Locked Doors: A Dark Forced Proximity Romance

I got into the wrong car.

That's it. That's how it starts. A black sedan on Fifth Avenue, a twelve-hour shift still on my skin, and a man in the back seat who said four words in a voice that had never been ignored:

"You are not Elena."

I pepper-sprayed him. Point-blank. His response was a phone call — in a language I didn't recognize — while his eyes were still on fire.

He conducted an arms deal. I sat three feet away, holding the canister with both hands, listening to a man negotiate missile guidance systems like he was ordering takeout.

Then he drove me home. Checked under my bed. Left his number.

I didn't call the police.

I should have. My mother flinched at car doors for twelve years because she loved a man whose work followed him home. I swore I'd never be her.

But he came back. Tuesday. Seven-course tasting menu. Alone. And the way he ate my food — slowly, like every bite deserved his full attention — was more intimate than the last three men I'd slept with combined.

He does the dishes at 2 AM.

He bought my building when someone photographed me.

He hasn't said the word stay out loud, but his hands — God, his hands — say it every time they touch me.

I know what he is. I know what choosing him costs.

I'm choosing him anyway.

A standalone dark romance with a morally gray arms dealer, a chef heroine who fights back, and heat that earns every degree. No cliffhanger. No cheating. HFN ending. Intended for mature readers 18+.