Protected

Khloe’s POV

“NO! Please, I don’t want to leave!”

I bolted upright in bed, the scream ripping out of my throat before I could stop it. My chest heaved as if I’d been running for miles, my lungs burning, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs open from the inside.

For a second, I didn’t know where I was. I could feel sweat trickling down the side of my face, my legs clinging uncomfortably to the sheets.

Darkness surrounded me, broken only by the faint orange glow of the streetlight slipping through the thin curtains of my bedroom window. My sheets clung to my skin, damp with sweat, twisted around my legs like they were trying to keep me trapped.

I sucked in a shaky breath, dragging my hands down my face.

“Crap… not again,” I muttered hoarsely.

My voice sounded foreign—small and strained in the silence of my apartment.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet firmly on the floor as I tried to ground myself. The cool wood beneath my toes helped a little, but not enough to stop the lingering panic clawing at my chest.

Why couldn’t I go more than a week without that nightmare?

It was always the same. Every detail. Every sound. Every terrifying second burned into my mind like it had actually happened… even though I knew it couldn’t have.

At least, I thought I knew.

I pushed myself up and stumbled toward the kitchen, needing something—anything—to shake the feeling. Water. Air. Reality.

Anything but that dream.

The soft hum of my refrigerator filled the quiet as I grabbed a glass from the cabinet. My hands trembled slightly as I filled it with cold water, the sound of it splashing against the glass echoing louder than it should have.

I leaned against the counter, pressing the cool rim to my lips and taking a long drink.

One swallow.

Two.

Three.

But it didn’t help.

The moment I closed my eyes, it all came rushing back.

I’m small.

So small that the staircase in front of me feels enormous, each step stretching out like a mountain I have to climb down. My tiny hand grips the railing as I slowly make my way down.

The air feels… wrong.

Thick.

Hot.

I can smell something—sharp and bitter—and it burns my nose with every breath.

Smoke.

It curls up from below, dark and suffocating, wrapping around me like it’s alive. I cough, my chest tightening as panic begins to rise, even though I don’t understand why.

Voices echo around me.

People are shouting—screaming—but it’s all jumbled, distorted, slow motion.

“Khloe!”

My name.

Someone is calling my name.

I turn my head, my heart racing, and I see them—two figures running toward me. Their movements are desperate.

But I can’t see their faces.

It’s like they’re blurred out, swallowed by shadow.

“Khloe, listen to me!” one of them shouts, dropping in front of me. “You need to run, okay? Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

“I don’t understand…” My voice is small, trembling. “What’s happening?”

“It’s going to be okay,” the other one says quickly, their voice breaking. “We love you so much. You have to go now.”

Why are they saying it like that?

As if it’s goodbye?

“No!” I shake my head, panic flooding my chest. “I don’t want to go! I want to stay with you!”

But they’re already pushing me back, urging me down the hallway.

“Run, Khloe! Go!”

My legs move, but they feel heavy—like I’m trying to run through water. The hallway stretched in front of me, the heat growing stronger with every step.

Then I hear it.

“Khloe!”

A boy’s voice.

Familiar.

“Khloe, run! You need to run!”

I stop, turning just as he reaches me. His hands grab my shoulders. His grip is firm, but not rough.

“Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “You have to go. Now!”

“I don’t want to!” I scream, tears blurring my vision. “I’m scared!”

“I know,” he says softly, his eyes searching mine. “I know, but you have to be brave, okay? For me.”

There’s something in his voice—something that makes my chest ache.

Like I know him.

Like I trust him.

But before I can say anything else—

A loud crack echoes above us.

The ceiling groans, splintering, pieces breaking apart.

The boy’s head snaps up.

“GO—”

And then everything happens too fast.

He shoves me out of the way just as part of the ceiling collapses, crashing down where I was standing seconds before.

I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of me.

“NO!” I scream, scrambling toward him.

He’s pinned partially beneath debris, flames hitting dangerously close. His arm is burned, raw and red, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Go!” he shouts again, his voice strained. “Khloe, GO!”

“I’m not leaving you!” I sob.

“You have to!”

Before I can argue again, strong arms scoop me up from behind.

I scream, thrashing wildly as a man lifts me against his chest.

“No! Let me go!” I cry, reaching for the boy. “I don’t want to leave! Please!”

The man doesn’t stop.

He runs.

Everything blurs—the flames, the smoke, the screams—as he carries me outside.

Cold air hits my face, but it doesn’t help.

I twist in his arms, reaching back toward the house, toward the people still inside.

“NO!” I scream again, my throat raw. “I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE!”

I gasped, my eyes snapping open.

Back in my apartment.

Safe.

Alive.

Alone.

The silence felt deafening.

It never changed.

Not one detail.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Dreams are supposed to fade. Blur. Shift.

But this one?

It was always the same.

Like a memory.

But it couldn’t be.

I don’t remember anything like that ever happening to me.

I never lived in a house like that.

I don’t know those people.

I don’t know that boy.

…So why does it feel like I do?

I exhaled slowly, pushing the thought away before it could spiral into something worse.

I couldn’t think about this again.

Not tonight.

I carried my glass over to the couch and dropped onto it, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the TV. The bright light filled the room, pushing back the shadows just enough to make me feel a little less on edge.

A rerun played—some show about a couple adopting a little boy from a bad situation.

I stared at it, but I wasn’t really watching.

My mind drifted.

To my own past.

I was adopted when I was around five. I don’t remember much from before that—just bits and pieces that never quite fit together.

My parents—my birth parents—were killed in some accident.

At least, that’s what I was told.

No details.

No explanations.

Just… gone.

But the people who took me in? They were incredible.

They became my parents in every way that mattered.

They loved me. Supported me. Never once made me feel like I didn’t belong.

And when I graduated from college and moved out, they decided to start living their own lives.

Traveling the world.

Six months in one place, then on to the next.

Honestly? I admired them for it.

One day, I wanted that kind of freedom.

But for now?

My life was… predictable.

Wake up.

Go to work.

Come home.

Repeat.

I worked as a bank teller—not exactly thrilling, but it paid the bills. Still, I had bigger dreams. One day, I wanted more. I wanted to build something of my own.

I may own my own bank.

It sounded ridiculous sometimes, even to me.

But it was mine.

My thumb kept dragging across my phone screen, mindlessly doom-scrolling, half-reading headlines I wouldn’t remember by morning. The glow burned into my tired eyes, each swipe slower than the last.

Somewhere along the way, my eyes grew heavy. The steady hum of the TV, the endless scroll, and the exhaustion from the nightmare finally dragged me under.

The shrill sound of my alarm jolted me awake.

I groaned, unquestioningly reaching over to shut it off.

At least I didn’t dream again.

Small victories.

With a quiet sigh, I sat up and gathered the blanket, folding it neatly before setting it at the end of the couch. I fluffed my pillows, placing them back where they belonged—like restoring some small sense of order after the chaos of the night.

I pushed myself up, stretching slightly before heading into the kitchen to start my coffee. The familiar routine helped ground me, pulling me back into reality.

I turned the shower on hotter than usual, stepping beneath the spray and letting it cascade over me. For a while, I just stood there, eyes closed, letting the heat sink into my skin and wash away the lingering tension from the night.

But my mind wouldn’t stay quiet.

It drifted back to him—uninvited, persistent. The way he looked, the way he carried himself, as if he belonged to a world I didn’t understand but couldn’t stop thinking about. I replayed every detail I could remember, every glance, every moment, trying to make sense of something that didn’t quite fit into my normal life.

I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair, hoping it would rinse the thoughts away too—but it didn’t. If anything, they set in a little deeper, rooting themselves there.

By the time I finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged and my skin red, but my thoughts were nowhere near clear.

I got dressed slowly, grabbed my bag, and headed out the door, already knowing one thing:

I needed extra caffeine today.

The small coffee shop down the street wasn’t usually part of my everyday routine, but today was an exception.

The bell above the door chimed softly as I stepped inside.

It was quieter than usual.

Weird.

I ordered my drink and moved off to the side to wait, scrolling aimlessly on my phone. Every now and then, I glanced up, letting my eyes wander over the shop. People moved in and out in a steady rhythm—some rushing, some lingering, voices blending with the sounds of the espresso machine.

I shifted, looking toward the window. Outside, the world carried on—cars passing, strangers crossing paths without a second glance, everything feeling strangely distant, like I was watching it from behind glass.

My attention drifted back to the room, to the movements, the passing faces.

That’s when I felt it.

That strange sensation.

Like someone was watching me.

I glanced up and saw him.

He had just walked in.

And suddenly, everything else faded into the background.

He was… striking.

Tall—easily over six feet—with a powerful, toned build that filled out his expensive suit like it had been made just for him.

His hair was jet black, styled effortlessly, and his presence alone demanded attention.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way he carried himself.

Confident.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

The kind of man who didn’t ask for authority—he was authority.

Something about him screamed power.

Boss.

I couldn’t look away.

Even though I knew I should.

He stepped up to the counter, speaking briefly to the barista before pulling out his phone. One of the men with him leaned in, whispering something.

He gave a small nod.

That was it.

No wasted movement.

No unnecessary reaction.

Everything about him was precise.

Calculated.

“Khloe!”

I blinked, startled as my name was called.

Right.

My drink.

I walked up, grabbed it, and turned—

And froze.

Because he was right in front of me.

And when our eyes met—

It hit me.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

My breath caught.

His eyes were dark brown, but not plain. There were flecks—lighter, almost golden—that caught the light like sparks.

I knew those eyes.

I shouldn’t.

But I did.

My heart started racing again, but for a completely different reason this time.

What is happening?

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t look away.

Time seemed to stretch until everything else faded into the background. The shop’s noise dulled, conversations turning into distant murmurs. It was just him and me, locked in this strange, suspended moment I couldn’t explain—like something invisible had snapped into place between us, pulling tight.

My chest felt too tight, my breath shallow. I couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

There was something in his gaze—steady, certain… like he already knew something I didn’t.

Then—

A smirk started at the corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t even subtle. It was deliberate. Knowing.

And just like that, the moment shattered.

“Khloe! Hello? You there?”

I jumped, the spell breaking as reality rushed back in all at once. I turned to see Sarah waving her hand in front of my face, her brows pulled together in confusion.

“Oh—uh, yeah. Sorry,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks as embarrassment settled in. My pulse was still racing, my thoughts scrambling to catch up.

I glanced back at him.

“Sorry, sir. Excuse me.”

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there, like he had all the time in the world.

That same knowing smirk still playing on his lips, like he found all of this—me—amusing.

Gosh.

That smile alone should be illegal.

“Hey, we’re going to be late,” Sarah said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. “I saw your car and figured you were here.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m coming,” I said, letting her drag me out, my feet moving even though my mind was still stuck back there.

The bell above the door chimed as we stepped closer, the cool air from outside slipping in to meet us.

But just before we crossed the threshold—

I looked back.

And he was still watching me.

Not casually. Not by accident.

Intentionally.

Still smiling.

Like he’d been expecting me to look.

And for some reason…

That terrified me more than anything else.