SARAH

After-sex haze must have clouded my mind. Well, not everything—because I knew exactly what I was doing when I woke up, still aching for him, and had to taste him all over again.

I didn’t know what was happening to me. I was supposed to be freaking out, making up some dumb excuse, and running far, far away. But no. What was I doing instead?

My gaze drifted to the breakfast he made, the smell alone enough to make my stomach tighten with hunger. Then I looked at him—standing there, shirtless, wearing sweatpants that fit him way too well.

Damn it.

"Well?" I said, snapping him out of whatever thoughts were swirling in his head. He'd been staring at the marks he left on me, and judging by the look on his face, there wasn’t a hint of regret in his bones.

"Well..." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous scratch. "I got caught up in our act."

"Our act?" I arched a brow. Was he seriously trying to say this was my fault?

"So, you're saying this is my fault?" I challenged, tilting my head.

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk but knew better. "I’m saying we were both involved."

I scoffed. "Right. Because I totally pinned you down and forced you to put your mouth all over me?"

His eyes darkened slightly, and I instantly regretted my choice of words. The way he looked at me—like he wouldn’t mind if I did try to pin him down—sent a shiver through me.

"You saying you didn’t like it?" His voice was lower now, teasing.

I refused to let him get the upper hand. "That’s not the point."

He stepped closer, invading my space, and I hated how my body reacted—heart racing, heat pooling in my stomach. His fingers ghosted over the marks on my neck, his touch featherlight, and I swallowed hard.

"I think the point," he murmured, "is that neither of us wanted to stop."

Damn him.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a piece of toast off the plate and taking a bite, pretending like his words didn’t affect me. "Whatever," I mumbled through the mouthful.

He chuckled, leaning against the counter. "That’s what I thought." He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he moved around the counter, grabbing his own plate before settling down next to me.

We ate in silence.

And it felt… good.

No guards watching us. No maids lingering nearby. No mother reminding me of my place. No nagging guilt creeping in, telling me I was doing something wrong every time I ached for him.

It was just us. Like we had gotten the release we needed, and for once, nothing else mattered.

"You want more eggs?" His voice was casual as he slid one from his plate onto mine, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You like eggs, right?"

I love eggs.

"It’s not bad," I shrugged, grabbing it with my fork and placing it into my mouth.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took another bite of his food. "You’re such a liar."

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You literally inhaled that egg like it was the best thing you’ve ever eaten." He leaned back slightly, watching me with that knowing smirk. "Just admit you love them."

I rolled my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "They’re fine."

"Right." He dragged the word out, clearly not convinced.

I focused on my plate, ignoring the way his presence made everything feel too aware. The warmth of him beside me. The ease of our silence. The way he looked at me, like he could see past every wall I tried to put up.

I should’ve felt uneasy. I should’ve been panicking about what this meant.

But I wasn’t.

I exhaled, setting my fork down. "You’re awfully smug for someone who just admitted he lost control," I muttered.

His lips twitched. "I never said I lost control."

"You literally said you got ‘caught up in the moment.’"

"That’s not the same thing," he countered smoothly, finishing the last of his food.

I narrowed my eyes, but before I could argue, he stood, grabbing both our plates. "You want coffee?" he asked over his shoulder as he moved toward the sink.

I hesitated. "Yeah… sure."

Because why not? The moment wasn’t broken yet. And I wasn’t quite ready for it to be.

But then the moment eventually did.

My phone rang from the guest room, pulling me away from the quiet warmth of breakfast. I excused myself and headed inside, searching for it until I spotted it on the bedside table.

Sam.

"Oh shit—Sam, I'm so sorry for not calling—" I started, but the second I heard her sharp, uneven breathing, my words died in my throat.

Something was wrong.

"Sam? Is everything alright? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It’s just… it’s James."

My mind went blank. The peace I had felt just minutes ago drained from my body, replaced by cold, suffocating fear.

"What—what's wrong with James?" My voice rose slightly, and before I could control it, I saw Chris appear in the doorway. His expression was tense, eyes scanning my face. He mouthed, What’s wrong?

I couldn’t answer.

"The doctors are saying he needs to vacate his room," Sam continued, her voice tight. "He hasn’t paid this month’s accommodation fee."

I gripped the phone tighter, my breath hitching. No. No, no, no.

"But—he needs that room, Sam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "They know he does."

"I know," she murmured, and I could hear the exhaustion in her tone. "I’ve been trying to talk to them, but they won’t budge. If we don’t come up with the payment soon, they’re going to make him leave."

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. This can’t be happening.

Chris stepped closer, his brows furrowed. "Sarah?"

I turned away from him, squeezing my eyes shut. My mind was already running through options. How much was left unpaid? Could I move money around? Could I fix this before it was too late?

"How much do we need?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Sam hesitated. "A lot. More than we have right now."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Chris must have heard because the next thing I knew, he was next to me, his hand resting on my lower back. "What’s going on?" he asked again, firmer this time.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Because if I said it out loud, it would make it real.

""How… how did you find out about this? Did the hospital call you?" I asked, my mind racing. It wouldn’t be surprising if they had—after all, Sam was listed as James’s caretaker when I wasn’t around—but I needed to be sure. More than that, I needed to know if James had known about this.

"James actually called me last night," she said.

What?

"He called you?" My stomach twisted. "Not me?"

"Yeah, but I was too drunk to answer," she admitted, sounding guilty. "I thought it was nothing serious, so I called him this morning, and that’s when he told me."

I struggled to process it. James had called her. Not me.

I knew he’d probably say it was because he didn’t want to bother me. That he didn’t want to add to my stress. But this… this was too much to bear.

"Adam and I are heading to the hospital now. Will Chris drop you off?"

"How—"

"I saw him chasing after you outside the club last night," she explained. "I felt too suffocated inside, so I stepped out for air. Then when I got home and didn’t see you, I put two and two together."

Of course she did.

"So… will he?" she pressed.

I turned to Chris, who stood beside me, arms crossed, looking as curious as ever. He had been waiting for me to explain, silently watching me unravel, and I still didn’t know if I could tell him.

"Yeah," I said finally. "He will. I’ll meet you there soon, okay?"

She sighed. "Sure. Just change and get to the hospital."

The call ended, and I exhaled sharply, locking my phone before looking up at Chris.

"Could you help me with something?" My voice cracked slightly, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. But I forced it down, pushed it all back. Not now. Not yet.

Chris’s expression softened immediately. "Sure," he said. "Anything." He didn’t hesitate. His brows were still drawn in concern, his eyes scanning my face like he was trying to piece everything together, but he didn’t push.

"Tell me what you need," he said, voice steady.

I swallowed hard, gripping the phone in my hand. "Could you take me back to apartment? I need to change before I go to the hospital."

"Sure." He nodded. "Let me go and change and then I will drop you there."

My head nodded for me, even though my mind was barely processing.

Chris lingered for a second, watching me carefully, like he was waiting for me to say something else. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice softer this time. "Give me a few minutes."

He turned and left the room, and I let out a shaky breath the moment he was gone. My fingers clenched around my phone as I stared at the wall, willing myself to keep it together.

Not now. Not yet.

I needed to get to the hospital. I needed to see James.

And I needed to figure out how the hell I was going to fix this.

I forced myself to move, shoving my phone into my pocket before heading toward the bed to grab my discarded clothes. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled on my shirt, the fabric feeling too constricting against my skin.

The weight of it all pressed down on me.

James. The hospital bills. The fact that he hadn’t called me first.

I blinked hard, shaking my head. Not now. Focus.

By the time I stepped out of the guestroom, Chris was already waiting near the door, keys in hand. He had changed into jeans and a dark hoodie, his jaw tight, his eyes still scanning me like he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

I didn’t give him the chance to ask.

"Let’s go," I muttered, walking past him.

He followed without a word.

The ride to my apartment was silent. Chris kept glancing at me, but he didn’t push. Maybe he was waiting for me to talk. Maybe he just knew better than to press when I was this close to falling apart.

When we finally pulled up outside my building, I reached for the door handle, but Chris spoke up.

"You want me to come up?" His voice was calm, careful.

I hesitated.

Part of me wanted to say no. I could handle this. I could change and get out of here in five minutes and act like I had it all under control.

But another part of me—the exhausted, overwhelmed part—wanted him there.

Just for a little while.

I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

"...Yeah," I admitted. "If you don’t mind."

Chris nodded once, then shut off the engine. "Let’s go."
Chris followed me inside, his footsteps quiet behind mine as we took the elevator up to my apartment. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—filled with the things I wasn’t saying, the things he was waiting for me to say.

When we reached my door, I fumbled with the keys before pushing it open and stepping inside. Everything was exactly as I’d left it—dim, a little messy, but familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it used to be.

Now, I felt like I was walking through a place that belonged to someone else. Someone who hadn’t just had her entire morning shattered by a phone call.

Chris shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just watched me. I ignored the way his gaze felt like it was peeling back my layers and went straight to my room.

I needed to change. I needed to move.

I pulled open my closet and grabbed the first thing I saw—a simple black top and jeans. My fingers fumbled with the buttons as I changed, my mind still racing.

James. The hospital. The bills.

How much time did we even have?

A frustrated sigh slipped past my lips. I shouldn’t have stayed out last night. I should’ve checked my phone. Maybe then I could’ve done something sooner.

I was yanking my jeans up when a voice cut through my thoughts.

"Sarah."

I turned, startled. I hadn’t realized Chris had moved, but there he was, standing in the doorway of my room, arms still crossed, expression unreadable.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

I swallowed, forcing a nod. "Yeah. I’m fine."

His gaze flickered over me, skeptical. "You sure?"

I huffed a breath, grabbing my phone and shoving it into my pocket. "I don’t really have time to not be, Chris."

He exhaled through his nose, pushing off the doorway. "Alright," he said. "Let’s go to the hospital, then."

I almost stopped breathing for a second. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, a part of me caught off guard. How did he—

"How did you... how did you know I wanted to go there?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.

Chris tilted his head, studying me. "I heard Sam’s voice and something about a hospital," he said simply. "Figured it had to be important."

I swallowed, nodding. He wasn’t wrong. He was just too good at reading me sometimes.

His next words weren’t a question—more of a statement, one filled with quiet understanding. "It’s James, isn’t it?"

I nodded because what else could I do? I didn’t have the strength to argue or to deny it. Not right now. Not when my mind was already racing, trying to piece together a solution to something that felt completely out of my control.

"Yeah," I breathed. "It’s him."

For a second, something flickered across Chris’s face—something softer, something unspoken. But he just nodded and turned toward the door. "Okay. Let’s go."

No hesitation. No prying questions. Just action.

I should’ve been used to it by now—the way he was always willing to help, no matter how messy things got. But it still made my throat tighten a little.

He didn’t say anything as he left the room, and I followed close behind, my steps hurried.

Because right now, I didn’t have time to dwell on what this meant.

I just needed to get to James.

The drive to the hospital felt longer than it should have. Maybe because my thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning, or maybe because Chris didn’t say anything else after we got in the car. He just drove, his grip firm on the steering wheel, his jaw tense like he was trying to hold back whatever thoughts were running through his own head.

I kept my gaze fixed on the passing streets, fingers curled into my lap. My mind ran through every worst-case scenario, each one worse than the last. What if James was being forced out already? What if he had nowhere to go? What if—

I kept my gaze fixed on the passing streets, fingers curled into my lap. My mind ran through every worst-case scenario, each one worse than the last. What if James was being forced out already? What if he had nowhere to go? What if—

A sudden warmth startled me.

I blinked, looking down to find Chris’s hand covering mine, his fingers curling around mine in a firm, steady grip. He gave it a small squeeze—strong, reassuring.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

But I didn’t pull away either.

"Hey," Chris’s voice pulled me from my downward spiral. "We’ll figure it out, alright?"

I turned to look at him. His eyes stayed on the road, but there was something reassuring in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just some empty promise.

I swallowed, nodding. "Yeah."

He didn’t push for more. And I was grateful for that.

When we finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, I didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before unbuckling my seatbelt. Chris barely had time to turn off the engine before I was already opening the door.

"Sarah," he called, but I was already moving.

I needed to see James. Now.

Inside, the hospital smelled like antiseptic and something too clean to be comforting. My heart pounded as I made my way to the front desk, my fingers gripping the counter.

"I’m here for James Wayne." I told the receptionist.

She barely glanced up. "Relation?"

"Sister."

She nodded, clicking away at her keyboard before looking at me properly. "Room 214."

I didn’t wait for anything else. The second the words left her mouth, I turned on my heel and ran, ignoring the sound of her calling after me. I didn’t care if she had more to say, didn’t care if people stared.

All I cared about was getting to James.

A gnawing sense of unease twisted in my gut, a voice in the back of my head whispering that something was wrong. What if they’d already moved him? What if I walked into the wrong room and wasted precious time?

I should’ve asked. Fuck. I should’ve asked.

I slowed only slightly, scanning each door as I passed. My heart pounded, each second stretching unbearably long.

211. 212. 213...

There.

Room 214.

I came to a halt, standing in front of the door. My hand hovered over the handle as I sucked in a deep breath, forcing myself to be prepared—prepared to see him, prepared for whatever condition he was in, prepared to deal with whatever news was waiting for me inside.

Then, without another second of hesitation, I pushed the door open.