The Dom Next Door

Ava Monroe – POV

The storm started at 3:14 a.m.

Not with thunder or lightning, but with a soft, traitorous click.

Ava’s doorknob twisted in her hand and refused to lock. Again.

She cursed under her breath, twisting harder, rattling the cheap thing like it owed her something. But the ancient apartment door had decided it was done being useful tonight. Much like the rest of her life.

She pulled back, pushed again. Nothing.

The latch had jammed—again.

And on a night like this, with wind howling and rain pounding the hallway windows like fists trying to get in, she didn’t feel safe without a lock between her and the world.

Ava grabbed her phone, scrolled past old messages from her ex she hadn’t deleted yet, and found the name she hated needing.

Mr. Reed – 4A.

The Dom next door.

Well, she didn’t know that.

But she’d caught glimpses—slivers of strange. A black duffle bag he always carried. A delivery marked custom leather. The way he didn’t smile but nodded, like he saw things in people they didn’t want to admit.

She barely knew the guy. Just that he lived across the hall. Polite. Private. Probably too rich to be living in this building. Definitely too… intense.

But he was also the one who fixed everyone’s stuff. The “quiet savior” type who could fix a heater with one hand and ignore gossip with the other.

So she knocked.

Once.

Twice.

And then, for a heartbeat too long, nothing.

She was about to turn away when the door opened.

A little too fast.

And there he was.

Dominic Reed stood shirtless in the doorway, wearing nothing but black drawstring pants and an expression carved from stone. His dark hair was tousled like he’d been sleeping—or wrestling shadows. And his eyes? They weren’t the sleepy, half-lidded ones she expected.

They were sharp. Focused. Like he’d been awake. Waiting.

"Ava."

His voice was deeper than she remembered. Raw velvet. “You okay?”

“I—yeah, um, my door won’t lock. Again. I just…” She tried not to stare at the faint tattoo peeking from under his collarbone. Failed. “I remembered you helped Mrs. Bennett when her sink exploded last week, so I thought maybe…”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at her.

Like he was measuring something. Her fear. Her lie. Her reason for being there at 3:14 a.m. in an oversized T-shirt and nothing underneath.

“Come in,” he said.

She hesitated. Just a second. But he stepped back, holding the door open without another word, and the scent of cedarwood and something darker wafted out.

She stepped inside.

It was like crossing a threshold into another world.

His apartment wasn’t like hers. No dirty dishes in the sink. No thrift-store couch or pile of laundry in the corner. It was dark wood, clean lines, soft lighting. Warm. Structured.

Intentional.

Like him.

He walked toward the hallway, barefoot, and gestured for her to follow. “Let me grab my tools.”

She watched the way he moved—fluid, precise. Not like someone half-awake. Like someone always on. Ready.

Ava’s fingers drifted across the edge of a tall cabinet near the door. Black wood. Unlocked.

It creaked open before she could stop herself.

And everything changed.

Inside was not shelves of books or dishes.

Inside was order.

Coiled ropes—real ones. Leather cuffs. Hooks. A collar. A drawer barely open with something glinting inside. All clean. All placed with a ritual kind of neatness.

She felt her breath snag.

“Ava.”

His voice was behind her now. Closer than it should’ve been.

She turned, quickly. Too quickly.

“I didn’t— It was open.”

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t scold. Just looked at her the way he did everything—intently.

“That’s not for guests.”

“I wasn’t— I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You weren’t prying. You were… curious.”

Her skin prickled.

“I—”

“Do you know what curiosity does to people like you?”

Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “People like me?”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Like a cat. Like a god. “People who want control so badly, they’d give it away to someone who knows how to use it.”

“I didn’t come here for—”

“No,” he said softly. “You came here because you needed to feel safe. And somehow, you knew you’d be safe with me.”

Her breath caught.

But not from fear.

From the way he said me, like it wasn’t just a statement. It was a promise.

He reached behind her and gently closed the cabinet door.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t speak.

Not until he stepped back, grabbed his tool bag from the hallway, and walked to her broken door like nothing had happened.

Only then did she exhale.

But she was wrong to think that moment had passed.

Because as he knelt beside her doorknob, hands steady, eyes focused, he said one thing. Quietly. Almost gently.

“I lock doors, Ava. But I also know how to unlock people.”

She said nothing.

Because she felt it too.

The storm hadn’t started when her door jammed.

It started when she crossed the hall.

And she had a feeling she wouldn’t be locking anything ever again.