When I woke up, my body felt heavy.

My head throbbed slightly, and my stomach churned with emptiness. I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I could still feel the weight of that last conversation lingering in my chest like a bruise.

I dragged myself up from the bed slowly, the morning light pouring in through the curtains in soft slants. My throat felt dry, but worse than that—my heart ached.

Not because I was hungry.

But because of what I heard through the hallway.

“I’m really okay now,” Ivy’s voice floated gently from the other room, followed by a soft laugh. “Thank you for staying with me last night.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Jaxon replied, his voice low and calm. “You were burning up. I couldn’t leave.”

“You’re always here for me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My fingers clenched the edge of the mattress.

So he stayed in her room all night.

Even after I stood there—hungry, humiliated—he chose her. Again.

I reminded myself of the original deal. Jaxon had been hired to protect me. Not Ivy. Me.

That was the agreement.

At first, he did exactly that. He was everywhere I went—quiet, dependable, strong. For a while, I had let myself believe that maybe he cared.

But now? Now the illusion was gone.

I fixed my face in the mirror—no tears, no cracks. Only stillness. Then I changed and stepped out of my room.

Jaxon was standing by the hallway, waiting. As soon as he saw me, he asked, “Did you eat the food I left in your room?”

I didn’t even blink. “No. I threw it away.”

He frowned. “Why are you being dramatic?”

I arched a brow.

“Is this about last night?” he added. “Because if it is—look, I was off duty. I have the right to do what I want. And your sister was sick. You were just hungry. You couldn’t even cook something yourself?”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit.

But I didn’t argue.

I didn’t defend myself.

I just stared at him for a long, painful second—long enough for the silence between us to become unbearable.

Then I turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

I paused but didn’t look back. “Why are you asking? When you don’t care at all.”

And I walked out the front door.

The wind was crisp. The air a little cool against my skin. I started jogging—not to exercise, not to stay fit, but to escape. To run away from thoughts that clung to me like thorns.

Just as I found a rhythm, I heard a voice behind me.

“Freya!”

Ivy.

I didn’t stop.

“Can we jog together?” she asked, jogging up beside me with that effortless cheer in her tone.

I didn’t reply.

She fell into step beside me anyway.

Then, not even a minute later, she slowed and turned to Jaxon, who had caught up behind her. “Why does she hate me?” she pouted. “I just want to be close with her. She’s my sister…”

I heard Jaxon’s voice behind me. “Don’t worry about it. If she doesn’t like you, I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

That was enough.

I sped up, leaving them behind—pretending like I hadn’t heard a thing.

But they followed.

We looped through the back roads until we ended up near the unfinished construction on the estate—an expansion my father had ordered months ago.

The area was quiet, surrounded by skeletons of beams and scattered materials. I slowed to a walk, letting my thoughts spiral.

I didn’t notice the loose debris on the ground until it was too late. I felt the sharp shift of weight beneath my foot—the metal plank tilting.

“Freya!” someone shouted.

But it was already falling. My foot caught against something—metal, unstable. The world tilted.

The sharp screech of steel against stone pierced the air as the plank gave way beneath me. My balance faltered. For a split second, time seemed to stretch, pulling everything into a slow, surreal blur.

I felt the shift in my body—the helpless sway as gravity took hold. Pain shot through me as the edge of the debris slammed against my side, dragging me down with it. The sky spun. The air rushed out of my lungs.

And just before the darkness swallowed everything, my eyes caught movement.

Jaxon.

He was running.

But not toward me.

Not to catch me.

Not to shield me.

He was running to her.

To Ivy.

His arms wrapped around her as they fell behind a beam, his body shielding hers from the spray of rubble that followed. His face—etched with panic—was turned only to her.

Even as I fell.

Even as the world shattered beneath me.

I was the one bleeding, broken, forgotten.

And he had already chosen who mattered.

Pain exploded through me—hot and sharp—before the world blinked out.

And then… there was only silence.

Only darkness.

Pain met me first.

My entire body felt like it had been dragged across pavement. My limbs were stiff. My ribs burned when I tried to breathe too deeply. And still, it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most.

“Miss Whitmore,” a soft voice called out.

A nurse stood beside me, clipboard in hand, lips curved into a professional smile. Her eyes darted to the monitor before she looked down at me. “You’re awake. That’s good.”

I swallowed, throat dry. “Where’s… Jaxon?”

She blinked, then nodded. “He left earlier this morning. He hired our team to watch over you. He’s currently attending to Miss Ivy. She sustained some injuries as well during the incident.”

There was a silence.

Then I almost laughed—but there was no humor in it. Just this raw, hollow sound that scraped at my throat.

I was the one who fell. The one who passed out from pain. But she—she was the one he ran to.

And now he had left someone else to take care of me while he sat beside her bed, probably holding her hand and whispering sweet reassurances.

It was ridiculous.

I let my head fall back against the pillow and exhaled slowly through my nose. A part of me wanted to lie still, pretend I cared enough to let this hurt break me.

But I didn’t.

Even with my body screaming in protest, I pushed the covers off and swung my legs over the bed. The nurse rushed forward. “Miss Whitmore, please—”

“I’m fine,” I said, cold and firm. “I don’t need help.”

That was the first lie of the day.

I stepped into the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The corridor was dimly lit, lined with muted green doors and flowers in too-perfect vases.

I didn’t mean to stop.

But I did.

Right outside the room next to mine.

The door was cracked open. Voices spilled into the hallway.

“It’s my fault,” Ivy whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “You got hurt because of me.”

“No,” Jaxon said, his voice too soft. Too gentle. “It’s okay. I’d do it again. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means keeping you safe.”

My nails dug into my palm.

“But what about my sister?” she asked, like it was a line rehearsed. “You’re her personal butler… and also the one to protect her.”

“She’s fine now,” he replied, and I could picture the look on his face—calm, unwavering, loyal. “Freya’s strong. She doesn’t need me the way you do.”

I felt something twist in my chest.

Strong.

That word again.

They all used it when they wanted an excuse not to care. Freya’s strong. She can handle it. She doesn’t cry. She’ll be fine.

But no one ever asked if I wanted to be strong.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden shuffle of movement. I peeked further.

Several men in black suits walked into Ivy’s room, each one carrying a velvet-wrapped gift.

“Who are they?” Ivy asked.

One of them stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Ivy, these are gifts from Young Master Smith. He heard about what happened and wanted to send these to make you smile.”

Ivy’s mouth dropped open in awe. “Wait—what? I don’t even know him personally!”

The man smiled. “But he’s been watching from afar. Admiring you.”

“Do you think I deserve this?” she asked, looking at Jaxon with wide, gleaming eyes.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

“And… do you think he likes me?” she added with a giggle.

Jaxon nodded. “Surely.”

I didn’t need confirmation.

I already knew.

Young Master Smith… was Jaxon. Hiding behind a title, crafting an illusion, so he could shower her with gifts under a different name.

I turned away.

But before I could disappear down the hall, her voice stopped me.

“Oh my gosh—Freya!” Ivy gasped. “Sister, look! Young Master Smith sent all these for me. I’m so lucky, don’t you think?”

I didn’t say a word. I just kept walking.

But Ivy wasn’t done. She caught up to me in the hall, her heels clicking frantically behind me.

“Wait! Are you mad? Is it because you’re jealous?”

I stopped.

Turned.

“I would never be jealous of you,” I said, every word like ice. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

She reached for my arm again and I shoved her away.

Not hard.

But enough.

“Careful!” Jaxon called out as he appeared behind us. He rushed to Ivy’s side. “She’s not well yet. You should apologize.”

Apologize?

I stared at him for a long, hollow second.

And then… I did.

“Sorry,” I said, flatly.

For what—I didn’t even know. But I was tired. Too tired to fight anymore.

I turned and walked away, past the nurses, past the flowers, past the walls painted in colors meant to soothe.

Behind me, I heard him mutter, “Let her go… she’s probably just being dramatic.”

“I’m still worried,” Ivy’s voice chimed in sweetly. “Let’s follow her.”

I got in the car, slammed the door, and drove off.

The bar pulsed with lights and noise. Music thudded through the floor, shaking the walls and my bones with every beat. I drank fast, barely tasting the burn anymore. My throat was raw. My mind fuzzed over.

I just wanted to forget—everything. I danced. Reckless. Numb. My body moved like I wasn’t in it. The crowd closed in around me—strangers pressing too close, sweat in the air, perfume choking every breath.

I didn’t care. Let them touch me. Let the world spin.

Then I saw them. Jaxon and Ivy. They had followed me. He stood back at first, watching. He always watched. But then Ivy reached for him, smiled, and pulled him into the crowd. He didn’t resist. His hand slid to her waist like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

They danced—close. Too close. His lips moved near her ear, saying something soft.

She laughed. I looked away.

Another drink. Something stronger this time. It tasted like fire and regret. It did nothing.

A man slid into the empty space beside me. Slurring. Grinning too wide. His eyes scanned me like I was a prize, and before I could step away, he grabbed my hand and yanked me into another rhythm.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. He took my silence and ran with it. His hands went everywhere. His breath—hot and rancid—brushed my cheek. And then, he kissed me. Hard. Wet. Unwanted.

I shoved him with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He stumbled back, laughed. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”

I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist—tight.

Before I could scream, a fist cut through the space between us.

Crack. The man went down.

Jaxon. But it was too late. Another man charged toward me, shouting something. I backed up, but the crowd boxed me in.

He swung. The glass bottle shattered against my shoulder, sending shards into my skin. Pain ripped through me, sharp and hot. Blood soaked through my dress instantly. I gasped, stumbling back.

Jaxon’s eyes met mine, wide. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitmore.”

I laughed. Cold. Broken. “Sorry? Where were you when I needed you?”

He looked torn. “Ivy needed—”

“Of course she did,” I snapped. “She always needs.”

I clutched my arm, blood dripping down my fingers. “Once I’m married, you can protect her all you want. Forget me. It’s what you’ve been doing all along.”

I turned to leave. And then the chaos swallowed us. I didn’t even know where it came from.

Screams tore through the air. Glass rained down. Gunshots exploded—loud and close. People ran. Tables flipped. A stampede of bodies crashed toward the exits.

And Jaxon? He didn’t come for me. He ran straight to Ivy.

Threw himself over her. Wrapped her up in his arms like she was the only person in the world.

And I—

I just stood there.

Until pain exploded across my upper shoulder. A bullet.

I dropped. Hard. No one saw me fall. No one ran to me.

Then I heard Ivy’s voice, fragile. “Jaxon… you’re her personal butler and also sworn to be loyal to her. You’re supposed to protect her… She’s hurt…”

Jaxon didn’t answer for a moment.

Then—“It’s my fault… Freya… Freya needs help.”

“No… don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” he responded. “Even if it’s a thousand times… I’d always choose to save you first.”

Ivy’s voice cracked. “Why?”

And his answer came soft, steady.

“Because I like—”

The world vanished before I could even hear his answer.