Chapter 6

The heavy machinery in the Queens logistics warehouse roared, vibrating the concrete floor.

Cyrus wore a standard gray work uniform. He effortlessly hoisted several heavy cardboard boxes onto a wooden pallet. The thick muscles in his forearms flexed and strained against the cheap fabric.

Despite the sweat dripping from his jaw, his movements possessed a ruthless, calculated efficiency. He looked entirely out of place among the cursing, slacking workers around him.

Elaine Fletcher, a female worker from the same sorting line, stood a few yards away. Her eyes were glued to the broad expanse of Cyrus's back.

She adjusted the neckline of her low-cut t-shirt. Holding two iced Americanos, she swayed her hips as she walked toward him.

She timed her approach perfectly, stepping into his personal space just as he turned around. She pushed a plastic cup toward his chest, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Take a break, Cyrus. You work faster than the conveyor belts."

Cyrus stopped. His cold gray eyes swept over the iced coffee. He didn't reach for it.

He instantly registered the blatant invitation in Elaine's eyes. The cheap attempt at seduction made his stomach turn.

He took a half-step back, re-establishing a strict physical boundary. His voice was entirely devoid of inflection. "Thanks. I don't drink coffee."

Elaine wasn't deterred. She stepped forward again, reaching out to touch his forearm. "Don't be so cold. Let's grab a drink after shift? A new bar opened on the corner."

Cyrus smoothly shifted his weight, dodging her hand completely. He picked up his barcode scanner and turned back to the boxes.

"I don't have time," he rejected her without looking up. "I have a DoorDash shift tonight."

Elaine scoffed, her pride stung. She let out a spiteful laugh. "Just how much of a gold-digger is that girlfriend of yours? She's working you to death. What do you even see in her?"

The words stepped directly onto a landmine. Cyrus's head snapped back around. The temperature in his gray eyes plummeted to absolute zero.

He despised Aliya's greed himself, but his bone-deep territorial instincts absolutely forbade an outsider from criticizing what belonged to him.

Cyrus stepped into Elaine's space. A crushing, suffocating aura of absolute authority exploded from him.

"My personal life is none of your business," he ordered, his voice low and lethal. "Stay away from me."

Elaine's face drained of color. Terrified by the sudden, predatory dominance radiating from a mere warehouse worker, she stumbled backward, clutching her coffees, and fled back to her station.

Cyrus withdrew his gaze. He yanked at the collar of his uniform, a nameless irritation boiling in his chest.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. 3:00 PM.

Normally, by this time, Aliya would have called him at least ten times to check up on him, or texted him complaining about being bored and demanding a money transfer.

But today, his screen was completely blank. Not a single message.

This extreme deviation from her normal behavior caused Cyrus's jaw to lock tight. When things were this quiet, something was wrong.

He opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over Aliya's name for several seconds. He ultimately locked the screen without calling.

He forced his attention back to the pallets, but his movements were noticeably more violent now, slamming the boxes down with unnecessary force.

Meanwhile, back in the apartment, Aliya was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing her self-introduction.

She had dug out the only semi-professional black blazer from the original owner's closet. She was currently using a safety pin to close the overly revealing neckline.

She had completely forgotten about the original owner's daily "check-in" harassment. Her brain was entirely consumed by the upcoming interview.

At 5:00 PM, the warehouse foreman blew the whistle.

Cyrus threw his scanner onto the charging dock. He ignored the chatter of his coworkers and took long strides toward the locker room.

He decided to skip his evening delivery shift. He was going home early. He needed to see exactly what kind of trap that eerily quiet woman was setting up.