Chapter 8

“She let me hold her
with hands still red,
as if love could bloom
where violence bled.“

Nathan’s POV

She returned, back to me, like nothing had happened.

Like she didn’t push me right to the edge, and smiled while doing it.

Each step she took toward the table was a needle under my skin, slow, sharp, and designed to pierce. She sat beside me because she knew she belonged there, but she didn’t look at me, didn’t spare me a single fucking word.

She just crossed one leg over the other, adjusted the neckline of that emerald green madness she called a dress, and exhaled like she hadn’t just shoved me headfirst into the kind of jealousy that ends with blood on bathroom tiles.

She sat there, unbothered, untouchable, unfuckingreal.

After a short while, Chase returned, too, settling into the chair beside Lilly. His eyes briefly went to me, to the girl next to me, before he looked back at Lilly, flashing her a questioning look. She sighed and shook her head before she leaned back with a sigh like she was physically carrying the weight of all our dysfunction.

“This is so awkward,” she muttered under her breath, sipping her wine.

Understatement of the goddamn century.

My eyes dragged away from Aylin and landed on the man now mingling across the room. The same one who’d touched what didn’t belong to him. He was still talking, hands moving too much, his posture too relaxed, like the world hadn’t taught him to fear consequences yet.

He looked too confident, too casual.

He’d look better with my knife in his throat.

I leaned toward Lilly, my voice low and reserved only for her, “Who’s that?” I asked.

She followed my gaze, then shook her head cluelessly. She edged closer and nudged Chase, “Baby,” She mumbled lowly.

“Hmm?” Chase responded, leaning closer to her, his hand had taken residence on her thigh, gently stroking it every now and then.

“Who’s that guy over there?” she asked, stealing a glance at me, asking for my benefit.

Chase followed her gaze, landing on the guy, then looked back at Lilly, his eyes briefly meeting mine, catching me listening in on their conversation, “His name is Trevor,” He said, flatly. “He is a new pilot. Got transferred from another airline a few weeks ago.”

There was something in his tone that didn’t settle well with me. I raised a brow. “You don’t sound so thrilled.”

Chase glanced down at his drink, then back up at me. “Let’s just say, his reputation got here before he did.”

Lilly perked up instantly, nosy little gremlin that she was. “Oh, really?” She asked, ever so curious for the gossip, “What happened? You never told me.”

Chase gave her a knowing smile, then muttered, “He was asked to leave his last post, some HR incident they’re trying to keep under wraps.” He added. “There wasn’t a formal complaint, but rumors. A few too many.”

I understood exactly what he meant.

Every syllable was a match to the gasoline I’d already poured down my throat.

My grip around the stem of my glass twitched so hard, I nearly shattered it. I couldn’t help but recall that look he gave Aylin, the one she didn’t shut down. That fucking hand on her waist. That smug little lean. She let him, let him think he had a fucking chance.

And she did it while I watched.

I turned slightly, just enough to look at her again.

She was still beside me. My ruin in lipstick and silk. She was giggling at something Cynthia had mentioned. Her eyes gleaming, her shoulders relaxed, completely unaware of the hurricane forming inside me.

Or maybe she was aware, and she wanted it nevertheless.

Not long after, Cynthia got a call and stumbled up to her feet quickly, mumbling something about a champagne crisis she needed to fix. On instinct, my body, breath, blood…all of me leaned into Aylin’s side.

Close enough to feel the heat off her skin, close enough to remember the sound of her moans. Close enough for her scent to wrap around my throat like velvet and wire.

My hand moved, on instinct, it rested over her thigh, right where that fucking slit was, my fingers brushed soft, godlike, silky skin. I resisted the urge to dig my nails in there, to scratch, bruise, and bite, maybe then she would finally get it in her mind that she was mine. And I was a very spoiled kid. I don’t like to share things that are mine.

Aylin didn’t push my hand away, but she still didn’t turn her head to me, still didn’t say a single word to me. Was this her punishment? Fucking silence?

She scrolled through her phone like it was more interesting than anything else. My nerves screamed under my skin, rattling the cage of my ribs, and then, I felt it. The alarms blared loudly in my head when I heard the screech of the chair beside her, and a new body took the seat right. next. to. her.

Trevor.

Of course.

He sat like he had every right to breathe near her.

Good. This makes pushing my knife in his chest much easier.

He leaned in toward her, oblivious or suicidal, I couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” he said, all grin and charm and future obituary, “So you’re on the Rome route this week?” he asked Aylin, that easygoing pilot charm dripping from every polished word. “Heard I’ll be joining your team. First week here, guess I got lucky.”

Aylin glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I saw your name on the schedule,” she replied politely, and with fake warmth. “Welcome to the team.”

Her voice was distant, but not distant enough as she added, “Looks like we’ll be colleagues then.”

He chuckled, then added, casually, “Good first impression, though. If the rest of the team’s anything like you, I think I’ll enjoy it here.”

Oh?

Is that so?

My hand, still resting on her thigh, slid even higher. I leaned forward, just enough to grab his attention, enough to let my voice land between them like a fucking loaded weapon. It came out low, pleasant, and dark.

“Well, let’s hope your flying’s smoother than your pickup lines,” I smiled, “Trevor, was it?”

He blinked, ever so confused. “Sorry?”

I tilted my head. “You’re new, so I’ll be gentle,” I said, fingers still tracing lazy patterns on Aylin’s skin, and almost right away, his eyes followed the motion, noticing. Good. “But compliments that sound like company policy are still compliments. And my tolerance for people speaking with my girl depends heavily on who’s speaking.”

There was a very long pause on his side.

He gave a stiff laugh. “Come on, man, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Didn’t say you did,” I said, still smiling, “Just figured I’d help you adjust to the altitude around here.” I gave him a wink, speaking his own language. He’d better be aware that there is turbulence when he flies too close to things that don’t belong to him.

Trevor’s eyebrow raised, amused before he nodded slowly, then turned away. Some people learn fast. Smart.

Aylin stayed quiet beside me, sipping her wine like none of this concerned her.

But her leg shifted, subtly pressing against mine. Her body moved and instinctively leaned in toward me, not much, just enough to feel the weight of her, enough to feel the tension she carried loosen its grip.

Her subtle body language told me everything I needed to know. She hadn’t liked him, that touch of his, that tone. She felt it, the wrongness. The slick, too-smooth danger in his voice.

Funny, isn’t it?

The man beside her now, me, the one she came here with, is more dangerous than anyone else in this room, more violent, more unhinged, more utterly unfit for salvation. But I’m the one she leans into.

I’m the one she trusts. God help her.

My hand was still resting over her thigh, and I leaned closer, my lips softly brushing her cheek, a very gentle kiss, unlike any physical interaction between us. Her eyes finally lifted and met mine; they were so green, so vivid and heavenly. There was no sharpness now, no glares or warnings. There was less storm, more surrender.

Her shoulders fell on a soft exhale, her lips twitching, not quite a smile, but almost, close enough to make my chest ache. It was almost as if the chaos that unnerved her could only be silenced by mine.

And fuck me, I felt my own lips twitch, too. I was too far gone, too absorbed in her, falling down a rabbit hole I had no map for, no rope, no end.

But honestly, I didn’t care if I ever climbed out.

Food was served after. Speeches were made. Applause came and went like waves I refused to drown in. The world moved on, clinking glasses, fake laughter, slideshow presentations full of buzzwords and bullshit.

I heard none of it.

I couldn’t care less for any of them, my world narrowed down to a patch of skin beneath silk, to the soothing pulse I could almost feel, pumping rhythmically with my own.

On my other side, Lilly leaned into Chase, too tired to keep up conversations. He curled an arm around her back like she was made of something so fragile. She rested her head over his shoulder, and I saw him bring a fork to her lips, feeding her, then whispered something that made her chuckle into his neck.

I rolled my eyes at them; they were too vanilla and sugary for my taste.

What unsettled me most was that Aylin never once looked their way, and I couldn’t tell if she truly didn’t care anymore, or if she was just pretending not to.

My hand was still on her thigh, almost like I’d forgotten it there, almost like I wasn’t thinking about all the ways I could break the rules without anyone noticing.

So, without meaning to, or maybe exactly meaning to, my fingers slid beneath fabric and inched toward her inner thigh, tracing skin I’ve memorized in teeth and ink.

Soft, silky, warm, heat. God, help me…

I felt her stiffen, and her spine snapped straight when I got too close to danger. She turned sharply, her eyes widened, her breath catching, and she slapped my hand away, not loud or dramatic, just one quick flick of her wrist like I was a misbehaving child under the table.

I grinned, winked, and didn’t apologize.

She muttered something that might’ve been stop or you’re insane.

And yet…she didn’t move her chair.

Didn’t leave my side.

Didn’t run away.

My eyes dropped to her plate, and it was still untouched. “You didn’t eat,” I commented.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied, her voice too thin.

I frowned, studying her up close. She shifted again in her seat, more subtly. Like she was trying to get comfortable in her own skin and couldn’t quite manage it. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw too stiff. There was a tension in her neck that hadn’t been there earlier; something was off.

And it wasn’t me this time. No, not just me.

I watched her more carefully now. The way her fingers tapped against the stem of her glass. The way her lips pressed together like she was biting down on a wince. Something really wasn’t right.

Before I could ask one more thing. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, voice barely there, almost breathless. Then her chair scraped back, and she stood up. She walked away, too quickly, too suddenly, not giving me a single chance to stop her.

I followed her with my eyes as she slipped out of the room and disappeared up the stairs, most probably heading for the restroom.

My brain scrambled to understand what just happened, what I missed. What the fuck was I not seeing?

I felt an itch behind my ribs, the wrongness crawling under my skin.

When she was gone, I looked over and found Lilly already watching me. Her brows pulled together, reading the air like it whispered something off.

“Everything okay?” she asked, shifting upright, her body still curled under Chase’s arm.

“I’m not sure,” I muttered, the whole situation rubbed me the wrong way.

Almost like I had a sixth sense of some sort, my eyes landed on Trevor, out of everyone. I caught him walking out, heading in the same direction she took, up the stairs. After her.

My blood went cold.

Then hot.
Then gone.

The second he disappeared around the corner, I was already standing.

“Nathan?” Lilly tried to speak, but I didn’t answer, I didn’t look at her, I didn’t explain.

I just moved.

The chair scraped back with a violent screech. I think I slammed into someone as I moved, a wine glass tipped, and someone gasped. It didn’t matter.

I tore out of the room, my strides sharp and fast, devouring the marble beneath me.

The hallway blurred, my vision tunneled, fiery red at the edges. My thoughts weren’t words anymore. Just impulses. Flashbacks. Violence dressed in memory.

I hit the stairs two at a time, feeling something so fucking wrong brewing so close.

I was proved right when I saw him, cornering her near a side hallway lined with framed photos. He was standing too close, leaning in, and grinning like he’d won something.

His hand brushed her arm, so fucking casual, but not. His body tilted, shadowing hers. He was saying something low. Too low. Too well-practiced. His smile too fucking familiar.

Aylin’s back was half-turned to him, her shoulders were so rigid and tense, and I could see it in her eyes, the fear, the need to bolt away. She spoke, her voice trying to sound polite, too polite, as she gently stepped away, asking for personal space.

But he followed, like a fucking predator.

Like she owed him space.

Like no wasn’t a language he understood.

And that was it for me.

That was the second the monster inside me stood up, cracked its neck, and smiled.

My vision sharpened, my heartbeat spiked, and every part of me screamed for impact.

I moved before the thought could catch up with me. In three long strides, and without a warning or a sound, my hand clamped around the back of his collar and ripped him away from her like dead weight.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening crack. The frames rattled, the glass shook.

And then my fist found his face.

Once.

Again.

Then fucking again.

My knuckles split, and the bone met cartilage. His head snapped back, thudding hard against the wall again. A smear of blood marked the surface like a painting I hadn’t finished yet, a fucking masterpiece.

He gasped something, a protest or a curse maybe, but I wasn’t listening.

I wasn’t here to scare him. I wanted to end him.

My arm cocked back, my shoulder coiled, and I let loose another punch, this one lower, hitting his ribs so fucking brutally. His breath shot out of him. He crumpled slightly, but I caught him by the collar and hauled him back up.

I wanted to fucking scream at him, but I held it in. I transferred all of the rage to my fists. Another blow, then another. Blood sprayed in all directions. The walls, the ground, his face, his clothes, my white shirt. His lip split open. His hands came up to fight back, weak, untrained, and I caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted.

Something popped. Oh, music.

He screamed, and I breathed.

Good.

I was going to paint this hallway with him.

I was going to scrub the memory of his fucking touch off her skin with his blood.

I raised my fist again, ready to break something permanent, only to be stopped by a small shaking hand, one that wrapped so tightly around my arm.

Her voice came out urgent and breathless as she witnessed firsthand what the monster in me looks like once unleashed, “Nathan. Stop. Please—”

Her fingers clutched at me like I was the one falling.

“Just let him go,” She added.

My body trembled, the rage still roaring under my ribs, still boiling in my spine. But I turned to look at her. I watched the panic in her eyes, the way her chest rose too fast. The way her hand stayed locked around my arm like she needed to hold it to hold me together.

Only then, I let go of him. He hit the floor in a heap, bloodied, wheezing, and coughing up red.

I didn’t even look at him.

I turned, grabbed Aylin’s wrist so fucking tight, and pulled her with me without a word.

Her heels clicked desperately against the floor, trying to keep up, but I didn’t slow. Couldn’t. The monster hadn’t fully gone back into its cage yet; it was still snarling, pacing, and tasting blood.

The only sound that stopped me was her low, soft whimper; it was barely there, but it cracked through me louder than a gunshot.

She tried to tear her hand free from my tight grip, and once she succeeded, I paused in my steps and turned around to look at her.

Her expression twisted in pain, and she leaned into the wall with one palm, breathing too fast. The other hand dropped to her leg. She stepped out of her heel, barely, and bent, brushing trembling fingers over the delicate, reddened skin just above her ankle.

The bruising was brutal, angry purples and flushed reds blooming up the side of her foot, just under the bone.

My eyes widened.

“Fuck,” I breathed, already moving.

I looked around, found the nearest chair, some gold-trimmed antique piece of useless decor, and guided her there, my bloodied hands no longer rough but careful.

“Sit,” I said, my voice sharp but not cruel.

She didn’t argue. Her eyes were clenched shut, and I could feel the tension buzzing off her like pain was trying to crawl out of her skin.

I crouched low in front of her, the marble floor cold beneath my knees. My palms went to her calf, lifting her leg gently into my lap. My fingers brushed her ankle, my touch featherlight, tracing the bloom of that bruise.

“Jesus, Aylin,” I muttered, voice dropping. “How long has this been like this?”

She didn’t answer right away.

I pressed slightly, not to cause her pain, just enough to test. She winced and sharply inhaled. Her head fell back slightly, her eyes still shut, and her lower lip trembled.

“How?” I asked again. “What the hell happened?”

“I slipped,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. “In the shower, this morning.”

I exhaled slowly. I tried to shove down the frustration chewing at my chest, even when a voice in my head told me not to believe her, that she wasn’t telling me the truth, but I ignored it for now.

I angled her foot a bit, my thumb pressing along the tendons, checking swelling and flexion. I rotated her ankle gently. It didn’t feel broken, and thankfully, no major dislocation.

But it was badly strained, possibly a ligament is involved.

“You shouldn’t be walking on this,” I said, my voice all low fire now. “Let alone in fucking heels.”

“I had to,” she whispered. “It’s a work event.”

“Bullshit,” I growled. “You don’t have to do anything that puts you in pain.”

My hand cupped the underside of her foot as I eased it back down. I didn’t drop it, I didn’t let it fall. I lowered it to the ground like it was something fragile and holy.

“You need to wrap it, right away,” I muttered. “You need to keep it elevated and ice it.”

“I will.”

“You won’t,” I said. “Because you never fucking do what you’re told.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at me. Something passed between us, slow, electric, and fucked. Like she was just now realizing the depth of what I’d done. How I’d almost painted a hallway in someone else’s blood because he breathed too close to her. How I was now kneeling in front of her like a sinner begging a god I didn’t believe in.

How I was easing her pain, only to hurt her again tomorrow.

Because that’s who I am.

That’s what I do.

I rose to my feet, the gentleness snapping clean out of my posture.

“Come on,” I said, colder now. “We need to leave.”

I was pissed, not at her, at her pain, because she allowed it.

She still looked unwell, uneasy, much more than uneasy. Her skin had gone pale, her lips slightly parted, her eyes too unfocused, like she was about to fall sick, and not just due to her strained ankle. My hand came up on instinct, resting beneath her chin, tilting her face up to mine.

“Aylin,” Her name was both a command and a prayer. “You okay?”

She shook her head.

God, her skin felt so cold. Her throat bobbed hard, like she was swallowing down another whimper of pain.

“I have bad cramps,” she said, her voice thin and cracked. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Her eyelids fluttered, half-closed. “I’m dizzy, and—” She winced, flinching like something inside her stabbed.

I felt every nerve in my body crawl to attention.

“What happened?” I asked.

Her eyes cracked open again, and the glare she gave me could’ve slit a throat. Her voice came out full of accusation, “I took the after-pill this morning,” She grumbled, hinting at what I did on purpose yesterday, “It’s the side effects.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The room spun for a long second.

And for once, it wasn’t her doing the spinning; it was me.

I was the fucking reason she’d taken that pill, so she could fix what I broke, so she could undo what I did.

And all I could think was, I liked that I ruined her, and I hated that it hurt her.

My fists clenched at my sides, not from rage at anyone else. From rage at me.

Because I should’ve known better.

My jaw ticked, “Stay here,” I said, my voice so flat, “I’ll get your purse and then we’ll leave.”

I didn’t wait for her words. I was already moving down the stairs, across the floor, through people I couldn’t give a single fuck about. I found our table, grabbed her purse, her phone, and mine, my hands clenched tight, my jaw wired shut.

“Leaving already?” Lilly’s voice cut in.

I nodded, still not looking at her.

I was about to walk away when her hand curled over my arm, stopping my hasty, disoriented movements. My head snapped toward her, and she offered me a small smile, “I’ll be waiting for you next weekend, okay?” she said gently, searching my face.

I sucked in a breath and nodded my head, “Yeah, sure.”

Her eyebrow raised, “Just don’t bring her,” She added, with a teasing wink, hinting that I am always with her lately.

My lips barely twitched, and I nodded my head, “Okay.”

She finally let go of me and gave me a small wave before I left the room. Aylin, being a fucking trigger to my madness, of course, didn’t listen to me. I found her already on the stairs, coming down, barefoot, her heel in hand, limping on the ankle I told her not to fucking walk on.

She was a goddamn siren with the soul of a hand grenade.

I stopped cold. “Didn’t I tell you to wait?”

She ignored me and took her purse from my hand like I was her fucking assistant. “Let’s just go,” she muttered, voice small and energyless.

She started walking again, barefoot, on stone floors, ready to step outside like this.

“So what, you plan on strolling out like this?” I asked, the rage crawling up my throat. “Want to sprain your other ankle for fun?” She wants to give me a stroke, I swear.

Her jaw flexed. “Sorry,” she snapped, biting sarcasm in every syllable, “forgot to pack a spare shoe in my clutch.”

Her gaze fell to my feet, then back to my face. She rolled her eyes, and she added with utter mockery, “You know, a gentleman would’ve offered his shoes, instead of scolding me. ”

“Good thing I’ve never claimed to be decent,” My reply came fast, flat, and unapologetic.

She scoffed and turned around. She started walking again, that limp in her step fueling something sharp in my chest.

And that was it.

The moment her body shifted away from me, like she didn’t need me, like she didn’t belong to me, I moved. Without a word, I stepped forward. One arm slid beneath her thighs, the other braced the small of her back, and with one fluid motion, I scooped her up, ever so effortlessly, like she weighed less than the guilt in my lungs.

“Besides,” I said, “walking’s overrated when I can make you crawl.”

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet left the ground, her arms instinctively clutching my shoulders for balance, her eyes widening, “Nathan, what the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t answer, I just tightened my grip on her, securing her sweet, fragile, fucking infuriating little body in my arms like I was carrying a sin I’d die defending. I stepped outside into the night, the sharp air licking at us.

The valet noticed my expression, or maybe the unconscious rage still leaking off me, and scrambled to get my car, rather quickly.

Aylin’s gaze never left me, still pale, still too quiet, still not exactly herself.

I looked down at her, my chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

“Aylin—” I didn’t even know what I was going to say.

But she cut in before I could stumble through whatever half-assed apology I wasn’t built to give.

“You can stop calling me that.”

My eyebrow raised, “It’s your name.”

“I know, I just, I mean—” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t resume her words, and a cute pink blush crept up her face.

My lips twitched, but I didn’t give her what she wanted, not yet.

The valet pulled up, he went down, and opened the door. I carried her over, lowered her down carefully, one hand bracing her back, the other under her knees. She didn’t protest as I moved her as I pleased.

I crouched down and moved to adjust her seat. I slid it back so she could rest her injured ankle, attempting to make her more comfortable. And in doing so, my face landed exactly level with her chest. Not just close. Eye-fucking level.

I paused, because of course I did.

Because God has a sense of humor, and mine is filthy.

My mouth twitched, my teeth pressing into my cheek to stop the grin, because I had so many thoughts and not enough hours in the day to act on them.

Her dress dipped low, her skin soft and flushed. I adjusted her legs without looking up. Because if I did? This car ride wouldn’t happen. I’d have her right here, dress bunched around her hips, screaming my name, so that even the people inside would hear her.

“Keep it like this,” I said, my voice a little too tight. My hand brushed her ankle one last time before I shut the door and stood up.

I circled the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled us into the street with one hand on the wheel…and the other already twitching to crawl its way back onto her skin.

“This isn’t the way to my house,” Aylin said quietly after a few minutes when I took a left turn that made her realize it.

“We’re going to my place,” I said, my voice final. No room for democracy in my dictatorship.

She huffed, loud, dramatic, every bit the brat I adored ruining. “Can you please drop me at my place?”

Her please sounded more like a challenge than a request, more like a fuck-you in a dress.

“No.”

That was it.

Maybe she was too tired to fight, or maybe she finally remembered what happens when she tries. Either way, she slumped back in her seat, turned her face toward the window, and tried to drown me out.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up outside my house and killed the engine. Before she could argue, I was already out and next to her, opening her door, leaning down to pick her up again. Her body lifted off the seat like it belonged in my arms. Her mouth opened, ready to protest, but I cut her off before the first syllable could fall.

“Don’t,” I said, low and deadly. “You’ll lose.”

She clenched her jaw but said nothing; she didn’t fight or wriggle. She just let herself be carried, and if that wasn’t surrender, I didn’t know what was.

When inside, I moved straight to the couch and set her down gently, more gently than I’ve ever done anything in my life. Like she’d break if I dropped her too fast. Like I would if I did.

“I’ll be right back,” I muttered, already heading down the hall. I grabbed the first aid kit, the ice pack, and a compression wrap before I walked back to her.

She was still on the couch, not sulking or scowling. Just…sitting still. Her eyes wandered around my place, searching for answers she won’t find within these four walls.

I crouched in front of her again, and my fingers moved with precision now, not the chaos I’m made of, but something else, something that knew how to fix what bled.

I guided a pillow beneath her calf. Then gently, always fucking gently now, I rested her foot in my lap again. I examined it once more, how swollen it was, how the bony bump on the outside of the ankle was tender to touch.

I held the ice pack against her skin. She flinched, a subtle wince, and I murmured, “You’ll need to do this again every few hours.”

She said nothing, and I didn’t look at her, not directly. I couldn’t, because under all my tender actions was a scream in my throat I didn’t let out.

I wrapped her ankle with the kind of care that terrified me.

“You can’t walk on it for too long,” I said, securing the edge. “No heels for sure, and you’ll need to elevate it when you sleep.”

Silence sat between us, but her eyes never left me, watching me like I was a paradox that could maybe be understood if stared at long enough.

My eyes met hers, trying to read her expression, checking if she was in pain still, thinking of what I could offer her to relieve that pain. Why was I so worked up over this?

I wasn’t used to this, not the guilt, nor the care, definitely not the part where I was thinking about how to help. I hated it.

And because I was starting to feel too human, I got up and created distance between us. I walked across the room like I could outrun how much I wanted to go back and tuck a blanket around her.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her press her palms to the couch, lift herself up with care. “Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.

I nodded, pointing toward the hallway. She limped toward it slowly and carefully before she closed the door behind her.

My skin burned. Everything burned, like I was on literal fire. I yanked off my suit jacket, tossed it away carelessly. I unbuttoned the first few buttons of my shirt, and rubbed at my chest. My neck. My jaw. I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin, or maybe set it on fire.

When the bathroom door opened, I sat up straighter. She appeared, approaching me with soft steps and tired eyes, scanning the room until her gaze landed on me.

“I think my phone’s in your car,” she said quietly. “Can you get it, please? I need to call a cab.”

My whole body stiffened. “Why?” I asked, moving toward her. My voice wasn’t sharp this time. Just low, steady, and dangerously soft.

“Stay the night here.”

I needed to keep her close. She looked like she could faint again if I blinked too long.

She shook her head, “No,” She murmured, her voice still pained, “It’s better if I go back home.”

I stepped closer and reached for her arm, fucking-gently, “You’re still in pain?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“I just…I need to get home.” She wouldn’t even look at me. “It’s better that way.”

“Stay.” My tone dipped. Final again. “I’ll drop you off first thing in the morning.”

She shook her head.

“I…I don’t have anything to change into.”

I shrugged. “Take something of mine.”

“It’s not just that.”

My brow creased. “Then what?”

She swallowed hard. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her dress like she wanted to disappear into it. “I just got my…period,” she mumbled, her voice so low, I almost missed it. “I need to go. I don’t have anything with me.”

Oh.

Okay.

I blinked. “What…do you need for that?”

Her face turned crimson. “Uh. Tampons, and a clean pair of underwear…so, please just get my phone, and I’ll go right away—”

“No,” I cut in, already reaching for my keys. “There’s a drugstore right around the corner. I’ll go get you…that.”

She blinked at me, “You’ll get me tampons?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

I glanced at her like she’d lost her mind. “Yeah.”

She just stared at me, unblinking. So I pointed at myself. “Come on, Aylin. They’ll know I’m not buying them for myself.” I added a hint of playfulness in my tone.

She didn’t answer, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“Just stay here,” I said, voice dropping again, “I’ll be back quickly.”

And before she could say a thing, I was already out the door.

⊹˚₊‧─────────────‧₊˚⊹

The drugstore smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions. I hated it already.

The lights were too bright, the shelves too clean, and the music playing overhead was some cheery pop song that made me want to break something.

Yet here I was.

In the feminine hygiene aisle.

Alone.

I am scared.

Help.

I stood there, staring at shelves full of products that looked more like Pokémon creatures than medical supplies.

Pads. Tampons. Organic. Super. Ultra. Winged. Non-winged. Scented. Unscented. Cup-shaped. Cloud-shaped. Fucking mystery-shaped. What the fuck is this sorcery?

I didn’t even know what I was looking for.

I’d told her I’d get it, but what was it, for god’s sake?

She said tampons. Right, it should be easy. Except it wasn’t.

Because I was a grown man, with a business degree, a medical degree, and surgical-level steady hands, and I was two seconds away from googling, which one makes the pain go away faster?

I picked up one box.

Read the back.

“Comfort you can count on during your heaviest flow.”

I blinked.

Okay. Too much information.

I grabbed another. This one said something about “compact for discreet use.”

Discreet my ass.

I sucked in a deep breath and threw one of each type in the basket. No clue which one was right. I figured she could pick the winner.

When I was done, I went to the register. The cashier, a girl with blue highlights and one eyebrow piercing, looked utterly shocked when I dropped the lifelong supply of tampons on the counter.

She blinked in confusion, gazed up at me like I was either a saint, a simp, or the most confused serial killer alive.

“Rough night?” she asked, a little too chipper.

I sighed and nodded, “You have no idea.”

After paying, I left the store with two full bags and exactly zero percent of my dignity intact. I should’ve just let her go home. Really. I should’ve. But apparently, rock bottom for me comes with wings, extra absorbency, and a price tag.

The night air outside hit me like a slap, cold and honest. Good. I deserved it.

By the time I made it back, I looked like a man coming home from war. I stepped inside the apartment, bags in hand, and spotted her instantly. Aylin stood by the wall, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze distant and unfocused.

She snapped out of her haze when she spotted me, her eyes fell on mine, then to the bags. Then to me again.

Her face went blank with horror. “Nathan…what is all of this?”

I dumped the bags onto the counter like they were full of unexploded grenades. “There were too many options. Too many sizes. Shapes. Colors.” I ran a hand through my hair, exhausted. “I blacked out in aisle five.”

She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a box, pink and purple, with glittery letters.

My eyebrows dipped. “Do they come in flavors?”

She looked up at me, stunned, utterly speechless. Then, she chuckled. “What?”

I am serious, why else would they make them in different colors?

“You could’ve gotten me just one,” She added, her eyes flickering to the many boxes scattered, “This will suffice me for a year.”

“Good, you can keep them here, so next time you won’t have an excuse to leave.”

She looked up at me and blinked, still in shock. Her throat bobbed heavily, not sure what to say, but I noticed the way her lips twitched at the edges, fighting her smile.

“Oh, and I wanted to get you some sexy underwear, but they didn’t have any,” I frowned, all of my fantasies ruined, “They only had those hideous grandma ones,” I added as she pulled the big tighty whities.

She couldn’t hold it in any further; a soft, helpless laugh burst from her chest, unfiltered, alive, and I swear, the sound rewired my fucking heart.

She looked down at the war zone I’d unloaded, all the tampon boxes and the full-coverage, parachute-grade cotton underwear, and a delicate smile curved her lips.

When she looked back up at me with that expression, I felt something in my chest twist and tighten. Painful in a way I didn’t know how to name.

I swallowed hard, shook myself out of whatever just happened.

“What?” I asked, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

She kept smiling, almost sheepish. “What?”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes,” I said, narrowing mine. “The glassy one. The one you get when I make you come so hard you forget what language is.”

Her brows lifted, stunned. “Nathan—”

“I’m just saying,” I went on, eyes flicking over her, “I’m not even touching you. So why the hell do you have that look?”

She bit her bottom lip. Her smile softened, dropped slightly, as if it slipped past a wall she didn’t mean to lower.

“This is…just sweet,” she murmured. “And I’m not used to people doing sweet things for me.”

I blinked at her, trying to translate each word. I slipped my hand into my pocket and stepped closer, diminishing the space in between us, “You’re telling me Mr. Perfect Goody-Two-Shoes Chase never did anything sweet for you?”

She was looking at the bags still, but her mind was galaxies away. Then, she shook her head, “Not like that,” She mumbled, “My relationship with Chase was mostly about me, giving,” she added, “And him, receiving.”

She shook her head again, her voice stayed calm, but I felt the fracture lines underneath.

“Not that he wouldn’t have given me something if I needed it, he would’ve,” She explained, her eyes settling back on mine, for once letting her guard down and speaking freely of him and their shared past, “But I never showed him that I needed anything. I didn’t ask for anything. I tried to always look like I had it all, that I was all perfectly put together, polished, and that I didn’t need a single thing.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I was scared that if I allowed him to see the cracks beneath, he would leave.”

I wasn’t angry, no, not all, what I felt was something else entirely, I couldn’t decipher it. Something inside me twisted so hard it felt like my ribs had splintered.

“But he left anyway,” I said, voice low.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “He did.”

My jaw locked. My hands curled into fists, fighting the urge to tear open the memory of him inside her life like it was a wound I could surgically remove.

“You still love him, don’t you?” I asked. My voice was quiet. Too quiet. “You haven’t moved on.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t love him.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I said, my voice so calm, “I won’t get angry, just tell me the truth.”

She looked me straight in the eye. “I’m not lying.”

“I don’t love him,” She added again, with a certainty so sharp it could’ve drawn blood. “But you’re right about one thing. I didn’t move on.”

Fuck, I didn’t breathe.

“Not from loving him,” she clarified. “But from what loving him did to me.”

There it was. Not heartbreak. Not longing. Something uglier. Deeper. Something that resembled me.

I stayed silent, waiting for her to say more. I needed her to say more.

“I know that it was mainly my fault, that I wanted him, chose him, accepted him even when I was sure his heart was with someone else,” She explained, “But still, it did hurt, a lot, that he used me like a band-aid. He stuck me over the bleeding, called it healing, and ripped me off…threw me away the second he felt whole again.”

The shift in her tone was seismic, from soft and wounded to something darker, that quiet, rage-laced place I lived in. “And to be honest, I’m glad they ended up together.”

“Before, I used to think he was better than her, that she didn’t deserve him, but after all that he did, I am sure they deserve each other very well,” She said, clear and unapologetic. “They both have a track record of breaking whatever loves them. They’re a match made in hell.”

Oh, there she was. The fighter I was looking for. My lips twitched. God, I wanted to grab her face and kiss the fury out of her mouth, or maybe just kiss her until the fire spreads and burns everything.

“So, yeah, to answer your question again, I don’t love him, not even one bit.”

Then, like she hadn’t just gutted the air between us, she grabbed a box of tampons and turned toward the hallway with so much calmness.

“Can I wear something of yours?” she asked, her voice back to soft, pausing in the doorway of my room.

I nodded, voice low, a smirk barely ghosting my lips. “Yeah. Anything you want.”

Anything at all.

Even if it’s me.

She disappeared into my bathroom, and I finally exhaled. I took the time to change, peeled off my shirt, left it somewhere I didn’t care to remember, and dragged on sweatpants.

I hadn’t reached for a t-shirt yet, and didn’t get the chance to. Because then the door opened, and she walked back in.

She was wearing one of my shirts, my oldest, softest one, and it swallowed her whole. The short sleeves dangled past her elbows, the hem falling halfway down her thighs.

She’d found a pair of loose gym shorts too, cinched high, the waistband rolled so they didn’t fall off her tiny frame, but still way too big for her sweet body.

God, she looked like every mistake I was proud to make.

I barely kept myself from groaning aloud. My brain short-circuited with at least twelve different unholy visuals. None of which was appropriate, but all of which were inevitable.

My shirt. Her skin. My hands. Her thighs. My lips. Her lips.

I blinked once, slowly, like that might reset the lust that’d just steamrolled every remaining shred of sanity I had.

That’s when I noticed her eyes, those wicked, beautiful things, move over my chest, like she wanted to map it with her fingers, too. Her gaze dragged over the rough skin of past mistakes. Every scar. Every ghost stitched into flesh. Until it stopped, dead center, on that one.

The scar from the transplant, long, pale, and still healing.

Her face softened, something unreadable shifting behind her lashes. Like she was about to take a step closer and reach out. Like she wanted to trace it and understand a pain I never spoke aloud.

Of course, I didn’t let her. I grabbed the nearest t-shirt and pulled it over my head. Because if she touched me while looking at me like that, I’d drop to my knees and beg her to ruin me.

And that wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet, at least.

She cleared her throat and hugged herself, fingers curling into the hem of my shirt. “So, uhm, where will I sleep?”

“My bed.”

Duh.

She blinked, “And you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s called my bed, isn’t it?”

Her lips curled into that annoyed little expression that made me want to bite her.

“I won’t do anything,” I muttered, hands up like I was innocent. “I promise.”

Then, because I’m a liar with no shame, “Unless you want me to. I really wouldn’t mind—”

“No,” she blurted, loud and fast.

My lips formed a smile, beyond my control, and I moved closer. My hand moved instinctively and brushed her hair away, tucking a strand behind her ear. Her face was clean now, no makeup, nothing but her, bare for me.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” I murmured, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Didn’t get to say it earlier. You didn’t give me a damn chance.”

She blinked, stunned by the softness my words held.

“But to be honest, I prefer you like this.”

I frowned. “Did you have to get your period tonight?” I grumbled. “I had a whole goddamn punishment planned. You kept me on edge all night, and I was going to make you pay in every possible—”

Her lips twitched. “Raincheck?” she offered, voice too sweet for her own good.

My soul exhaled. That’s it. She’s my ending.

I nodded once. “Raincheck,” I said. “But don’t expect mercy next time.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and I couldn’t stand still any longer without doing something wrong. I took her hand and gently tugged her toward the bed. She followed, slow and soft, like this wasn’t the strangest turn our night had taken.

I grabbed extra pillows, stacked them beneath her leg, lifting her strained ankle just right. My knuckles brushed against bruised skin before I turned off the lights. Shadows fell over us like a blanket, and I slid into bed beside her, unsure if this was heaven or some new form of torture.

Not even in my darkest, filthiest dreams did I think the night would end like this.

I reached for her waist, pulled her in, and fuck, the way she breathed, low and slow and honest, like she was sinking into me instead of the mattress.

My palm found her stomach, rested there gently, like maybe I could pull the pain out of her body and bury it inside mine instead.

“You’re still in pain?” I asked, my voice quiet.

“No,” she whispered, her voice sleepy already, “Much better.”

“Cool,” I muttered, already burying my face in her hair, her neck, that spot that smelled like home and hell all at once. I dragged her closer, like I’d unravel if I didn’t.

“Goodnight, Nathan,” she murmured softly.

I smiled against her skin. “Goodnight, princess,” I said, giving her what she wanted, and I swear, even in the dark, I felt her lips twitch.

After that, I just waited.

Her breathing evened out against my chest, soft and slow and warm. She twitched once, nestled deeper into me, and my arm tightened around her, but eventually, her body gave in fully. Limp. Weightless. Asleep. Good.

Carefully, I unhooked myself from her like I was dismantling a bomb. I left a kiss on her shoulder, and I didn’t let myself think about it. Then, I slipped out of bed.

I picked up my phone from the table, the screen lighting my face. One new message.

“At the hospital. Room 406. Stitches in. No cops.”

I stared at the text for a second too long, then locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket. I pulled on a black sweatshirt, dragging it down over my body. I grabbed my keys and slipped out the door.

I slid behind the wheel, punched the address into the navigation system, and took off like hell was behind me, but no, hell was about to be raised.

The hospital loomed in front of me in minutes. I parked by the sidewalk and walked in like I was late for a meeting with God. With my phone in hand, I checked the room number again. I didn’t ask for directions, I didn’t speak to the front desk, I just kept on walking.

I reached the door and paused. I looked up at the corners of the ceiling, checking once more. No cameras. Great.

Without another thought, I slid inside, and there he was.

His face was still puffed and bruised. Bandages across his cheekbone. Stitches like seams holding him together. He sat upright in the hospital bed, IV in one arm, a bruised ego leaking out the other.

His head turned, and when he saw me, his eyes went wide.

I shut the door behind me, locked it, and smiled, just a little.

Trevor didn’t get the chance to say a word. I tore him from the bed, stitches ripping, IV flying, and slammed his sorry excuse of a body into the wall. The room shook with the sound of his spine meeting concrete.

He wheezed, eyes wide, arms scrambling to push me back, to scream, but I was already pressing my forearm into his throat, pinning him like the insect he was.

“I found out why you got transferred,” I hissed, my voice low and calm, too calm, the kind of calm that drips just before the onslaughter.

His eyes went wilder, chest heaving like he could outrun the truth. He couldn’t.

“You sexually assaulted a flight attendant at your last post.” I watched the denial in his face try to claw its way up, but I didn’t let him speak. “HR brushed it under the rug. The girl? Fired. You? Relocated.“

I sneered. “Gotta love the justice system. Nothing says accountability like a fresh contract and a new badge.”

He tried to move. I didn’t let him. “You laid one hand on her,” I spat, inches from his ear, “and I’m telling you now, you won’t get another breath near her. I won’t let the likes of you be close to her, no, no fucking way.”

I pulled back, just enough to pull my knife. His breath caught when he saw it. His legs twitched. Too late. I grabbed his hand, his dominant one, poetic justice and all, twisted it like a wishbone, and slammed it flat against the tray table.

“Tell me,” I whispered, my voice sugar and venom, “how many fingers does a man need to fly a plane?”

He screamed before the blade even touched him. My knife came down quickly, slicing clean through his pinky. The sound it made? Music. Wet. Cracked. Red. Beethoven’s unfinished symphony.

His mouth opened in agony, but I slammed my palm against it, muffling the wail.

“One down,” I said casually, like we were counting petals off a daisy. “But you’ve still got plenty.”

I moved to the thumb. Then the forefinger. One by one. Like I was writing stanzas of a poem, in flesh and blood instead of ink.

The same blood coated the tray table, it pooled on the floor, and painted my hands. By the time I carved through the last one, he was shaking. Pale. Ready to pass out. But not yet. I wasn’t done.

“I want you to hear me,”  I hissed, yanking his head back by the hair.  “You come near her again, you speak to her, breathe near her, think about her, and the next thing I will be cutting would be your heart.”

And then I slammed his skull into the wall.

I pulled my knife free, still warm with his blood. He slid down the wall, an unconscious heap of blood and snot and pain. I wiped the blade clean on his hospital gown like it was nothing more than butter.

Then I walked to the door, like nothing had happened.

I drove back with blood on my hands. The streetlights blurred past me. The city didn’t know what I’d done, but it should’ve applauded.

When I stepped inside my place, silence wrapped around me like a judgment I didn’t fear. I walked straight to the bathroom, flicked on the lights, and turned the faucet. The water ran red for too long. My hands were stained with him, a stain I didn’t bother scrubbing too hard.

I stripped off my bloodied sweatshirt and tossed it straight into the washer before I walked back to the bedroom.

She was still curled there, a vision in one of my shirts, knees drawn up slightly, golden hair spilling across my pillow like poetry that couldn’t be translated.

God, she looked soft. Breakable. Mine.

I slipped back into bed beside her, quietly and carefully.

My arm reached for her like instinct. She melted the second I touched her, like her body had just been waiting for mine. Her face buried in my chest, breath warm against my skin.

I left a soft kiss on her temple.

And just like that, the monster in me curled up beside her, tamed for the night.

I closed my eyes.

And slept like a goddamn baby.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s Note:

Okay, so here is a double update, I am just so awesome!

I am not sure when the next chapter would be up, I will announce it on my wall.

Anyways, are you liking the story so far? Is Nathan and Aylin like you expected? xD

See ya soon <3