Chapter 22

“Love was never for the likes of us,
It was the aftermath,
two ghosts picking glass
out of the same wound,
calling it forever.“

Nathan’s POV

Some people were taught how to survive.

I was conditioned for it.

When you grow up in a life like ours, you learn that living is not just about breathing, it’s about anticipating the next hit before it lands. I learned how to read body language, not words. How to fake composure while bleeding red on the inside. How to smile just enough to look harmless before I struck.

I’ve always been good at staying alive, even when I didn’t want to, especially when I didn’t want to.

You see, death and I, we’ve always had a complicated relationship. I never chased it out of despair. I chased it for control because if I ever go, it’ll be on my own terms, not anyone else’s.

The afternoon light was turning amber as I stepped out of Natalie’s office, and the voices in my head wouldn’t just shut the fuck up. The words pressed against each other until they became a loud, piercing noise, and that noise echoed, getting louder with every damned step.

It didn’t help that this place was far away from the city, too quiet, too open, the kind of silence that forced you to think. I strolled down the parking lot, letting my mind gnaw on everything she’d said.

Dissociation. Trauma.

Aylin’s brain eating itself alive, while mine just refused to stop. We were the perfect fucking match, really.

But no matter how I turned it, flipped it, dissected it…I couldn’t escape it. That unbearable fire in my chest hadn’t gone out since last night, since the moment she looked at me without looking at me, green eyes glassy and empty, as if something inside her had already left me.

I was nearing my car when I suddenly felt it, the all too familiar itch, it scratched at the back of my neck, the one that warned me of danger before it actually happened. That’s when the voices in my head went quiet, that’s when the caged predator cracked an eye open, and smiled. He rubbed his hands together, ready for mayhem.

Someone was following me.

My steps didn’t falter. I’ve been hunted before. I’ve been the hunter, too. The difference is, I don’t flinch. I don’t get scared, if anything, I get excited.

My fingers slid into my jacket’s pocket and found the cold, familiar weight of my knife. I pulled it out just enough to see the faint gleam of metal. Involuntarily, out of old habit, I lightly brushed my finger over the matte handle.

This was the only knife I never lost.

It was Isaac’s gift to me years and years ago. Funny, the amount of blood I spilled with it. How my father’s memory lives not in pictures, but in the stains on this blade.

I shifted my focus, watching how my reflection caught in the row of parked cars ahead, warped and broken by glass and metal. Behind it, another shadow moved, too close, too silent for my liking. The faint glint of a gun in his hand caught the fading light, giving me the push I needed.

I didn’t think. I never do in moments like this.

My body moved before reason could ruin the rhythm.

I turned sharply, my arm snapping forward. The blade left my hand in a clean arc, in one breath, one heartbeat, ending it all in one kill.

A choked sound broke the stillness. Ah, music.

The man staggered backward, his hand flying to his throat, where my knife had buried itself deep. The gun clattered onto the asphalt, pretty much useless now.

But my dear attacker wasn’t alone. Two more men emerged from behind a car, rushing fast, their stances promising danger. My lips curled up. I’ve been dying to get my hands dirty since last night. This is my reward, if anything.

The first one lunged at me, and I sidestepped, caught his wrist, and twisted. Just then, the second came at me low, aiming for my ribs. I caught his momentum, turned it against him, and drove my knee into his gut hard enough to fold him in half.

I returned to the first and didn’t stop until I heard the satisfying crack, his shoulder giving way, followed by a loud howl. My elbow quickly found his jaw and sent him cartwheeling to the concrete.

Just then, something hard and heavy smashed into the back of my skull. Fuck.

White heat detonated behind my eyes, I tasted metal in my mouth, and the world tilted for a heartbeat. I nearly went down, but didn’t. The other bastard had timed it, using my fleeting second of distraction to attack me from the back, and all that did was piss me the fuck off.

Smart move on his side, but wrong man to use it on. Pain never slows me down. It just reminds me that I need to up my game.

I didn’t hesitate as I turned, the rage guiding my muscles. My hand caught his jacket, and before he could blink, I drove my forehead into his face, one brutal, bone-shattering impact, a burst of blood and light.

The crack echoed in my skull, the world flashing white around the edges, but I didn’t fucking care.

If I were going down, I’d take him with me.

He staggered, crashing to the ground with a guttural groan, beautiful red blood streaming warm down his face.

I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t stop. Even when my vision blurred, even when the dizziness clawed at the edges of my focus, nearly knocking me down. My fist connected with his throat, then his ribs. The final punch to his face landed with a satisfying crunch, knocking him unconscious.

Then—bang.

A gunshot cracked the air behind me, sharp enough to split through the loud ringing in my skull.

I froze for half a heartbeat, my breath sharpening, my pulse going feral. The world tilted, it tipped on its axis as I turned, my body still catching up to my mind.

The other attacker, the one I’d dropped earlier, was on his knees now, a gush of crimson spilling down his chin. His gun, the one that was probably pointed at my back, clattered to the asphalt before his body followed, lifeless, his eyes open but seeing nothing.

And behind him stood—Nikolas.

He looked steady, like this was just another Tuesday, his arm still extended, the gun in his grip smoking faintly before he lowered it. He tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants, ever so casually, like he didn’t just unalive a man. Then, he moved forward, his expression hard, cold, and so fucking controlled as he stepped over the unconscious bodies between us.

He stopped a few feet away, his eyes fixed only on me.

Well, he just happened to save me…again, and fuck, I loathed that fact.

His expression shifted, just barely, but I caught it. His gaze flicked from my eyes to the blood running down my temple, tracing the curve of my jaw, to the other rush of red gathering at the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, the irritation burning hotter than my pain as I moved.

I bent down, my fingers curling around the handle of my knife, still lodged in the man’s throat. The metal slid free with a wet sound, his blood slicking my palm. When I straightened, the world swayed sideways for a long second. The bastard had given me a concussion, and I’d made it worse by using my skull as a weapon.

I felt Nikolas’s hand clamp around my arm, steadying me before I hit the ground. I blinked, once, twice, till the blurry lines sharpened just enough for me to see him through the haze.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his tone still hard, like emotions were something he rationed.

I nodded, “Just peachy,” I muttered.

My eyes drifted to the neat fold of a handkerchief peeking from his pocket. Without asking, I plucked it out and used it to wipe the blood off my knife, like that was the most important thing right now.

He watched me with the what-the-fuck look he does so well. I offered him a polite smile, tucked the knife back into my jacket, and extended the bloody fabric, “Thanks.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t take it. So I helped him out, stuffed it neatly back into his pocket, making sure the blood smeared deep into the pristine fabric of his perfectly pressed suit.

He was dressed pretty well, like he’d just stepped out of some high-level meeting and entirely out of place next to the carnage at our feet.

His eyes shifted to the three men we’d just unalived. “Who are they?”

I shrugged. “No clue.”

His gaze cut back to me, his eyes narrowing just enough. “What kind of trouble are you stirring this time?”

I blinked at him, all mock innocence, indignant at the accusation. “Me?” I echoed, my hand pressed to my chest, wounded, “When do I ever chase trouble?” I tilted my head, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Trouble just has a habit of finding me…probably likes the company,” I winked, “I happen to be a blast to have around.”

The more I spoke, the deeper the annoyance sharpened his gaze, the harder his jaw clenched, the more he looked ready to pull out his gun and slam it against my head. Ah, I love doing this to him.

Then came the hurried footsteps behind him, “I heard a gunshot, what hap—”

I tilted my head as the words died on Ronald’s lips. His eyes darted from the bodies on the ground to me, connecting the dots fast.

His eyes widened, and he pushed forward, then all I felt were his fucking hands on my face, tilting it to check from where I was bleeding. “Nathan, what the hell…are you okay?” He shot out, his bewildered eyes drinking me in.

I pried his hands off my face, wrapping my fingers tightly around his wrist to send a direct message, “I was, until you started touching me.” I muttered, glaring at him and his audacity.

His eyebrow lifted, totally unbothered by my hostility. He glanced at the bodies, then at Nikolas, “Any idea who they are?”

Nikolas shook his head, so Ronald crouched beside one of them. He rifled through the man’s pocket, pulled out a wallet, and flipped it open, scanning the ID like it might hand him an answer. After a beat, he stood and shook his head again, finding nothing familiar.

The concussion must’ve been doing tricks on me because the connection only clicked then. I blinked slowly, feeling the pieces line up. “Oh,” I muttered.

Both of their gazes snapped back to me as I said, “I think I know what this is.”

I lifted my gaze and looked at them. I smiled. “I’ll take care of it,” I said before I turned around, ready to leave. Well, looks like Aylin’s grandfather is not messing around. He is poking a hornet’s nest, and I can’t wait to show him what happens when you threaten me.

Before I could indulge in my prominent homicidal tendencies, a hand curled over my arm and yanked me back, harshly, I might add. I turned my head to glare at fucking Nikolas, “What did you do, Nathan? Answer me.” He was demanding an answer. Funny, this man, he is just so funny, isn’t he?

“Nothing that concerns you,” I said back, trying to pull my arm, but he gripped me tighter. Can I punch his fucking face?

“Why did you talk to Natalie?” he asked, his tone sharp, almost threatening.

I let a slow, offended smile spread over my face. “Wow, she already ratted me out.” I tilted my head with mock hurt. “My dear sweet sister. Not a loyal bone in her body for her little brother, huh?”

“I saw you walk out of her office minutes ago,” He explained, “I asked her and she didn’t say a thing.”

“So naturally,” I continued for him, because he’s predictable like that, “you went down after me to ask in person.”

He nodded once. “Yeah, only to find someone pointing a gun at your back, which, honestly, is not that surprising. You have a talent for provoking violent reactions in people.”

“Aww,” I muttered, not an ounce of humor left in my tone, “Don’t talk dirty to me, we’re family, remember?”

His grip tightened on my arm, enough to bruise, enough to piss me off, and he yanked me even closer until I could feel the heat of his temper radiating off him. This infuriating wanker.

“Spit it out.”

His voice was low, calm on the surface, but I could hear the violence humming underneath it. It made me want to poke harder, just to hear it break. What? He was making me angry. He totally deserved this.

I tilted my head, feigning thought. “I don’t know, maybe…” I dragged the word out, “…maybe I just asked her to help me work against you. I mean, isn’t that what she did once? Worked with my dear old dad to stab you in the back?”

His eyes darkened, that muscle in his jaw twitching in warning. Perfect.

“I thought it’d be easy to lure her again,” I added, my tone light, almost teasing. “Considering you tend to provoke that kind of reaction in people.”

The look he gave me could’ve set bone on fire. His fist twitched. He wanted to hit me—God, he wanted to—but he was trying to be the mature one. How noble of him.

So, naturally, I pushed harder.

“Nathan, stop it,” Ronald said from behind in warning, trying to put an end to my anarchy. Oh, my clueless brother.

“Or maybe,” I went on, my lips curling, “I told her about this dream I keep having, where I throw little Nathan off that same cliff, over and over agai—”

The rest of my words got cut off when Nikolas shoved me, slamming my back into the side of a car so hard the metal groaned. His hand fisted in my shirt, his other arm pulling back, his fist raised, ready to wipe the smirk off my handsome face.

But before he could swing, another hand shot out and caught his fisted hand mid-air.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

The shocked voice snapped through the air like a crack of light. I blinked, disoriented, half expecting the concussion to be messing with my head.

Little Nathan stood between us, his hand locked around his father’s. His expression was wide-eyed and confused.

“Let him go,” little Nathan added, his voice lower now, calmer, but firm enough to make his father freeze.

Nikolas’s eyes snapped to his son, part bewildered, part baffled, and just a little thrown off his axis. He lowered his arm immediately, still catching up to what the hell just happened.

“Nathan, what the—” He stopped, his voice rough around the edges. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You told me to meet you here. You were gonna drop me at the game…” the kid said, unimpressed by the near-homicide he just interrupted.

Nikolas’s expression shifted, remembering. Probably their wholesome little father-son plan, right before he saw me stroll out of his wife’s office and decided to play on my nerves.

Little Nathan turned toward me then. I couldn’t help but smile and give him a wink. The little bastard was growing on me. I almost felt bad for using him to get under his father’s skin just now. Almost.

I reached out and ruffled his hair, earning a scowl as he jerked his head away.

Nikolas looked between us, utterly lost and equally furious. He looked like his brain was buffering. Can’t blame him; he had no idea about our little bonding experience a month ago, when I saved this kid and his crazy cousin’s asses.

“I think your father is gonna be busy cleaning up this mess,” I said, addressing the men on the ground. The kid’s eyes flickered over them, but he didn’t even flinch, pretty much used to this by now. I threw my arm over his shoulder, “So, why don’t I drop you at your game? It’ll give us time to catch up,” I ruffled his hair once more, “I missed you.”

Nikolas looked like he might get a stroke. Someone, please, call 911. I still need him alive so I can annoy him a bunch more.

His gaze snagged on my arm around his son. He blinked, startled, then flicked a look at Ronald. “You’re seeing all of this, too, right?” he asked, checking for confirmation.

Ronald nodded, looking mildly appalled. “Yeah…I think so.”

“What?” I said to them, my eyebrow raising, “Nathan senior,” I gestured to myself, “and Nathan junior,” I jabbed a thumb at the kid. “We share a name, so of course, he’s gonna take after his favorite uncle, after all.” I ruffled the kid’s hair again.

He groaned and shoved my hand away. “Will you stop with that?” he grumbled, fingers combing through his hair to fix it.

Nikolas wasn’t buying any of my nonsense. He stepped forward, clamped his hand around his son’s arm, hauling him back to his side. The kid nearly stumbled. “Dad, what the—”

Nikolas didn’t even look at him. His gaze was locked on me, his jaw tight, a hundred different warnings in his eyes. He looked ready to pull out his claws if I so much as breathed wrong near his boy again.

It only made me wonder what he would think of his little boy fighting men twice his age and then crashing at my place? It was tempting to tell him now, honestly, but I made a promise to the little one, and well, I tend to keep my promises. Good ones and bad ones, too.

“Calm down, mama bear,” I said, ever so mockingly. “Little Nathan and I already settled our differences. He kind of trusts me now.” I looked at the kid and winked. “Don’t you?”

He should, really. I’d let him use my shower, wear my clothes, and crash in my bed while I took the couch. I’d patched him up myself, made the gash on his face look more like a soccer injury than an underground fight wound.

Honestly, I’ve treated him better than half the girls I’ve slept with. Lucky little bastard.

“Kind of,” He answered, flashing me a don’t-push-it look, “Just a little, it’s still up for debate.”

Nikolas’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked at his son like he didn’t recognize him. His jaw ticked, “You’re not going to the game,” he said flatly.

Little Nathan’s eyebrows pulled closer, “Wha…why?”

Nikolas raised his hand and pressed it to the kid’s forehead, “Because you’re…feverish or something,” he grumbled, clearly unable to process the idea of his kid siding with me. “Go find your mother. Let her check you.”

The kid sighed in annoyance, stepping back and out of reach of his father’s touch, not impressed by any of his comments.

Ronald, bless his exhausted soul, knew I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “Look, I’ll take care of this,” he muttered, his gaze flicking over the three bodies on the ground. Then he looked at Nikolas. “You drop Nathan at his game.”

He turned to me next, and his expression said everything words couldn’t. He stepped forward and gave me a shove toward my car. “And you…leave. Now.”

I scowled, “I thought you loved me,” I mumbled, butthurt, but he kept on pushing me. I looked over at Nathan as I was being herded off and waved my hand. His lips twitched into a small, tiny smile that couldn’t fully form because his father pushed him away, too.

Ronald sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, you make that so fucking hard, don’t you,” he grumbled, glancing at the mess behind him, then back at me. “Anyway, I’ll find out who they were working for. Till then, try not to do something stupid, will you?”

“When did I ever?” I deadpanned, pure innocence, with my fake halo and all.

He exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t bother,” I said, smiling without warmth. “I already know who they are. My advice? Stay out of it. I know how to handle this.”

“Nathan—” he started, his tone heavy with that older brother authority crap I never asked for.

“Ronald, I’ve been taking care of myself and my problems on my own for a long damn time.” I cut him off, “So believe me when I say this…” I took a step back, my eyes steady on his.

“I don’t need your help.”

⊹˚₊‧──────────────‧₊˚⊹

Charles Langford.

Aylin’s grandfather. The man who piqued my curiosity last night, and, naturally, I did what I do best. I dug deep.

The old man owns vineyards that have outlived several bloodlines, sprawling over acres of land across many countries. His last name sits on fancy wine bottles, a legacy that’s been polished for generations. The man was well-known, the only heir left to the business; his wife died young, one daughter, one granddaughter. Such a little family for such big wealth.

What stood out, though, was Aylin’s mother. She never changed her last name back to Langford after the divorce. That name alone could boost her career, not that she needed it, anyway, but still…this reeked of something, pride or shame, I wasn’t sure yet.

Anyway, now, since the old man decided to put a target on my back, I’m returning the favor. The weight of me and my anarchy now sits squarely on his shoulders.

He’s going to love me by the end of this…I just can feel it.

I also learned that he didn’t live here, but visited often. For his daughter, and for my princess, I suppose. The quiet mansion ahead of me, with barely enough security, confirmed it.

So, I rang the bell and waited.

The door creaked open a few seconds later, revealing an old man who looked like a butler. “Good evening,” he greeted, his voice smooth but wary. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Charles,” I said simply, not caring for formalities.

He blinked, his gaze flicking over me like I wasn’t exactly the guest they were expecting at the Langford mansion.

“I see,” he replied carefully, “And may I tell him who’s calling?”

I smiled, “Tell him his granddaughter’s boyfriend is here,”  I added, my grin widening, “believe me, he’ll come running once he hears that.”

He hesitated, then gave me a stiff nod and disappeared into the hall, the sound of his polished shoes fading into the echo of the mansion.

I leaned against the doorframe, my hands in my pockets, whistling softly as I looked around. If Charles Langford wasn’t already furious with me, he would be soon enough.

It didn’t take him long. As expected, a few minutes later, the old man appeared at the end of the corridor, immaculate as ever. He walked with slow strides and looked at me like I was a stain on his marble floor, and somehow, that made me more excited than ever.

“Expected me to be dead by now?” I asked as he neared, pushing off the wall. “Sorry to disappoint. I don’t die easily.” I tilted my head, smiling, “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

His jaw locked, the fury trembling in his voice. “You’ve got some nerve coming onto my property.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, call the police?” I fake gasped for dramatic effect. “Please do, though, if you’re going to, at least let me give you an actual reason first.”

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and scrolled to the last message Adam sent me.

“Look here, kid, you are playing on my very last nerve—”

“You know,” I began, interrupting his meaningless threats, “Wine was never my favorite drink,” I muttered, a spark of delight threading through my words. “But I learned something really fascinating today.”

I raised my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. “Did you know vines take three to five years to grow back and yield decent grapes after they’ve been…burned?”

The sound of crackling fire filled the air as I turned the screen toward him, letting him drink it all in. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I murmured as the flames devoured his land, “That’s one of your biggest vineyards, right? The one that feeds half your export line?”

He stared at the screen, the color slowly leaving his face, his eyes widening just enough, the fire’s reflection dancing in them like hell had finally come home.

“Now,” I said softly, almost kindly, “I’m not great with numbers, but I imagine this little multi-year setback will cost you…Oh, I don’t know, hundreds of thousands of millions? Maybe more.”

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, “Consider this my first warm introduction, Charles.”

His eyes lit up with rage. Bewilderment and fake composure collided. He’d thought I’d be easy to scare off. He had no idea.

“I have a feeling neither you nor your daughter will be cooperative,” I said. “Fine. You’ve given me a reason to get creative.” I stepped closer, “This goes on until I get what I want.”

⊹˚₊‧─────────────‧₊˚⊹

Aylin’s POV

I love my parents, I think.

I mean, I have this biological obligation to love them, considering they gave me life, so I do. I want them to be safe, healthy, and untouched by harm. I love them, as long as they are far away from me. The closer they get, the faster that love decays.

Truth is, we were never close enough to begin with.

I never had what Lilly had with her parents, which is why at some points, I did envy her for it.

My relationship with dad was normal, neutral. He never raised his voice at me, never even argued, but still, he was never really there to begin with. He was always too busy trying to keep his business from falling apart, then he got busy with his addiction, so he never had much time for me, anyway.

I do text him sometimes, check on his well-being, but I never visited him in rehab. I don’t think he needed me or wanted me to. He always seemed to avoid me in some way, so I knew his priorities lay somewhere else.

My mother was a different story. We had a little bit more complex relationship. I loved her, and I knew she loved me, in her own warped and fractured way. The thing is, she was always more concerned about her image than anything else.

She raised me like a public project, asked me to smile wider, speak softer, never slouch, never cry. Even when our house was cracked, when her marriage was falling apart, she’d still force us to smile, always chin up, back straight, pretending all was okay.

She never yelled at me, no, she curated.

There was always something wrong, something to fix about me. My clothes, my tone, the way I breathed in a room. She’d toss out my sweatshirts and replace them with dresses. Hide my sneakers, force me into loafers. She’d control my food portions, push me into swimming till she decided otherwise, and force me into ballet till I failed.

So when I finally got out, stood on my own, earning my own money from a job that didn’t impress her, we drifted further and further apart. It was for the best.

Grandpa, on the other hand, was neither like my mom nor like my dad. He was my hero, my only support, the only person I could lean into.

He loved me even when I was a mess, even when I didn’t fit the Langford image sometimes. He was always there on the days that mattered, on my birthdays, my graduations, when I smiled, when I cried. He was a busy man, but he always made time for me. I love him, god, so much…more than I ever loved either of them.

So when he showed up just as my mind started slipping again, it felt like someone had finally pressed pause on the chaos.

Last night we sat and talked for hours, catching up on almost everything—that didn’t include Nathan, of course—till I fell asleep with my head in his lap. I didn’t want to bother him with my problems right from the start, so I steered off the topic.

Today, though, right after I came back from work, he asked me to drop by and have dinner with him, maybe even stay the night, and I decided it was time to tell him that those episodes were back again.

Maybe he’d know what to do, maybe he’d still know how to fix me.

“Grandpa, I—”

Just before I could say the words, Mikeal, his butler, who’d been part of this family longer than most of us, appeared at the door. “Mr. Langford, there’s someone here to see you,” he said. Grandpa gave me an apologetic smile, excused himself, and disappeared down the hall, his voice fading with the sound of his footsteps.

I stayed behind in his study, curled up on the couch, the faint hum of the fireplace eating away at the silence. I exhaled slowly before I pulled my phone from my pocket. Bad idea. I knew it the second I did it, but curiosity is a disease, and well, Nathan’s always been my favorite affliction.

My notifications were a bunch of unread messages from him.

My psycho: I’m kinda mad at you…

That was the first one, sent last night. When I didn’t respond, he did what he always does, spiraled beautifully, with one message after the other.

My psycho:

Aren’t you even going to ask why I am butthurt?

Fine. Since you’re clearly dying to know, I’ll tell you.

I didn’t appreciate you ignoring me the way you did.

Oh, and you being ashamed of me. That one? That hurt my fragile little dark soul.

I can see you reading my texts, princess. Stop ignoring me.

That was the last one from last night. My brows furrowed. I didn’t even remember opening my phone last night, did I? I didn’t dwell on the thought for long and scrolled down, picking up where he’d started again this morning.

My psycho:

Still ignoring me, I see.

I don’t bite, really, not unless you ask nicely.

Well…not true. I do bite, but you love it, anyway.

When no answer came from my side, he resumed his texts later in the afternoon. 

My psycho:

You’re really testing my nonexistent patience here.

Are you ever going to text back, or should I assume you’ve been kidnapped by someone less fun and less handsome than me?

My lips twitched before I could stop them. God, he was insane. With Nathan, it always felt like standing between two cliffs, one where he might run and leave me there by the edge, and another where he’d grab my hand and drag me straight into the fall with him.

It was always a grey area with him, just like last night. He looked at me with two versions, the one that realized I was defective, and the one who’d burn for it anyway.

I was about to type something back before this insane boy could go ahead and do something all Nathan-like when I heard Grandpa’s voice echo from somewhere near, almost like he was yelling, maybe? My brows furrowed, and I stood quickly, my heart kicking up as I followed the sound. 

I stepped out of the study, turned the corner, and froze.

Nathan?

I couldn’t even begin to understand how he was here, how he knew I was here, or any of that when grandpa grabbed his collar and pushed him into the wall. Nathan only smiled in return, but Grandpa looked ready to kill him, the veins sharp at his temples, fury trembling in his hands.

Panic shot through me, and I ran toward them, desperate to get between them before any of them did something wrong. Neither of them noticed me at first, too locked into whatever war they were waging.

I reached them just as Grandpa’s fist swung.

It happened too fast to stop.

The hit wasn’t meant for me, but it landed anyway as I stepped in front of Nathan, a brutal impact that cracked against my cheek and sent a burst of white-hot pain through my skull. The force threw me sideways, my shoulder clipping the edge of the console before I hit the floor.

The world spun around me, and the sounds got muffled. My hand flew to my face, feeling the heat blooming beneath my palm, and the taste of iron flooding my mouth.

I heard my grandfather’s horrified voice first, “Aylin!”

Then, all I felt were strong, familiar arms wrap around me, dragging me upright, pulling me against him. Nathan’s touch was trembling, frantic in its gentleness. One hand steadied the back of my neck, the other cupped my chin, tilting my face toward him.

“Hey,” Nathan breathed, his voice rough, totally unsteady. “Hey, look at me.”

I did, and wished I hadn’t.

His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight, his expression…wrong. His gaze swept over my face, lingering on the bruise blooming across my cheek, the blood glinting on my lip. His thumb brushed over it, slowly and trembling, and then…that stillness in him cracked.

Something feral slipped through.

His eyes darkened with that kind of rage that belonged to something not quite human. His expression was unlike anything I’ve seen him wear. I’ve seen Nathan angry before, but this wasn’t it. This was precise and tethered to me; his fury carried the taste of my pain inside it, as if my bruise had become his wound.

His breathing changed, and he gently let go of me before he got up and lunged at my grandfather so fast the air itself seemed to recoil.

Grandpa barely had time to blink before Nathan’s fist connected with his face, a vicious crack that stole my breath. The force sent him stumbling back, shock still written across his face.

“Nathan!” I gasped, the adrenaline numbing the pain in my face as I shot to my feet so quickly. I grabbed his shirt, trying to pull him back with both hands and failing. “Nathan, stop…leave him! It was an accident!“

His chest rose and fell in a slow, dangerous rhythm. When I tightened my grip on him, he finally looked at me, his eyes locked onto mine, and something inside my ribs clenched so hard I thought it would break. “Let him go,” I mumbled again, a plea in my voice.

His jaw clenched hard, and I saw the fight in him, the way it cost him everything to finally loosen his grip on my grandpa.

The second he did, I rushed forward, straight to Grandpa. My hands reached for him, but his found me first. His fingers, still trembling from the impact, cupped my face, turning it gently, and his expression broke open with horror.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed, his thumb feathering over my skin. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No.” I shook my head, the words tumbling out breathless. “It’s my fault. I jumped in front of you. It’s fine.” I tried to make it small, to make the room stop spinning.

He instantly pulled me into his arms, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other pressed against my shoulder, his voice caught somewhere between guilt and relief as he kissed my head.

When I finally pulled back, I felt Nathan’s gaze on me before I saw it. Swallowing hard, I turned toward him. His eyes were still trembling with it, that quiet, dangerous kind of fury that doesn’t shout, it promises.

He extended his hand toward me. “Come with me, let’s go,” he said, his voice frayed, barely holding itself together.

“Nathan—” I started, but logic wasn’t something he could see right now.

He shook his head once. “Aylin.” The way he said my name was enough. “Come with me.” He stressed the words and held out his hand. His chest heaved in a ragged, uncontrolled rhythm. His fingers trembled on the edge of it. Only then did I realize I’d never seen him this angry before. Not really. This was something else entirely.

If I didn’t leave with him now, someone was going to get hurt.

I shot him a glare, utterly furious and betrayed. He’d hit my grandfather, for God’s sake, but still I found myself nodding, putting an end to this before it accelerates.

I glanced back at Grandpa, whose hand had a death-grip on my arm. “Aylin,” his voice hardened, the look in his eyes sharpening, “You can’t be with him. This f—” He refrained from cursing him, but the look he gave Nathan promised retribution, “He’s dangerous.”

“Well, I am not the one who hit her in the face, did I?” Nathan shot out, loudly. “Aylin, come on, now,” His voice hardened, “If we don’t leave right this moment, I might just snap and kill him. Let’s go.”

I gave grandpa’s hand an assuring squeeze, “We’ll talk about this later, okay? I promise,” I muttered to him. I tiptoed, quickly pecked his cheek, and internally winced at the way that hurt my bruised lip.

I turned around, barely had time to react, and didn’t even hear Grandpa’s last words as Nathan grasped my wrist and pulled me out of the house.

I wanted to scream at him as he dragged me away, God knows I did, but I bit my tongue instead and chose to be wiser. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this.

He opened the trunk of his car and pulled something out before he unlocked the passenger door. “Sit down,” He mumbled, his voice much lower but not calm.

Confused, I lowered myself into the seat, my legs still outside. He crouched down in front of me, unzipped a small black first-aid kit, and for the first time tonight, I saw the rage in him start to collapse into something that resembled focus.

His jaw was hard still, but his anger was folded down, tamped into the quiet of his shoulders so he could be useful instead of catastrophic.

He ripped open an antiseptic wipe and met my eyes for half a second before he started. The first touch burned. I hissed under my breath, but his hand was already bracing my jaw, his thumb pressing just below the bruise to keep me steady, each motion of his so tender, it left me baffled.

He cleaned the cut again, slower this time, and every time I flinched, his jaw flexed, tight enough to ache. He tore open a small tube of ointment and applied it to the split on my lip with the pad of his thumb, his touch as soft as it was infuriating. Then he pulled out a piece of gauze and pressed it gently to the corner of my mouth.

“Hold it,” he murmured. He lifted my hand and guided it to the spot. His fingers lingered against mine for a heartbeat too long, his chaotic eyes flicking up to meet mine.

I swallowed hard, the tightness in my chest multiplying the longer he looked at me like that.  Nathan’s silence was much heavier than his anger, more dangerous, and I didn’t know what to do with it.

“Be honest,” I mumbled, trying to sound playful, to break through the quiet and get any other reaction from him, “Did I lose my beauty privileges?”

If possible, my words fed the fury in his gaze. “How long would it take you to forgive me if I went in and killed him?” He asked, ever so serious, as if counting his options.

My eyes widened, and I grabbed his shoulder, like I could physically hold him back if he decided to make good on that threat. “I would never forgive you!” I snapped, heat rising in my voice. “I’m already furious that you hit him, you can’t do that, Nathan! And you won’t ever do it again!”

“This was an accident,” I said, pressing the gauze tighter against my mouth, addressing my injury. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He would never hurt me.” I tried to smother the fire still burning in his gaze, but nothing dimmed it. “I’m the one who stepped between you two, and I shouldn’t have.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Your face should’ve gotten punched, not mine. I’m sure you deserved it.”

Nathan nodded once. “Yeah, that I fucking agree on, never do something like this ever again,” he shot out, the calm and control he’d been clinging to was slipping, shredding through his words.

“Grandpa doesn’t get angry easily,” I said, pushing back. “So I’m sure you triggered him. He’s never aggressive.”

Grandpa was the definition of composure, polished in every word, every gesture he made. He never raised his voice, never swore, never lost control. Mom was the same, a perfect reflection of him, refined, restrained, proper to the point of suffocation.

Me? I was the crack in that picture frame. The opposite in every way that mattered.

Nathan scoffed, his eyes tracing my bruise, my split lip, the damage he didn’t cause but clearly wanted to avenge. “Never aggressive, huh?” he said, his voice edged. “You sure about that?”

I shot him a glare. “Why were you here, anyway?” I asked. “What did you say to him?”

Nathan shook his head, “Why don’t you go inside and ask your dear, loving, never-aggressive grandfather that?” He mocked, “I am pretty sure he’d tell you,” He added, ever so sarcastically, “Definitely won’t lie, right? Saint Charles doesn’t do that.”

I let out a harsh breath through my nose, my fingers curling into my palms so I won’t go ahead and scratch his face. God, he triggered every violent instinct I had.

He reached up and took the gauze from my hand. Jesus, the fabric was soaked through, deep crimson spreading across the white. All that came out of me? No wonder the world was still spinning around me.

Nathan didn’t say a word. He pulled another sterile one and gently pressed it, then guided my hand back over it, his fingers brushing against mine, holding them there for a moment longer than necessary.

A low breath stuttered out of him, his shoulders sinking slightly, like keeping himself in check was tiring, costing him too much energy.

I shifted under his unwavering gaze, the heat crawling up my neck. “Stop looking at me like that,” I mumbled lowly.

His thumb brushed over my fingers again, his gaze still on our hands. “I don’t…” He exhaled, the words catching somewhere in his throat. “I don’t like you getting hurt.”

The flushed redness crawled up my cheeks, and I felt out of sorts, like my body didn’t know what to do with that kind of rare softness coming from him. I tried to look anywhere but at his eyes; they were too disarming.

That’s when I noticed the small cut along his forehead, half-hidden beneath strands of hair that had fallen loose. My brows knit together, and before I could think, my free hand was reaching up. My fingertips brushed over it. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important.”

I didn’t believe him, of course. I brushed the hair back anyway, revealing more of the cut. My fingers hesitated for a second, then moved on instinct, sliding into his hair and gently combing it back.

His eyelids fell down, and he leaned into my touch like he’d been starving for it.

A low sigh slipped past his lips, “Keep doing that,” he muttered, his voice so low. 

My lips twitched, a weak smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I did just that, letting my fingers trace lazy paths through his hair. He drew in a deep breath, like he had finally found his oxygen before his eyes opened again.

He watched my little smile, his own lips curving up slightly before he leaned closer, one hand sliding up to the side of my neck as he pressed a little kiss against my temple.

“Let’s go,” he whispered against my skin. “We need to put ice on that before it gets worse.”

I nodded, and when he pulled back, the air felt painfully colder.

I sighed in disappointment and settled back into my seat. Nathan closed my door before he climbed in, and pulled the car into the street.

I don’t know if it was exhaustion or the ache pounding behind my eyes, but the hum of the car and the steady rhythm of the road lulled me. My cheek pressed against the seat, my eyelids grew heavy, and right before sleep pulled me under, I felt Nathan’s fingers brush mine before they wrapped over my hand, holding it tight as I slept.

______๑♡⁠๑______

I woke up to the faint sound of a pen scratching against paper. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.

The room was dim, and the air was warm, heavy with a faint trace of something familiar. I wasn’t in my room, no, this intoxicating smell belonged to some guy I’d gotten far too attached to, more than I probably should have.

My cheek throbbed, for some reason. A pulsing ache spread down to my jaw and lip. I winced, reaching up to touch it, and froze when I felt the swelling, the tender sting under my fingertips.

What the…

My eyes opened fully, adjusting to the muted light, and that’s when I saw him.

Nathan sat next to me on the bed, pen in hand, a notebook of sorts balanced on his thigh. His head was bent slightly, a lock of hair falling over his brow. His other hand was resting on me, on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded strokes against my skin. It was grounded in a way that made my confusion worse.

I blinked hard, my brain fogged and heavy. My mind scrambled to stitch together where I was, what happened, and why my face hurt so damn bad.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus, to gather my scattered thoughts, but…couldn’t.

The last thing I remembered…the very last thing, I was sitting in Grandpa’s study. Yeah, I was at Grandpa’s, right? The smell of his coffee, the sound of the fireplace, and his voice as he left my side to meet someone. Then…then…nothing.

How did I get here?

I shifted, trying to sit up, and my movements caught his attention. Nathan looked up immediately and abandoned his notebook. His eyes brightened when he saw me awake, the corner of his mouth curling into that lazy little smile of his.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” He muttered lightly, “Did you get your beauty sleep? I was getting impatient over here and almost woke you up with an orgasm.”

My brain lagged, trying to make sense of this, of me being here, of him…

“Nathan?” I blinked, still trying to extract my last memories, but I kept on failing.

When I sat up fully, my hand went to my face to rub my eyes, but the moment my fingers brushed my cheek, a sharp pain exploded under my touch. I gasped and winced, recoiling.

Nathan’s hand shot out instantly, and it wrapped over my wrist and carefully pulled it away. “Hey—don’t,” he muttered, his voice dropping. “Don’t press on it like that. It’ll get worse.”

My brows knit together. “What—” I hesitated, frowning as my fingertips ghosted near the sore spot again. “Why does my face hurt so bad?”

Nathan blinked, and I felt the way his fingers over my wrist tensed.

He stilled for a second, and he just stared at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure out if I was joking or something, “You got hurt, remember?” he muttered.

I shook my head, the confusion only deepening. “Hurt…how?” I glanced around, my heart rate picking up, “How did I even get here?” I turned back to him, the panic that rushed through my chest nearly knocked the air from my lungs. “I was at Grandpa’s—” I whispered, my voice shaking a bit. “How…how am I here now?”

Nathan didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me. His jaw flexed once, and he loosened his tight grip from over my wrist. “You don’t remember anything after that?” he asked.

“No,” I added and nearly winced. My head throbbed, the pressure building behind my eyes the more I tried to force the memory out. I pressed a hand to my temple, but the pain spiked. “What time is it?” I muttered, half to myself. “God, why does my head feel like it’s splitting—”

Nathan moved closer, his hand came toward mine, gently removing them away from my face. His composure faltered for the smallest second before he gathered himself. “What do you remember last?”

I looked at him, trying to find the missing answers in his expression, but he gave me none.

“I was…” I blinked and wanted to rub at my forehead when the pain amplified, “I was at Grandpa’s, we were talking…him and I, how…” my breath caught, the harder I tried, the less I remembered, “How did I get here, what did you do?”

I shot him a look, the confusion in me twisting into fear. “Did you kidnap me again?” I wanted to reach for my face again. God, the pain in my cheek and head felt like it might knock me unconscious. It throbbed, it clenched, I wanted to throw up. “Did you do this to me?”

His eyes went wide, offense flashing there for the briefest second before frustration followed. “What the—no!” he shot out. “Surprise of the fucking century, I know, but I’m innocent this time.” His jaw clenched, and he shot me a look that was equal parts disbelief and insult. “Jesus, Aylin, I would never hurt you like that.”

Panic bloomed fast…too fast. It clawed its way up my throat before I could think, before I could stop it.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, but the fog only thickened. Fuck, no, no, this is getting worse. It’s happening again. It keeps on getting worse. My mind is unraveling, so fast I can no longer stop it.

I pushed the blanket off and got to my feet. I had this sudden urge to run away…from myself. The floor tilted beneath me, unsteady, like the world itself was pulling away from my grasp.

My breath quickened. I barely heard Nathan get closer over the pounding in my ears. I pressed both hands to my head, squeezing as if I could force the memory to come back. But no, it was blank, utterly blank.

I keep losing hours and hours of my life…till when? Till I lose it all? Till I forget my name and myself? Is this where this is heading?

“Aylin,” Nathan said carefully, moving closer, consuming my space, his tone gentler than I’d ever heard it.

“Hey, princess, look at me.” I looked at his eyes, at the fear that I don’t think he knew how to deal with. His jaw worked, his control a fraying thread he was still gripping tight.

He cupped one side of my face, “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll tell you what happened, alright? It’s okay.” His thumb brushed the edge of my bruise, so gently it hurt differently.

I shook my head, “No, it’s not…” The tears came before I could stop them, “What’s happening to me?” I whispered weakly.

My chest felt too tight, like something was crushing it from the inside. “Why can’t I remember?” I choked out. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

Nathan must’ve sensed that I was seconds away from hitting the ground, the whole world spinning around me, because he reached for my body, and he pulled me closer to him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise,” he mumbled into my hair.

My hands clutched at his shirt, trembling as my mind kept spinning in that same empty loop. I don’t remember, I don’t remember, I don’t remember.

Nathan’s hand found the back of my neck, grounding me, his breath uneven against my temple.

“Am I losing my mind?” I mumbled hoarsely, my tears soaking through his shirt.

I felt him shake his head, holding me closer, “No, princess, you are not.”

I edged my head back and looked up at him. His brows pulled together as he gazed at my tear-stained face. He brought his hand up, his thumb brushing beneath my eyes, wiping away every tear the moment it fell.

“Aylin,” He whispered, his eyes flicking to mine, “Do you trust me?”

My heart twisted.

My whole life, I’d trusted no one, not my parents, not my friends, not Lilly, and never Chase. I’d trusted no one besides my Grandpa.

And I know I shouldn’t trust Nathan. Every logical part of my brain screamed against it, clawed at the edges of reason, begging me to pull away. But my brain was the one unraveling, wasn’t it? How could I trust the same thing that kept breaking me?

So I didn’t listen to it.

I listened to the ache in my ribs, that strange pull in my chest that tightened every time he said my name. To the small, reckless part of me that whispered his name when everything else turned to noise.

I nodded, my voice barely a breath. “Yeah.”

Something so different flickered behind his eyes then. “Then, you need to let me in, princess,” He muttered, aware of how I always kept him at the threshold, never quite letting him cross the line.

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering against my skin. “I promise, I’ll figure this out, and I would not,” He shook his head, “I would not let any harm befall you.”

I believed him. I really did.

But somewhere deep inside, the unraveling part of my mind whispered the truth; some things can’t be saved.

I looked at him then, and I prayed that if I kept losing myself piece by piece…

I prayed that he’d be the last thing I forget.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s POV:

Hey!

Another weekend, another update. I love it when I am consistent. Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter.

So, are we team Nathan or team Grandpa? xD
Nathan sure has no sense about how to impress his future in-laws 😀

The next update may get published earlier since I already have a part of the chapter ready, so we’ll see 😉

See ya soon 🩶