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.

The ceiling was pale.

Blurry at first, then clearer as my eyes slowly opened. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly above me, sterile and cold. It didn’t take long for the pain to return. A sharp ache in my arm. Dull, throbbing, but alive.

My arm was bandaged, tight and stiff. The bullet hadn’t gone too deep, they said. Just a graze. Lucky.

If only I felt lucky. I turned my head slowly. Ivy sat beside me, her eyes wide and glassy with guilt. Her hair was perfect, lips tinted pink, and yet her hands trembled slightly as she reached for me.

“Freya… are you okay?” Her voice was soft, as if afraid I’d break if she spoke too loud. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how it started. They’re still investigating what happened at the bar. But you… you got hurt.”

I didn’t respond.

“Freya,” she whispered, “please… I want to take care of you. Don’t ignore me. You’re my precious sister.”

I shifted my gaze away from her. My throat was dry, cracked from disuse, but the words came out steady. “Leave me.”

Her face fell. “But… I just want to help—”

The door creaked open, and our father stepped in. “Freya,” he said with quiet frustration, “why are you being so difficult with your sister? She’s only trying to help.”

I looked at him—cold, tired. “If she really wants to help me,” I said, voice flat, “then she should leave. I don’t want to see her again.”

I shoved Ivy’s hand away. She gasped softly, visibly shaken, but I didn’t care anymore.

Then I saw him. Jaxon stood by the door.

His jaw clenched as if trying to speak but failing. I didn’t wait.

“I don’t want to see you either,” I said sharply. “You’re fired.”

His eyes widened. “No. Don’t—please, don’t fire me.”

He stepped forward, his voice rising. “Miss Whitmore… Freya, I’m sorry. I know I failed. I—I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t there. But I’ll do anything. Just don’t fire me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” I asked bitterly.

“Of course, to protect you.”

I laughed but there was no humor in my eyes. Still, I said, “Fine. You can stay.”

His head lifted, eyes hopeful for a second.

“But,” I added, “you’ll be punished for failing me.”

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I didn’t waste time.

Everything was prepared. The private room I chose was quiet, the curtains drawn tightly against the world. A cold, clean space without distractions—perfect for what needed to happen.

Jaxon entered exactly when I told him to. No emotion in his eyes, no excuses on his lips. He removed his jacket slowly and folded it with precision, then stood still in the center of the room, as if waiting for judgment.

But I didn’t lift a whip. Instead, I gave a small nod to the two men stationed at the side of the room—my father’s men, now mine.

“Begin.”

Jaxon didn’t flinch.

The first punch landed across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The second followed to his gut. He grunted, breath escaping his lungs in one sharp exhale, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He took each hit, like he believed he deserved it.

And maybe he did.

He betrayed me in silence.

In secrets.

And worst of all—he made me believe I mattered.

The punches kept coming. His knees buckled under one sharp blow, and I left the room without another word.

I went to the pool terrace to clear my head. I sat by the edge, legs dangling over the side when Ivy came.

“I heard what you did,” she said, standing beside me. “That punishment… it wasn’t just cruel—it was my fault. He only got hurt because he was protecting me.”

I said nothing.

“I should be the one who gets punished,” she added dramatically, stepping closer to the edge. “If you're angry, then hurt me instead—”

I stood and turned away. “I have no interest in you. You’re not worth it.”

She reached out again. “Freya, I just want us to be sisters—”

“I said no,” I snapped, walking past her.

But then—I heard the slip. Her foot caught on the wet edge. Her arms flailed.

And then—a splash.

“Help!” she screamed. “I can’t swim—please! Help me!”

I turned slowly. She was thrashing, her head barely staying above water, panic splashed across her face.

And before anyone else could react—

Jaxon ran. Bleeding. Limping. Bruised.

He didn’t even hesitate. He threw himself into the pool, arms slicing through the water. In seconds, he reached her, pulling her to him as she clung to him, coughing and crying.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here… no one will hurt you again.”