Chapter 8 - Protecting What's His
Three weeks passed.
The cast on Clara’s left wrist was replaced by Dr. Mercer with a lighter, removable black wrist brace. The bone was healing perfectly.
During those three weeks, the Castillion estate transformed.
Under Clara’s rigorous oversight as chief financial auditor, the entire hospitality division was restructured. She implemented digital, real-time inventory systems, transparent accounting protocols, and raised the baseline wages of the domestic staff by twenty percent—a move Leo approved without a second thought.
The housekeepers who had once feared her now viewed Clara with deep, protective devotion.
It was 8:00 p.m. on a quiet Tuesday evening. Clara sat in her third-floor office reviewing the quarterly tax estimates when her phone rang.
It was Mateo.
"Miss Bennett," Mateo’s voice was urgent. "Please step into Mr. Castillion’s private study immediately."
Clara stood up, smoothing her skirt, and walked across the hallway.
Inside the master study, Leo was standing by the window, holding a glass of bourbon. Mateo stood beside the desk, holding a set of surveillance photographs.
"What's happened?" Clara asked, sensing the heavy tension in the room.
Leo turned around. His face was stern, his dark eyes lit with an aggressive, protective fire.
"Vincent Marlowe’s older brother, Marcus," Mateo explained, handing the photographs to Clara. "He runs an independent crew out of the eastern docks. He’s furious about Vincent’s arrest and federal indictment."
Clara looked at the photographs. They were long-lens camera shots taken downtown earlier that afternoon—shots of Clara stepping out of her old apartment building, shots of her getting into an estate car, and shots of her entering the courthouse.
"He’s trailing me?" Clara asked, a cold shiver running down her spine.
"He was," Leo said, walking across the room to stand right in front of her. "Until my security team picked up his men two hours ago."
"What did you do?" Clara whispered.
"Marcus Marlowe and his crew have been removed from the city," Leo stated flatly, leaving no doubt about what 'removed' meant in his world. "But it proves that as long as you live in a separate wing or travel alone, enemies of this house will view you as a target."
Clara looked up into his intense dark eyes. "What are you saying, Leo?"
Leo reached out, taking her right hand in his, his large warm fingers folding around hers.
"I’m saying that keeping you in the East Wing guest rooms is no longer sufficient," Leo said softly. "Starting tonight, you are moving into my private master suite on the top floor."
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. "Your suite?"
"It has its own private security perimeter, its own private elevator, and three dedicated guards," Leo explained, his thumb softly tracing the back of her hand. "No one enters the top floor without my personal clearance."
"Leo..." Clara stammered, her face turning warm. "Moving into your suite... people will talk. The capos, the staff..."
"Let them talk," Leo whispered, stepping closer until his chest was nearly touching hers. "Let every man in this city know that you live under my personal roof, in my personal space, protected by my personal hand."
He raised his free hand, gently lifting her chin until her eyes met his.
"I tried to convince myself for three weeks that I kept you close because of your father, or because of your talent with ledgers," Leo admitted, his voice raspy, dark, and filled with a deep, raw honesty. "But the truth is, Clara... I can't sleep unless I know you are safe behind my door."
Clara stared up at him, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. All the fear she had carried for months—the fear of poverty, the fear of violence, the fear of being alone—melted away beneath the intense, fiercely protective gaze of the man holding her hand.
"I don't want to be anywhere else," Clara whispered.
May you like
Leo’s eyes burned with a dark, triumphant flame. He leaned down slowly and pressed a firm, lingering kiss against her forehead, his hand cradling the back of her head with immense tenderness.
"Then come home," Leo murmured against her skin.
