I carefully lifted Sasha Campbell from the chair, her form light and fragile, as if she hadn't truly woken from the exhaustion that had claimed her. Her head tilted slightly, resting against my chest, her shallow breaths soft and steady. For a moment, she looked so different from the sharp, observant woman I knew—peaceful, vulnerable, and somehow unreachable in this quiet stillness.
Samuel's grin widened as he leaned in, breaking the silence. "Quite the view you're getting, isn't it?" he said, his tone light, teasing but laced with something else—curiosity.
I glanced down at her, unable to shake the feeling of protectiveness tightening around my chest. "She fell asleep. Nothing more."
But Samuel wasn't convinced. He leaned back, his eyes playful but sharp. "Oh, don't play it so cool. You've got that look—like someone finding a... different side to her."
I scoffed softly, the edges of my mouth twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. "She's just someone I'm responsible for, like any case I take on."
Anne, standing nearby, couldn't resist adding her own jab. Her voice was light but laced with knowing. "Oh, looks like someone's seeing someone in a new light."
I shot her a brief glance, the hint in her words making me uneasy, though I wasn't entirely sure why. Sasha had always been my mentee, someone I guided and watched over. Nothing more. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Anne and Samuel exchanged sly, knowing smirks, their eyes glinting with mischief.
"So leaving now?" Samuel asked, his smirk glinting from the corners of his lips, playful but sharp.
I shot back, my tone dry. "So what, should I make a permanent camp base here?"
"You better not," Samuel's gaze shifted to Anne, his eyes narrowing slightly, but with a sly edge. "There are a lot of predators out here."
He delivered the line with a chuckle, and I glanced at Anne, whose expression had turned speechless—her annoyance barely contained beneath the surface. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly irritated but unwilling to engage further.
Samuel chuckled after delivering his joke, his eyes gleaming with amusement. I glanced at Anne, who looked quite speechless and deeply annoyed, biting back whatever she might've wanted to say.
"She's got sharp claws, watch out," Samuel added, his grin never wavering as he leaned closer to Anne, his tone light but laced with something more dangerous. "You don't want to cross paths with her—might get more than you bargained for."
Anne finally found her voice, shooting him a sharp glare, though her expression still carried that edge of irritation. "I'm not the only one you should be worried about, Sam."
Samuel chuckled, clearly enjoying her frustration. "Oh, I know—there's plenty of danger to go around. But trust me, there's only one real predator here."
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as I silently watched the exchange unfold, unsure if I should intervene or let the game play itself out.
My attention shifted back to Sasha as I carefully carried her in a bridal style. She grew heavier with each passing moment, her small frame growing more burdensome. I adjusted her position again, steadying her against the pull of gravity as I walked out of Samuel's house.
I fumbled with my keys, inserting them into the car door and gently placing Sasha into the passenger seat and clasped her seat belt . I muttered under my breath, "Passenger's princess."
The engine roared to life as I started the car, pulling out onto the road that passed her apartment. My home lay on the opposite side of Samuel's—a stark contrast. His house was in a family-friendly neighborhood, one built specifically for quiet, suburban life. Then, I turned onto the hushed forest road, winding between trees, the air growing colder, heavier.
Finally, the cold streets of workers stretched out before me, thick with the stench of alcohol. People stumbled, laughing and shouting, wild with the New Year's celebration. Beyond that, Sasha's area came into view—bustling with busy workers, their faces etched with exhaustion, lost in the relentless grind of the city. It was designed for work, not rest.
Then, just as I was nearing her neighborhood, a figure stumbled out into the road—a drunken man, swaying on his feet, oblivious to the cars speeding past. I slammed on the brakes just in time, the tires screeching as the vehicle skidded to a halt mere inches from him.
For a split second, it felt like everything could have gone terribly wrong—a hit-and-run, a headline splashed across the news. But the man only raised both arms, yelling incoherently, slurring profanities that seemed to pour from his mouth in waves of drunken rage.
I let out a steady breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The man continued shouting, oblivious to the world around him, too drunk to care about the danger he had so narrowly escaped. His words were slurred, vulgar, and endless—an echo of chaos in the stillness of the night.
I glanced at Sasha, still sleeping peacefully, unaffected by the sudden lurch of the car. She barely stirred, the seatbelt holding her securely in place. "Her apartment," I thought, watching her relaxed form. "And yet here she sleeps like a child—so unguarded."
How could someone so delicate, so fragile—like a flower—live in a place so gritty, rougher than any thorn? And yet, she carries herself with such strength, such experience. There's more to her than meets the eye… so many surprises beneath the surface.
I parked the car in front of Sasha's apartment. She was slumped in the passenger seat, sound asleep, clearly unwilling to wake up anytime soon. I sighed, leaning over to gently squeeze her cheeks.
"Sasha, wakey-wakey," I muttered, tapping her face lightly. No response.
Resigning myself to the situation, I got out of the car, walked around, and opened her door. After unclasping her seatbelt, I braced myself for the inevitable. Her purse dangled off her shoulder, and I rifled through it to find her apartment key. No way was I leaving her out here like this.
"Piggyback ride it is," I muttered, hoisting her onto my back.
"Hey!" a sharp voice cut through the quiet night. I turned to see a young man, his face tight with suspicion as he approached. "What's going on here, Mister?"
His protective stance told me everything I needed to know. Sasha had mentioned her fondness for younger men before—perhaps this was her secret boyfriend. He looked mid-to-late twenties, while Sasha was in her thirties, though she never acted like it.
"I'm her colleague," I explained, trying to sound more patient than I felt. "She had a little too much to drink. I'm just making sure she gets inside safely."
The man didn't seem convinced. He stepped closer, clearly ready to challenge me. "Sir, I can take care of it from here."
I considered asking his name but decided against it. The last thing I wanted was to stumble into some awkward love triangle. Besides, my mind was elsewhere—Cassandra Cottingham, my true fixation, my dangerous obsession.
I handed him Sasha's key without another word, watching as he fussed over her. Then I turned back to my car, my thoughts already drifting. By the time I got home, all I wanted was to collapse into bed and let the world fade away.