{ Mia }
The first thing I felt wasn't pain. It was warmth. A steady, heavy weight pressed against me, rising and falling in rhythm with my own shallow breaths.
I blinked awake, the room spinning slightly before settling into shadows and muted light. My gaze drifted downward—then froze.
Him.
His head rested against my stomach, dark hair falling loose across his forehead, his face relaxed in sleep. The man who had stolen me from my world, who had put bullets in my body and then pulled them out with those same ruthless hands—he was here, asleep on me as though I were… safe.
My chest tightened painfully. He didn't look like the monster I thought I knew in those brief, brutal hours. His features, sharp and merciless when awake, seemed softer now. The crease in his brow was gone, leaving a boyish trace I never would have believed existed.
And God help me—he was beautiful.
The thought shot through me like fire, and I almost pushed him away. Almost. But I didn't. My fingers twitched against the sheets, aching to brush the hair from his face, to trace the line of his jaw. I stopped myself, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.
What was I doing? Admiring him? My captor?
I should've been plotting escape, counting doors and windows. Not staring at him like this. Not wondering what it would feel like if he stayed like this—close, quiet, vulnerable—for just a little longer.
So I didn't move him. I didn't breathe too loud. I simply stayed still, letting the fragile calm wrap around us. And against all reason, against everything I should've felt, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
He would never forgive me if he knew I'd seen him like this—soft, almost innocent. And maybe, I wouldn't forgive myself if I broke the moment either.
So I watched him sleep.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn't sure who was the real danger—him, or the way he made my heart stumble even in silence.
I let my eyes linger on him, drinking in details I hadn't noticed before—the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the faint scar cutting across his temple, the way his lashes were longer than they had any right to be. It felt wrong to notice. Wrong to want to keep watching.
But then his breathing shifted. Slower. Deeper. My heart leapt.
Before I could look away, his head stirred against me. A low sound escaped his throat, rough with sleep. Then—hazel eyes, heavy-lidded and sharp all at once, blinked open and locked on mine.
I froze.
His gaze held me there, still and breathless, like he was pinning me down without even moving. For a moment, he didn't lift his head. He simply stared, as if trying to figure out whether I was real—or if this was some dream he hadn't meant to wake from.
My pulse thundered in my ears. The weight of him against me, the heat of his body so close—it was too much, and yet not enough.
Finally, he pushed up slowly, rubbing a hand across his face, his voice low and rough when he spoke.
"You're awake."
Two words. That was all. But they carried something heavier—relief tangled with something darker. Something that made my chest tighten in ways I didn't understand.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. "You… were sleeping on me."
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You didn't move me."
I hated the way heat rushed to my cheeks. Hated that he noticed. Hated even more that, for one reckless heartbeat, I didn't want him to move at all.
The silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pull of my bandaged side. He didn't stop me—just leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine.
My throat felt dry, but the words tumbled out anyway. "Where… am I?"
His gaze flicked over me once—my tangled hair, the shirt hanging loose on my frame, the raw fear I couldn't hide—before he answered. "My house."
I stiffened. That wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. "And who exactly are you?"
Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of amusement ghosting across features that otherwise looked carved from stone. "You don't know?"
"No." My voice cracked, but I forced it steady. "All I know is your men tried to kill me. And now I wake up here. In your bed. Wearing your shirt." I gestured weakly toward the fabric drowning my frame. "So forgive me if I'm a little… confused."
He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, and for the first time I saw it—the intensity, the gravity that clung to him like a second skin. "If my men had truly wanted you dead," he said slowly, "you wouldn't be sitting here asking me questions."
A chill traced my spine. "That doesn't answer why they shot me."
For a moment, his jaw flexed, but he said nothing. Just studied me with those sharp, unreadable eyes.
I swallowed hard. "At least tell me your name. And… how old are you? You look—older."
That earned me the faintest twitch of his lips, not quite a smile, not quite mockery. "I'm twenty-two." His voice dropped lower. "And you…?"
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed not to trust him. But those same instincts whispered that he already knew more about me than I wanted him to. "Old enough to know better than to be here," I muttered.
His smirk deepened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're right about one thing," he said quietly. "You shouldn't be here."
My gaze hardened, sharp as broken glass. "Tell me," I said, voice low, dangerous. "Why did you take her from the house? Lili—why did you kidnap her?"
She flinched at the word, and my chest tightened. I could barely believe she was still breathing after my men—my orders—had been so clear. "Do you have any idea," I continued, voice rising, "how close you came to dying? My men are trained. They are precise. And you… you're still alive!"
She swallowed, eyes wide, and for a moment I thought she might shrink under my fury. But then she drew a shaky breath. "There was a man… in the park," she said, voice trembling but steady. "He was trying to… kidnap Lili. I—I stepped in. I acted like her sister. I didn't want her to get hurt. I couldn't just let him take her."
My jaw clenched. The tension in the room coiled like a spring ready to snap. "And you thought it was your right to interfere?" I asked, tone sharp, dangerous, but there was a flicker of something else—curiosity, disbelief—behind the anger.
She met my eyes, nodding slightly. "I didn't know anyone else would be coming. I… I just had to protect her."
For a moment, I stared at her, the pieces falling together. Then my expression darkened. "Lili… she was actually kidnapped. By someone else. Do you… do you know where she is?"
Her lips parted, and her hand twitched toward her wrist. "Can… can I have my watch back?" she asked, urgency bleeding through her calm. "I can find her. I… I can do it in five minutes."
I narrowed my eyes, studying her. She was battered, bloody, exhausted—but defiance and fire still burned in her. And beneath that, a confidence I hadn't expected. "Five minutes," I murmured, voice low, almost a growl. "You'd better be right. Because if you fail…"
She didn't flinch. She only gave me a determined nod, and in that moment, I realized this wasn't just about my anger, or my family—it was about her. About what she was capable of.
And somehow, against every instinct screaming at me, I believed she just might succeed.