1. Alexandra
Run.
Run.
Run.
Faster—damn it, faster.
Of course this is happening. My life is just a long string of bad decisions, and this—this might finally be the one that gets me killed.
“Alexandra—stop. Get back here right now.”
My lungs burn as panic claws up my throat. I need a plan. I can’t keep running like this, but going back to campus now isn’t an option.
God, Lex, you idiot. How did you not see this coming?
I sprint as if my life depends on it—because it does. Because if he catches me, he’ll kill me. But not before he makes me beg for it.
I’ve been running through narrow streets for what feels like forever. Twenty minutes? Thirty? I’ve taken so many turns trying to lose him that I have no idea where I am anymore. I’ve never been to this part of town. Not that it says much—I’ve only lived in this godforsaken place for three weeks. Long enough to realise I should never have come here though.
Footsteps pound behind me. He’s getting closer..
I can’t keep this up. I’m not an athlete. My legs are shaking, my chest is on fire, and I need somewhere to hide. Now.
The scenery is a blurring smear of rusted corrugated metal and flickering yellow streetlights. Industrial. Desolate. No houses to run to. No neighbors to wake up.
Great job, Lex. Pick the one neighborhood where no one hears the screams.
I risked a glance.
We locked eyes for a split second—a predatory, knowing look that made my stomach flip.
“Fuck,” I wheezed.
“If you don’t stop right now, this will end very badly for you.”
I veer right. Left. Right again—
A bar.
Relief slams into me so hard it almost knocks me off my feet. Motorcycles line the front—at least ten of them—chrome and steel glinting under the streetlights. Three massive men stand nearby, smoking, their presence intimidating as hell.
I run toward them anyway. Can’t be worse than what I’m running from.
My knees hit the asphalt before I reached the door of the bar.
“Please—help me.” The words tear out of me, broken and desperate. I can’t even look at them.
I use the last of my strength to scramble between the motorcycles, curling in on myself, praying they’re enough to hide me. My heart is beating so loud I’m sure everyone can hear it.
Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound.
A hand lands on my shoulder.
I yelp.
“Hey—hey. Are you okay? Who are you running from?”
I flinched so hard I hit my head on a handlebar. A woman was kneeling in the dirt in front of me. She wasn't one of the giants. She was small, with dark hair escaping a messy bun and eyes that actually looked… worried.
Her features are soft but not delicate — the kind shaped by long hours and real work rather than careful styling.
She didn't look like a threat.
She looks like someone who knows how to stay calm when things go wrong.
I break.
“He’s—he was right there,” I whispered, my chest hitching so violently I thought my ribs might snap.
The woman’s face hardened. She looked toward the street, then back at me. “Come with me.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me up. I felt like a ragdoll as she dragged me through the heavy wooden doors and into the dark, thrumming heat of the bar. I caught one glimpse of a shadow rounding the corner outside before the door slammed, cutting off the world.
The woman doesn’t slow, guiding me through the dark club and down a hallway until we reach a small infirmary. It looks like a GP’s office. She sits me on the examination table.
The adrenaline crashes.
Hard.
I can’t breathe. My vision tunnels. Time stops making sense. Seconds stretch into something endless and terrifying as my body completely loses control.
“Breathe,” she says softly. “You’re safe. Look at me. You’re okay.”
I shake my head. I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay again.
“I’m Ella,” she says gently. “What’s your name?”
A knock sounds at the door before I can answer—before I can even remember my own name.
“Not now,” Ella snaps.
The room blurs. I’m dimly aware of someone else entering, of voices, of movement—but I can’t look up. My chest tightens until it feels like it’s going to collapse.
This is it. This is how I die.
Then—
Hands take mine.
The fear eases—not completely, but enough to keep me anchored. I look up.
The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen are watching me, steady and calm.
“Breathe,” he says.
It’s gentle, but there’s something commanding in it. Something I instinctively obey.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
My lungs finally expanded, taking in one more shaky, jagged breath.
“You’re having a panic attack,” he continues calmly. “Let’s ground you. Look around and name five things you can see.”
I swallow and force myself to focus.
“Door. Table. Computer.” My voice wobbles.
“People.” I nod toward the others in the room—Ella, the woman who pulled me inside and a tattooed man standing guard near the door, massive and unmoving—both of them watching me carefully, like I’m something cracked they’re afraid might shatter if they move too fast.
He follows my gaze and gives a small nod. “Good. Stay with me.”
“Blue eyes.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. Dimples grace his cheeks, the kind that ruin lives.
“Now four things you can touch.”
“My hands are still in yours,” I whisper. “You.”
He lets go reluctantly. I brush my fingers over the surfaces around me. “Table. Pillow. Jeans.”
“You’re doing great,” he says, pride warming his voice as he takes my hands again. “Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” I flush and look away. “Music. The computer humming.”
He smiles wider.
“Two things you can smell.”
“Alcohol.” I inhale again. “Summer.”
He blinks, clearly caught off guard.
“One thing you can taste.”
“Tears.”
And that’s it.
The dam breaks.
Without warning, he pulls me into his chest, wrapping me in a hug so tight it feels like he’s holding me together by sheer force of will. Like this hug is meant to erase every awful thing that’s ever happened to me.
It should feel wrong. A stranger’s arms around me. A man’s body pressed so close after what I just ran from. Every warning bell in my head says I should flinch, pull away, panic all over again.
But I don’t.
Instead, my body melts into him like it’s been waiting for this—solid arms, steady heartbeat, warmth that doesn’t demand anything from me. He isn’t taking. He isn’t cornering. He’s just… here. Holding me up when my legs won’t. And for the first time since tonight began, my instincts stop screaming.
I cling to him, breathing him in, letting myself be held.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t tighten his grip. Doesn’t ask for more.
When I finally pull back, my eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His hands lingered on my arms for a beat too long, a strange, heavy tension vibrating between us. He didn't know me. I didn't know if I was even safe here.
But I knew this—my life just split into before him and after him.
