The bathroom is warm from the steam, but my skin is cold.
I stand still in front of the mirror, water dripping down my spine, heart thudding in my chest like it's trying to crawl out.
I haven't cried.
Not really.
But my body feels like I have.
Like it's mourning something it can't name.
The gala is over, but the weight of it clings to me. The stares. The whispers. The woman in red. The lie I'm now living so publicly. And above all, the bullet.
I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale.
And peel off the dress I wore like armor.
The silk pools around my ankles. I reach for one of Aiden's shirts; a soft, oversized black button-up I stole from the closet without asking. It smells like his cologne.
I put it on but leave the buttons undone, letting it hang loose.
I turn around.
And there it is.
The scar.
It cuts across the small of my back, pale and jagged, like a signature left by someone who once thought they owned me.
I don't touch it. I just stare at it in the foggy mirror, like I'm waiting for it to fade. Or maybe reopen.
A knock.
I flinch.
Before I can speak, the door creaks open.
I stiffen. "Get out," I say without turning.
There's a pause. "I didn't mean to walk in," Aiden says, voice quiet. Not sorry.
"You have no right," I whisper, reaching to pull the shirt closed.
But I stop when I see him in the mirror; standing there, unmoving, eyes locked on mine.
And he's seen it.
The scar.
His gaze hardens, but not with judgment.
With something else.
Something I don't want to name.
"Who did that to you?" he asks.
I jerk the shirt closed, clutching it tightly against me. "No one. It's old."
"Doesn't look old."
I turn to him fully, anger building beneath my skin. "Why are you even in here?"
He shrugs once, as if that explains everything. "I heard the water running. Thought you were crying."
I wasn't.
Not out loud, anyway.
"I wasn't," I say flatly.
But my voice betrays me.
And he knows.
He watches me like I'm a map he doesn't know how to read.
"You hide a lot," he says quietly.
"You would too," I shoot back, "if people expected you to break."
He doesn't reply. Just nods, slowly. Like he understands more than he's willing to admit.
"You're stronger than you look."
"And you're softer than you act."
That makes him freeze.
Something in his expression falters, just for a second. Like I hit a nerve he didn't know was exposed.
He doesn't answer.
I move past him, brushing his arm. He tenses at the contact but doesn't stop me.
"Don't follow me," I murmur.
But I feel it the moment I leave the room.
His eyes.
Still on me.
Still tracking me.
Like I'm not just a pawn anymore.
Like I've become something else entirely.
A threat.
A mirror.
A weakness.
His silence says more than words ever could.
And mine?
Mine is my last defense.
But I think he's starting to see through it.
—
The hallway is dim, silent except for the faint hum of city lights through the tinted glass windows. I pad down barefoot, the hem of his shirt brushing against my thighs. My pulse is still racing, but I try to calm it. Try to forget that he saw me.
Saw that part of me.
The one thing I swore no one would ever see again.
I collapse onto the wide leather couch in the living room, tucking my knees under me. The city is spread out before me, glittering, oblivious. I stare out the window like it might swallow me whole.
Minutes pass.
Then.
Footsteps.
Soft. Intentional.
I don't turn, but I know it's him.
Aiden.
He doesn't speak. Just walks to the mini bar, pours something dark into a glass. The clink of the ice feels loud in the stillness.
"You want one?" he asks.
I don't answer.
He pours a second anyway and walks over, offering it to me.
I take it. Because refusing would feel like admitting I care.
We sit in silence for a while.
He doesn't press me.
He just… exists beside me.
And somehow, that's worse.
"Where'd you get it?" he asks eventually. His voice is quieter now. Less commanding. More human.
"The scar?"
He nods.
I sip the drink. It burns going down. "Wrong place. Wrong time."
"Define wrong."
I give him a flat look. "An ex who didn't know when to let go. He tried to own me. Control me."
His jaw ticks.
I notice it because I'm looking at his reflection in the window. Not at him directly.
"And he hurt you," he says.
I shrug. "People like him… don't stop until they leave a mark."
Silence stretches again.
And then he asked
"Where is he now?" Aiden's voice is colder. Deeper.
"Gone," I say. "Buried by the courts. Restraining order, police record, the whole thing. But the damage was already done."
"Not all of it," he says after a beat.
I turn to him. "What do you mean?"
"You're still standing."
The words hit something inside me I didn't know was waiting to be acknowledged.
I look away before he can see what they do to me.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm standing, or just frozen in place," I whisper.
Aiden leans back, his arm resting across the top of the couch, fingers inches from my shoulder.
"You're not frozen," he says. "You're just careful."
I don't know why that makes my throat tight. Maybe because it's the first time anyone's ever said it like that, like it's survival, not weakness.
"You said earlier," I begin, "that pretending to be your girlfriend would protect me."
"Yes."
"And if I said no?"
His eyes meet mine.
"I'd keep you here anyway."
"Kidnapper."
"Protector."
I laugh once, short and bitter. "Funny how those can sound the same."
"I don't want to hurt you, Serina."
"Then stop controlling me."
He doesn't respond right away. His hand flexes slightly, like he's holding himself back.
"I don't know how," he admits finally.
That surprises me more than anything else he's said tonight.
Aiden Hernandez, the man who controls boardrooms, empires, and even enemies with a look just confessed something human.
Vulnerable.
Flawed.
I blink. "That's not a comforting answer."
"It's the truth."
I drain the rest of the drink and set the glass down with a soft clink.
"I hate this," I murmur. "This... pretending. This cage."
"I know."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Because someone out there wants you dead," he says plainly. "And I can't lose control of this situation."
"You don't even know me," I snap, standing. "I'm not part of your world, Aiden. I'm not some pawn or piece in your empire—"
"You're not," he interrupts.
I freeze.
"You're the first thing in a long time that wasn't calculated," he says. "You walked in by accident, but now you're all I can think about."
I swallow hard.
"That's not protection," I whisper. "That's obsession."
He stands too, closing the space between us slowly.
"And yet here you are," he murmurs. "Still here. Still in my shirt. Still shaking… but not running."
My voice falters. "I was running. Until I hit this place."
We're inches apart now. The air feels electric, like a storm is waiting to crash over us.
Aiden reaches out—slowly, deliberately—and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
I flinch.
His hand pauses, then falls away.
"I won't touch you unless you want me to," he says.
And the way he says it… It isn't just respect.
It's a restraint.
Because he wants to.
I can see it.
I turn away again, pacing to the window.
"I don't know who I am in this story," I say. "Victim? Liar? Bait?"
He stands behind me, not too close.
"You're none of those."
"Then who am I?"
"You're the woman who walked into the wrong room," he says. "And now the whole world has to answer for it."
My breath catches.
And for the first time… I don't feel small in his shadow.
I feel like the storm he's trying to keep contained.
And I'm not sure how much longer his walls can hold me.
—-
The silence between us stretches, filled only by the city breathing through the windows. I wrap my arms around myself. Not from cold. From too much heat but from him standing so close, from everything unsaid between us.
"I need air" I murmur.
Aiden doesn't stop me as I slip past him and open the terrace door. The wind rushes in, cool against my skin, sweeping away the stuffy stillness inside.
I step outside.
The city glows beneath us, humming, alive and so far away. Up here, I feel suspended. Untouchable. But not safe.
Never safe.
The door slides again, and I know he's followed.
He stays by the door at first, leaning against the frame, watching me like I'm something he still hasn't decided what to do with.
"You ever wonder," I say, not turning around, "what your life would've looked like if one moment didn't happen?"
"All the time," he replies.
I glance over my shoulder. He's not smiling. Not even close.
"I had a scholarship," I say, surprising even myself. "Art school. New York. I was supposed to leave. Start over. But…"
"But someone stopped you."
I nod. "He didn't hit me at first. Just made me smaller. Quieter. Until I couldn't recognize my own voice."
Aiden's gaze sharpens. His arms cross, but his hands clench.
"People don't talk about that part," I add. "The slow kind of damage. The kind that doesn't leave bruises, just…silence."
He's silent now, too.
Not cold. Not indifferent.
Just listening.
And that, somehow, is worse. Because I don't know what to do with a man like him when he stops being the monster and starts becoming human.
"I got out," I finish. "Eventually. But it changed me."
He finally walks toward me. Slowly.
"I see you," he says quietly.
I frown. "What?"
"I see you. The way you hold your breath when someone gets too close. The way you memorize exists in every room. The way you flinch when anyone raises their voice, even me."
I turn away.
"I don't want your pity."
"You don't have it," he says. "You have my respect."
The words drop between us, heavy.
Real.
I grip the railing, knuckles white. "You're not who I thought you'd be."
"And who did you think I was?"
"Arrogant. Dangerous. Controlling."
He huffs a dry laugh. "You're not wrong."
"But you're also…" I pause. "Something else. And that's what makes you terrifying."
He steps closer. "What if I told you the same thing?"
I glance at him. "You think I'm terrifying?"
"I think," he says, "you walked into my life by accident. And now I'm not sure what I was doing before you."
That makes my stomach flip.
It's too much.
Too fast.
Too close.
I step back. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not ready for the truth behind them."
He nods slowly. "Fair."
We stand in silence again, and for a second, I wonder if he's going to kiss me.
Part of me wants him to.
The other part is still trying to breathe.
Instead, he turns away first.
"We have to be seen together tonight," he says.
I blink. "What?"
"There's an event. Gala downtown. If anyone's watching, they'll be looking for you now. If you're not with me, they'll assume I've hidden you."
"And?"
"And they'll come looking."
I swallow. "You want me to play dress-up and smile for cameras while someone out there wants me dead?"
His eyes meet mine. "No. I want you by my side where I can keep you alive."
I hesitate. "And if I say no?"
"You won't," he says.
"Why?"
He leans in, his voice lower now, almost tender. "Because somewhere in you, you know I'm the only reason you're still breathing."
I hate how true that sounds.
And how much it doesn't scare me anymore.
"Fine," I whisper. "One night. One event."
He steps back. "There's a dress in the closet. It'll fit."
"Of course it will," I mutter.
He gives me a look I can't read. "I'll have the car ready in an hour."
As he walks back inside, I stay on the balcony a moment longer.
Trying to piece myself together.
Trying to figure out what scares me more:
That he's keeping me in this life...
Or that part of me doesn't want to leave it.
—-
The car ride is silent.
He sits beside me, composed, unreadable. In the reflection of the tinted window, I watch his jaw tighten every time his phone buzzes. He never checks it. That, more than anything, tells me this night is more calculated than I realized.
The dress fits perfectly. Of course it does. Midnight silk, cut to fit like a second skin. I hated it at first, until I saw the look in Aiden's eyes.
He didn't say a word when I stepped out.
But he looked like he wanted to.
***
The gala is held in a rooftop ballroom draped in glass and gold. We walk in together, hand in hand, our steps measured. Cameras flash. I force a smile.
We're surrounded instantly. Executives. Socialites. Politicians. They greet him like royalty. They look at me like an accessory they can't quite identify.
He introduces me only once.
"This is Serina," he says, voice calm. "She's with me."
No title. No lie.
And yet somehow… It's the most dangerous thing he could've said.
I feel eyes on me constantly. Whispers behind champagne glasses. A woman brushes past me and smiles with venom in her eyes.
"She won't last," she says softly, loud enough for only me to hear.
"She already has," Aiden replies behind me.
The woman pales, then disappears.
He leans in. "Are you okay?"
"I don't belong here."
"You belong wherever I say you do."
I shoot him a look. "Romantic."
He smirks. "Didn't say I was."
A string quartet plays in the background. People dance. Drink. Lie with expensive words.
I feel dizzy. Not from fear.
From this game.
From him.
We pause near the edge of the ballroom. The city stretches below us again, glittering and oblivious.
"You're doing well," he says. "Better than expected."
"Was that a compliment?"
He tilts his head. "Do you want it to be?"
I want to respond; something sharp, something that proves I'm not folding into him but suddenly he stiffens.
His eyes fix on something behind me.
I turn.
A man stands at the bar. Clean-cut. Too calm. Holding a glass he never sips.
He's watching us.
"Who is that?" I ask under my breath.
"Trouble," Aiden says quietly. "He shouldn't be here."
I feel his hand at the small of my back, guiding me away.
"Keep smiling," he murmurs. "Whatever happens, don't react."
We pass the man, and he raises his glass to us, to me, specifically. His smile is thin. Knowingly.
I don't smile back.
But I don't stop either.
Only when we're behind a pillar does Aiden finally speak.
"Your face is already in their hands. That man works for someone who's been trying to break into my circle for years."
"Why is he looking at me like that?"
"Because he wants to know what you are to me."
"What am I?"
Aiden's eyes darken. "I don't know yet."
I blink.
He leans in, his voice a low, dangerous promise.
"But I'm going to find out."
***
We leave the gala two hours later.
The ride back is darker than the ride there. Neither of us speaks. The silence is no longer tense, it's charged.
He walks me to my room.
Doesn't follow.
Until I pause in the doorway.
"Do you think they believed it?" I ask.
He doesn't pretend to misunderstand.
"I don't care if they did," he says. "They will."
I nod slowly.
Then, surprising both of us, I reach up and press a kiss to his cheek.
Not for show.
Not for survival.
Something else.
His jaw flexes, his hand brushing my arm like he almost reaches for me.
But doesn't.
"Goodnight, Aiden."
I step inside and close the door.
My pulse is still racing.
I lean against the door, trying to steady it.
Because tonight changed something.
In both of us.
And I don't know if I'm safer now...
Or far, far more in danger than I've ever been before.