"Love isn't what saves you. It's what stays when you save yourself"
The night smelled like rain even though the sky was clear. One of those quiet evenings where the world felt paused, softened, almost gentle. I balanced the box of cheesecake in my hands—her favorite, the one with the buttery base and the pale gold top that always made her eyes brighten like she was eight years old again and discovering the world for the first time.
It wasn't just dessert.
It was everything I never said out loud.
A thank you.
A promise.
A I-can't-believe-I-have-you.
I knew she'd roll her eyes, pretend she wasn't touched, then smile when she thought I wasn't looking. That smile alone made the detour worth it.
I turned onto her street, humming some off-key tune that would absolutely annoy her if she heard it, imagining her expression already—
And then something hot and sharp ripped through the air behind me.
My world snapped.
My knees buckled.
The cake slipped from my hands.
The pavement rushed toward me.
For a second, I didn't even process the pain—I only felt the shock, the sudden vulnerability, the terrifying sense that something had gone horribly, impossibly wrong.
Then I heard him.
That voice.
That twisted laugh.
Victor.
Of course.
He stepped into view like a nightmare peeling itself out of the shadows. My chest tightened with something worse than fear—rage, disbelief, disgust. He looked alive. Too alive. Like death had refused to claim him because even hell didn't want him.
"Well," he drawled, tilting his head, "the hero falls. How poetic."
My breathing was shallow, uneven. My leg felt weak; maybe injured, maybe worse—but none of that mattered.
Only one thought lived in my mind.
Sophie.
I forced my hands against the asphalt, trying to push myself up, but Victor nudged me back down with the tip of his shoe as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"A bodyguard who no one can protect," he mocked. "This is almost disappointing. I expected more of a fight."
I glared up at him, refusing to give him the fear he wanted. "You're not touching her," I said, my voice low and steady despite everything. "Not now. Not again."
"Oh, but I will," Victor replied, like he was discussing the weather. "After tonight, all of this ends. No more running. No more mistakes. Sophie will follow her dear mother and your parents into the ground. And you—" He gestured vaguely at me. "Well. You've served your purpose."
He lifted the weapon in his hand.
And I realized—I might not be able to stand, but I could still fight. I shifted my weight, bracing myself—
But before Victor could take another step, a sharp crack split through the quiet night.
He staggered.
A small, choked gasp echoed behind him.
Sophie.
She stood a few paces back, trembling, arms extended, clutching the gun I'd given her months ago; the one she'd kept in her drawer, untouched, afraid of even holding. Her face was pale, streaked with tears and fury and something that looked like heartbreak.
"Sophie—" My voice broke.
Victor turned toward her, stunned.
He didn't get a second chance.
She fired again.
He collapsed.
She took a step, ready to raise the gun one more time, shaking with the intensity of everything she had pent up for years—fear, anger, betrayal, memories that should've never been hers to carry.
I reached out, tapping her leg weakly. "Sophie," I whispered. "Don't. He's not worth it."
Her breath hitched. Her arm lowered. And suddenly she was beside me, falling to her knees, hands cradling my face like I was the one in danger, like I mattered more than the monster she had finally stopped.
"I thought—I thought—" She couldn't finish. Her voice cracked. Tears spilled, warm against my skin.
Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer, but all I saw was her.
All I ever saw was her. I leaned forward and kissed her temple, brushing away the fear still clinging to her.
"Still here," I murmured. And when her breath caught again, softer this time—
"Always."
---
There are worse things in life than waking up in a hospital, to Sophie spoon-feeding you breakfast while pretending to be annoyed.
"For the love of all things good," she muttered, "stop staring at me like that."
"Can't," I answered instantly.
"Grey—"
"It should be a crime," I said, dead serious, "to not appreciate beauty when it's right in front of you."
Her cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of embarrassment. She tried to swat my arm but ended up taking my hand instead—holding it, thumb brushing over my skin like she wasn't even aware of what she was doing.
"You scared me," she whispered. "I thought I lost you."
I squeezed her fingers. "Sick of this, honestly."
"What?"
"Almost dying every time, we go outside. We need a break. Maybe a beach vacation. Somewhere with zero criminals and unlimited snacks."
She snorted, the sound soft and warm. "You're unbelievable."
The TV in our room changed to a breaking news update. Victor's face filled the screen.
Alive.
Exposed.
Handcuffed.
The world finally saw what he truly was.
A shock to the entire town—but a relief, too. People were grateful. Justice, long overdue, had finally arrived.
Sophie turned back to me, her hand still in mine.
"We're okay," she whispered.
And for the first time in a long time—
I believed her.