Chapter 16 Safe House

Eira’s first instinct was to beg off. "Alpha Killian, I appreciate it, but I can grab an Uber."

"Your last cab blew right past you."

Fair point.

"Get in." The door glided open. Not a request.

"Thanks." Eira ducked inside. The second she settled in, she caught it — alcohol riding under the mint. Clean, top-shelf, but there.

He’d gone drink for drink with the whole table tonight and never so much as blinked. The man could hold his liquor, she’d give him that.

The driver glanced back. "Miss Crawford, where to?"

She almost gave her own apartment — the one across town, bought with her first research paycheck, sitting there with her life still packed in boxes. No sheets on the bed. Heat that took a day to wake up.

And an address she wasn’t handing out to anyone until the divorce cleared.

She course-corrected mid-breath.

"Actually, scratch that. Just drop me at a hotel nearby. Whatever’s closest."

Alpha Killian’s mind went straight back to their first meeting. Hotel hallway. Half her face swollen purple.

"He did that to you? Last time?"

It took Eira a beat to catch up. Then she nodded.

Alpha Killian’s lip curled. "All flash, no substance."

Eira kept her eyes down and let it slide. Silence settled in.

Then she noticed something.

The car kept cruising past hotel after hotel. The driver wasn’t even tapping the brakes.

She turned her head, tension creeping up her shoulders.

"Where are we going?"

"You’ll see."

No specifics. Great.

Eira sat up straighter and pulled out her phone.

Alpha Killian caught the motion. "What are you doing?"

"Sharing my live location with my lawyer." She didn’t look up. "Standard procedure when a man says you’ll see instead of an address."

Alpha Killian stared at her for a second.

Then he turned to the window and decided the conversation wasn’t worth winning.

The corner of his mouth said otherwise.

--

The car pulled up in Palo Alto, outside a sleek mid-rise just off University Avenue. Eira knew this street. Back in grad school, she couldn’t have afforded the lobby.

"Killian!"

A girl in pink pajamas and bunny slippers came running out the door, waving both arms.

The window slid down.

"Hi, gorgeous!" Lila beamed at Eira. "He texted me you were coming! I’m so pumped!"

Eira looked from the grinning girl to the stone-faced man beside her.

"So this is where you were taking me."

"Lila. Take care of her."

"On it!" Lila looped her arm through Eira’s.

"Good." One last glance at Eira. "I’m out."

The Maybach pulled away without a sound.

Lila dragged her inside, practically skipping. "Welcome to my palace! Eat anything, sleep anywhere. Or bunk with me. I’m a great cuddler."

Ever since this woman had caught her on the sidewalk and fixed her thesis in the same five minutes, Lila had been low-key obsessed. She’d spent all day wondering why the universe gave her a cold, unavailable brother instead of a smart, nice-smelling big sister.

"I can sleep anywhere. Really."

"Then you’re next to me!" Lila pushed open a door. Soft blues. Crisp linens. "Hate it? I’ve got two more rooms to pick from."

"You decorated three guest rooms?"

"I get bored easily." She leaned against the doorframe, eyes going sly. "Okay, real talk. My brother has never brought anyone here. Ever. So spill. How did you two actually meet?"

"Hotel elevator. I forgot to press my floor. He pressed it for me."

Lila’s jaw dropped. "Shut up. You’re the one. The manager told me about a barefoot guest, slippers sent up, the whole—"

She stopped herself. Physically bit her lip.

"The whole what?" Eira asked.

"Nothing! Standard guest care. Five-star hotel stuff. Very normal." Lila grabbed a towel and a toothbrush and shoved them into Eira’s arms at escape velocity. "Get some sleep! Sweet dreams!"

The door shut a little too fast.

Eira stood there, towel in hand.

Slippers sent up.

So that night hadn’t been random hospitality. Someone had given an order.

Him. Obviously. It was his hotel — a distressed guest checks in barefoot, the owner flags it, staff handles it. Textbook liability management. Any decent CEO would do the same.

That was the reasonable explanation.

--

Down the hall, Lila whipped out her phone.

Lila: Why would you send her HERE?! Adults bond through PROXIMITY! This was your shot!

Killian: She was about to check into a random hotel alone at midnight.

Lila: So take her to YOUR place.

Killian: She’s my employee.

Lila: She’s also the first woman you’ve ever put in a car. Twice.

Killian: Stop projecting.

Lila: lol sure. Keep telling yourself that.

A voice message came through. Flat. Full of warning.

"Not a word to Mom and Dad."

Lila rolled her eyes. Too late anyway. The manager had already leaked "boss ordered VIP care for a mystery woman" to the family the week before.

The group chat had lived off that scrap ever since. They just didn’t have a name.

Tonight, though? Hand-delivered to his sister’s apartment? That was brand-new material.

Another message landed.

"Or you’re off the list for the tech mixer."

Lila’s face flipped in half a second. She typed in all caps.

Lila: OKAY OKAY LOVE YOU BEST BROTHER EVER NOT A WORD

That mixer was non-negotiable. One of the keynote speakers had trained under Dr. Alaric Thorne. That meant firsthand insight into sovereign processor work.

She had to be in that room.

--

Eira had just climbed into bed when her phone buzzed.

Beatrice Thorne.

Eira sat up before she even realized she’d moved.

Beatrice had been Dr. Alaric Thorne’s wife, and Eira had met her through him back at Stanford.

Somewhere along the way, Beatrice stopped being "her advisor’s wife" and started being the closest thing to a mother Eira had ever had, checking in on her too often, feeding her too much, worrying over her like it was her job.

She never understood the world Eira came from, the Packs, the bonds, the rigid hierarchy of Alphas and Omegas.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Susan filled me in on the divorce," Beatrice said. No hello. Straight to business, same as always. "Pack a bag. I’m picking you up tomorrow. You’re staying with me until the paperwork clears."

"Beatrice—"

"Save it. I’m an old widow rattling around a big empty house, and my doctor keeps nagging me about living alone. You’d be doing me a favor." A beat. "That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it. Even Sebastian can’t argue with a doctor’s note."

"Thank you." Eira’s throat went tight. Just hearing that voice made her eyes sting.

"Don’t be scared, kid." Beatrice’s voice shifted into that drill-sergeant-with-a-heart register only she could pull off. "Alaric asked me to look out for you. But even if he hadn’t, I would. As long as I’m still kicking."

Eira exhaled. Some of the weight came off her chest.

"One more thing," Beatrice went on. "Tech expo next week. The invite landed on my desk. Skip the show floor. You’ve already seen everything they’re planning to brag about."

"But the evening mixer? Worth your while. Young people, your field, real conversations. You’ve been buried in that lab way too long, and the results are going public soon. Time to come up for air."

"The processor hits the market before long. You already know which companies will throw their hats in, but go put faces to the names. Call it fieldwork."

"Conflict-of-interest rules keep you off the evaluation committee. Doesn’t matter. When push comes to shove, people will still want to know what the lead researcher thinks."

Eira heard what Beatrice was really saying under all of it: Get out there. Move on. You deserve better than what that marriage gave you.

"I understand. I’ll go."

"Good girl," Beatrice said, quieter now. "Get some sleep."

The line went dead.

Eira set the phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling. The room smelled like lavender and fresh linen.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe.

She was asleep before she could wonder why.