"Don't Call Me Sir"

Rain poured down from the sky in relentless sheets, soaking everything in its path. The wind howled between the towering buildings, but Emma Carter stood still in front of the towering glass doors of the Kingsley penthouse. Her coat clung to her body like a second skin, drenched and heavy. Her dark auburn hair dripped water in thin streams down her cheeks, sticking to her neck, her eyes, and her lips. She looked like she had walked straight out of a hurricane-and in a way, she had.

Her fingers were numb from the cold as she clutched the handles of her soaked leather handbag. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, her heels squishing softly every time she shifted her weight. Her chest felt tight-not just from the rain, but from everything that had led her here.

She had nowhere else to go.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell.

"Are you here?"

The low voice came through her phone's speaker, crisp and quiet. The background was silent-no traffic, no voices-just his voice. Familiar. Chilling. Grounding.

Emma looked up at the sleek, high-tech display on the door panel. The name blinking on the screen sent a fresh wave of anxiety rolling through her.

Daniel Kingsley.

"Emma?" His voice was deeper than she remembered, rough with exhaustion, but unmistakably his. And hearing it now-so close-made her heart stutter against her ribs.

She had never thought she'd be here. Not at his door. Not after everything.

Not after growing up under his watchful, unreadable gaze as her brother's best friend... the one who used to lift her onto countertops when she was small, only to turn cold and distant as she grew older. The man who became the untouchable symbol of power and silence. Wall Street's coldest shark. Her brother's closest confidant.

And now-her last option.

"Daniel..." she whispered, her voice cracking like ice, "I need your help."

A pause.

Then, the sound of the door unlocking.

It opened without a creak, smooth and quiet. Like everything else about him.

He stood there, tall and imposing in a tailored black suit, the dark fabric molding perfectly to his broad shoulders and long frame. His features were sharp and angular-like they'd been sculpted from stone. His jet-black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. And his eyes-God, his eyes-were as cold and endless as the sea in winter.

He looked at her like she was a stranger.

"You didn't bring an umbrella?" he asked, his tone flat, with a trace of disapproval.

Emma blinked up at him, rain still dripping from her lashes. "It wasn't exactly planned."

He didn't respond to that. He simply stepped aside and said, "Come in."

She hesitated for a beat, then crossed the threshold, brushing past him. The warmth of the apartment wrapped around her immediately, but it did nothing to soothe the chill inside her bones. Or the tension in her chest.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"You look like a disaster," Daniel said instead, his voice cool, unaffected.

Emma winced but said nothing. She had no strength left to argue. Her pride had already been swallowed back on the subway ride over.

"Sit down," he instructed, nodding toward the leather sofa in the center of the room.

She obeyed, slowly shrugging off her soaked coat and folding it over the armrest. The plush cushions swallowed her in a way that made her feel even smaller. Even more vulnerable.

Daniel walked to the bar cart near the window, poured himself a glass of amber liquid, and leaned against the counter. He didn't look at her right away, but she could feel his gaze pressing into her skin like ice.

"So," he said finally, swirling the glass in his hand, "what is it you want to say? You showed up here, soaked to the bone, uninvited and unannounced. You think I'm going to help you?"

Emma swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the cushion.

"I don't want you to misunderstand," she said quietly.

"Misunderstand what?" His tone was dry, almost amused.

She lifted her chin slightly. "I'm not here for anything... inappropriate. I just-" she paused, then exhaled. "I need a place to stay."

Daniel arched an eyebrow, finally meeting her eyes. "You have parents. A family. A home."

"I can't go back there," she said quickly. "It's not safe."

His expression sharpened. "Safe from who?"

She hesitated. "My ex. He's... following me. Calling. Showing up at my classes. Leaving notes on my door. I've filed a report, but the police aren't doing anything. He hasn't 'technically' broken any laws."

Daniel's jaw tensed.

"I thought I could handle it on my own," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "But now I... I just need somewhere to hide. Just for a while."

Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating.

Daniel's gaze didn't waver. "So, you came to me."

"You're the only one I trust," she said softly, eyes dropping to her lap.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then he took a long sip from his glass and walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.

"You're not afraid I'll take advantage of this?" he asked, voice lower now, edged with something dangerous. "A young woman, all alone in a stranger's home?"

"You're not a stranger," Emma replied without hesitation, though her voice trembled slightly.

He stopped in front of her, towering above where she sat.

"You've changed," he murmured, almost to himself.

"We both have," she whispered.

Daniel studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine. You can stay."

Relief flooded her so fast it nearly made her dizzy.

"But," he added, and the word hit like a slammed door, "on one condition."

Emma looked up. "What is it?"

His eyes locked with hers, cold and unreadable. "Don't call me Sir."

The words hit her harder than she expected.

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. "I don't like being called that. Especially by you."

Emma's cheeks flushed with heat. She hadn't even realized she'd been about to say it-not out loud, at least-but the word Sir had always been tangled up in the way she thought of him. Respect. Distance. Power.

"Then... what should I call you?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Daniel took another step closer. "Anything else," he said. "Just not that."

The room felt suddenly too small, the air thick with something unspoken.

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Good." His lips curved-just slightly-but there was no warmth in it.

And in that moment, Emma understood something she hadn't dared admit before.

This wasn't just about safety.

It was about stepping into a world where rules had different meanings.

Where calling him Sir wasn't just a word.

It was a line she wasn't allowed to cross.

And somehow, she knew-she would want to cross it anyway.