Page 104 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

"Delayed reaction," she replied, sliding into the leather seat. "I've seen corporate takeovers that were less intense."

Ronan's laugh was short and rough as he closed her door and rounded the car. When he settled behind the wheel, the confined space filled with his scent—sweat, blood, and that undeniable Alpha musk that made her pulse quicken despite herself.

As they pulled onto the rain-slicked streets, Serenity watched the city lights blur through the window, trying to organize the chaos of her thoughts.

"You've built quite an operation down there," she finally said, glancing at his profile. The cut on his cheekbone had dried to a dark line. "Is that how you started? Fighting?"

Ronan's fingers flexed on the steering wheel. "It was my way out. A street kid with nothing but his fists has limited options."

"And now you own the ring."

"Life's circular that way."

The traffic light bathed them in red. Serenity studied him, this man of contradictions—savage in the fight yet calculated enough to spare his opponent. The disowned heir who'd built his own empire from nothing.

"Why did you accept that challenge?" she asked. "You could have refused."

His jaw tightened. "Alexander Beaumont has been looking for ways to test me for years. Tonight, he made the mistake of using you to do it."

"I don't need protecting," she said automatically, a reflex from years of independence.

Ronan turned to her, green eyes gleaming dangerously in the dim light. "It wasn't about protection, Serenity. It was about sending a message. No one touches what's mine."

Her breath caught. "I'm not yours."

"Aren't you?"

The light changed to green, and he accelerated smoothly, leaving the question hanging between them.

The rest of the drive passed in charged silence, each lost in their own thoughts. When they arrived at his penthouse, the tension followed them into the elevator, coiling tighter with each ascending floor.

Inside his apartment, Serenity moved with purpose toward the kitchen. "Sit down," she instructed, pointing to one of the barstools. "Your face needs cleaning."

"It's nothing," he dismissed, but complied, watching her with curious intensity as she gathered supplies.

She returned with a first aid kit, warm water, and a clean cloth. Standing between his legs, she tilted his face up, examining the cut.

"Nothing, huh?" she murmured, dipping the cloth into the water. "This might sting."

As she pressed the cloth to his cheekbone, he didn't flinch, though she knew it must hurt. His eyes never left her face, studying her with the same concentration she was giving his wounds.

"You're good at this," he said as she cleaned the dried blood away.

"I interned at a hospital during college," she explained, parting his hair to check for hidden injuries. "Finance department, but I picked up a few things."

Her fingers moved methodically, addressing each abrasion with clinical efficiency, yet she couldn't deny the intimacy of the moment. The vulnerability of an Alpha allowing her to tend to him spoke volumes.

"Why aren't you using your security firm's resources to legitimize more of your operations?" she asked, partly to distract herself from the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. "Drake Security has the perfect infrastructure for it."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Looking to fix my business model already, Vale?"

"Old habits," she admitted, applying antiseptic to his knuckles. "But you must have considered it."

"Every legitimate business I build is one more thing that can be taken from me," he said, his voice hardening. "The underground stays underground for a reason."

Serenity nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "My father operated the same way. Only now I'm left untangling what's legitimate and what isn't."

"And what would Marcus Vale think of his heir patching up a Drake?" Ronan asked, a dangerous edge to his question.

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