Sophia

The oppressive darkness in my room felt suffocating tonight, like a living thing coiling around my throat. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind a chaotic storm I couldn't silence. I felt numb. Cold.

The pact I'd made with Liliana haunted me, its claws sinking deeper into my soul with each passing hour. I had danced with the devil, and now I was tangled in a web of lies and deceit that tightened around my neck like a noose. The very thought of betraying Vince was like a knife twisting in my gut. But the truth about my parents hung over me like a guillotine, and Liliana held the rope. She was my only chance at answers, even if it meant selling what little was left of my soul.

But at what cost?

I rolled over, pulling the blankets around me as if they could shield me from the relentless thoughts clawing at my sanity. Exhaustion weighed heavy on me, yet sleep remained elusive, taunting me. The clock on my nightstand glowed an angry red—2:00 AM.

My thoughts drifted to the first time I met Liliana, her presence as cold and sharp as the blade she kept hidden beneath her words. Her eyes, calculating and unfeeling, had studied me like prey, her smile never reaching those icy depths. Even now, her voice echoed in my mind, a sinister whisper that promised both answers and damnation. She had something I needed, but the price she demanded—Vince's trust, his loyalty—was more than I could bear to pay.

I remembered Vince's kindness the night Robert tried to take me away, the way he had held me as I paniced, his strength a lifeline in the storm. How could I betray that? How could I look him in the eyes, knowing what I had agreed to?

But the need to know the truth about my parents, the reason they had been taken from me, gnawed at my insides, a hunger that wouldn't be sated until I had answers. Liliana had dangled those answers in front of me like bait, and I had taken it, knowing it was poisoned.

Just as I felt myself begin to drift, the screech of tires tore through the silence like a gunshot. My heart leaped into my throat as chaos erupted outside. A flash of dread seized me, and without thinking, I threw off the covers and raced to the window.

My breath hitched as I pulled the curtains aside. The scene below was a war zone. Men spilled out of black SUVs, some barely able to stand, others being dragged by their comrades, all of them drenched in blood. Panic tightened its grip around my chest. The air outside was thick with tension, the metallic scent of blood seeping through the glass.

And then I saw him—Vince. He stood amidst the carnage, barking orders with a ferocity that sent chills down my spine. His voice, usually so controlled, now crackled with a raw edge of desperation. He directed the uninjured men toward the makeshift clinic, his commands sharp, urgent. Something had gone horribly wrong.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I threw open the closet and grabbed the first pair of pajama bottoms I could find, my hands trembling violently. I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt as I stumbled out of the room, my mind racing with fear. I needed to see him. Needed to know he was okay.

The hallway felt like it stretched for miles, the distance between me and the front door endless. By the time I burst outside, I was already breathless, the cold night air doing nothing to soothe the fire of anxiety burning in my chest.

Up close, the scene was even more horrific. Blood stained the pavement, pooling beneath the feet of the injured men being rushed into the clinic. The sight of it twisted my stomach, but I forced myself to keep moving, to keep pushing through the terror threatening to paralyze me.

My gaze locked onto Vince, and my breath caught—a deep gash marred his cheek, blood seeping through the cut like a crimson river. A chill of dread coiled around my heart, squeezing tight.

"Vince!" I gasped, my voice cracking under the weight of fear. I rushed to him, my hand clutching his arm with a desperation that bordered on panic. At first, he didn't seem to notice, his attention riveted to the chaos unfolding around us. But when he finally turned, his eyes found mine—dark, haunted, and shadowed by an exhaustion that seemed to reach his very soul.

"Go inside, Sophia," he ordered, his voice a rough growl, but the authority in his tone was hollow, frayed at the edges.

"No," I shot back, the word sharp, more forceful than I intended. "You're hurt, Vince. Let me help."

"I'm fine," he snapped, but the strain in his voice betrayed the lie. His shoulders were stiff, tension radiating off him in waves, and the tight set of his jaw spoke of the pain he was trying to mask.

Ignoring his protests, I tugged him toward the mansion, my grip fierce, unyielding. "We need to clean that wound before it gets worse."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between the battlefield behind him and the silent plea in my eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse, but then he relented, allowing me to guide him inside.

The silence between us was heavy, thick with unspoken fears and the lingering echoes of violence. I led him to the nearest bathroom, flicking on the harsh light with trembling fingers. Vince sank onto the closed toilet seat, his movements slow, the weight of the night pressing down on him like a leaden shroud.

I rummaged through the medicine cabinet, my hands shaking so badly that I nearly dropped the antiseptic. The events of the night crashed over me—Vince was hurt, his men were hurt, and whatever had happened out there had been a nightmare made flesh. But all I could focus on was him, the man before me, so strong and yet so painfully vulnerable in this moment.

Kneeling before him, I dabbed at the gash on his cheek with a damp cloth. He hissed in pain, his jaw tightening like a vice, and I whispered a soft apology, my breath fanning over the wound in a feeble attempt to soothe him. His eyes were closed, his expression a mask of pain and exhaustion, but he didn't pull away.

"It's just a scratch," he muttered, his voice a gravelly whisper, though the weariness in his tone made it clear that the night had taken more from him than he was willing to admit.

"Let me be the judge of that," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay calm. I finished cleaning the wound, my fingers brushing against his skin as I carefully applied a bandage.

When I finally looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Vince's eyes were locked on mine, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. The air between us was charged, electric, pulsing with an unspoken tension that made my pulse race.

"Sophia..." Vince's voice was low, roughened by exhaustion and something else, something raw and unfiltered. The way he said my name sent a bolt of electricity through me, igniting a fire in my chest.

For a heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just us—two souls battered and bruised by the darkness, clinging to each other in a moment that felt impossibly fragile. Neither of us moved, yet somehow, the space between us vanished, our faces inches apart.

My heart thundered in my chest, every fibre of my being drawn to the man before me, his dark eyes swirling with emotions he kept locked away. His gaze flickered, torn between desire and restraint, and for a moment, I saw something tender in his eyes, something that unravelled the last of my defences.

"Thank you," he breathed, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. His hand came up slowly, hesitating for the briefest of moments before his fingers brushed my cheek. The touch was light, tentative, as if he feared that I might break under his touch.

And then, with a gentleness that took my breath away, Vince leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me, my eyes fluttering closed as I melted into the tenderness of the moment. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes—of gratitude, of unspoken feelings, of a connection we couldn't yet name.

I couldn't speak, could barely breathe as his hand lingered on my cheek, the warmth of his skin searing into mine. My thoughts drifted to his lips, the small distance between us, so easy to close. I didn't know what this was, what it meant, but in that moment, I didn't care. All I knew was that Vince was here, alive, and that was enough.

But just as the moment began to take root, it shattered. Vince's eyes hardened, resolve flooding back into his gaze, and he pulled back, the tension between us snapping like a taut wire. The guarded mask slipped back into place, burying the tenderness under layers of indifference.

"Get some rest," he murmured, his voice distant, the vulnerability gone as quickly as it had appeared. He rose from the seat, the brief connection between us fading into the shadows as the weight of the night settled back onto his shoulders.

I nodded, my throat tight, the emptiness that followed his retreat almost suffocating. He paused at the door, glancing back with a look that was both regretful and something darker, something I couldn't quite name.

"Thank you," he repeated, the words heavy with unspoken meaning, before he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving me alone in the too-bright bathroom with the echo of his touch lingering on my skin.

I sat there for what felt like an eternity, my heart still pounding, my mind spinning with a thousand emotions I couldn't begin to unravel. Whatever had just passed between us was real, undeniable, and terrifying.

I finally stood, switching off the light and slipping back into the silence of the mansion. The house was still, the chaos outside reduced to a distant memory, but I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Not between Vince and me. Not within myself.

Because in that fleeting moment, I had seen something in Vince that I couldn't unsee—something raw, something real. And now that I had, there was no turning back.