized she wasn’t just helping keep him safe; she was showing him how blind he’d been. “You live behind glass,” she once said. “People see you, but you don’t see them.”
He began to listen to her—to her, to his employees, even to the city where he’d built his empire. And as the weeks passed, admiration deepened. They shared coffee late into the night in his office, laughter echoing against the windows. She never flirted. But when she smiled, he forgot how much power he wielded and how little it mattered.
Then, one night, it happened again: a shadow of that same dark sedan outside their building. Only this time, the target was Lena.
The bullet was meant for Ethan. Lena took it instead.
It happened in seconds: a flash, a sound like shattering glass. Ethan’s security team immobilized the shooter before he reached the street. But all Ethan saw was Lena collapsing on the marble floor, blood pooling on her sleeve.
“Stay with me,” he said, pressing his hand to the wound. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused but calm. “I guess I still can’t stay out of trouble,” she whispered weakly.
The hospital lights seemed endless. Hours passed before the doctor came out and said she would live—by a hair. Ethan sat outside her room all night, the words she’d once said echoing in his head: You live behind glass. She’d been right. He’d built walls of money and reputation to keep the world out. She’d shattered them with an impulsive kiss.
Seven weeks later, when Lena woke up, Ethan was there. “You’re fired,” he said weakly, regaining his composure.
He grinned. “You can’t fire yourself. I made you head of my personal security.”
She rolled the…
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