The car moved again, quietly this time. Neither of them spoke. Not when the engine started. Not when the streetlights slipped past the windows like silent witnesses. Not even when the city slowly began to thin out, buildings giving way to long, empty stretches of road.
For a while, the silence felt heavy—dense enough to press against Alina's chest. Then, softly, she said, "Stop… at the convenience store."
Kai glanced at her once. Just once. He didn't question her, nor did he argue. He slowed the car and turned, stopping in front of a small, brightly lit store that stood alone on the opposite side of the road—the wrong direction from home. The sign buzzed faintly above the door, fluorescent light spilling onto the pavement.
Alina unbuckled her seatbelt, stepped out of the car and went inside. Through the glass, Kai could see her moving between the aisles, her silhouette framed by harsh white light. She picked up something, then something else, paused, put one thing back, took another.
When she came out, her hands were empty. Or so it seemed. She slipped back into the passenger seat, adjusting her clutch slightly as if tucking something away inside it. The door closed with a soft thud.
Kai started driving again. Still, neither of them spoke. The road stretched ahead, dark and open. The speed crept up to eighty, then ninety. The engine hummed lower, more aggressive. Kai's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched beneath his skin.
Alina noticed everything. She noticed how his shoulders were tense, pulled tight like a bowstring. She noticed the way his breathing was uneven—controlled, but barely. She noticed the red on his knuckles, dried blood cracking at the skin.
The speedometer touched a hundred. Still, she said nothing. She didn't ask where they were going. She didn't tell him to slow down. She didn't protest. She just watched him. Watched the anger move through him like a storm he refused to release.
Then the road rose slightly—a speed breaker. Kai eased his foot off the accelerator and reached for the gear. That was when she did it. Alina lifted her hand and placed it gently over his. Her fingers were warm. The contact was barely there, but it was enough for Kai to get frozen, not visibly or dramatically, but something inside him stopped.
He didn't look at her. He didn't need to. He understood immediately that she wasn't stopping him. She was asking him to slow down without saying a word.
His breath left him slowly. He eased the gear down. The car slowed to seventy, then sixty. The tension in his shoulders loosened, just a fraction. Alina didn't move her hand until the speed was safe again. Then she pulled back quietly, resting her hands in her lap as if nothing had happened.
After a while, the car slowed again and came to a stop. They were on a bridge. The river below reflected the scattered lights of the city, rippling gold and silver under the dark sky. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of water and metal.
Kai turned off the engine. He got out of the car. Without a word, he shrugged off his blazer and threw it aside, letting it land near the railing. He stepped forward and gripped the cold metal rod of the bridge with both hands. His head was lowered. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath.
Alina watched him for a moment. Then she opened her door and stepped out. The night wrapped around her instantly, cool against her skin. She walked toward him, her eyes catching the discarded blazer. She picked it up, folded it over her arm, and continued forward. Kai didn't turn. His knuckles were still pressed against the railing: raw, bloodied, trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was fading.
Alina stopped beside him slowly and gently, and she reached for his hands. Kai stiffened. He turned his head just enough to look at her, brows drawn together.
She didn't speak. She simply took his hands in hers. Her touch was soft and careful, as if he were something fragile instead of dangerous. She turned his hands over, examining the damage. The sight made her chest tighten. Blood. Swollen skin. Split knuckles. Her lips pressed together.
She reached into her clutch and pulled out what she had bought: cotton pads and a small bottle of antiseptic. Kai watched her, stunned. She soaked the cotton and began wiping his knuckles gently. He flinched instinctively. She paused immediately.
"Sorry," she whispered. The word was barely audible, then resumed, even slower now. The way she held his hands—it wasn't possessive or demanding. It was tender. Protective. Like she was holding something precious.
Kai didn't pull away. He didn't want to. He stood still, letting her do whatever she wanted. As she cleaned his wounds, her expression changed, brows knitting, eyes darkening with something close to pain. Each small wince of his felt like it echoed in her own body.
Kai noticed everything. The way her breathing grew shallow whenever she saw blood. The way her thumb brushed his skin was unconsciously soothing. The way her lips parted slightly when she focused.
For the first time that night, his anger loosened its grip. Replaced by something far more dangerous—care. She applied the medicine carefully, blowing softly on his knuckles as if she could ease the sting. Her breath was warm against his skin, and Kai's heart stuttered painfully in his chest.
He had never let anyone do this. Never stood still for someone else's concern. Never allowed gentleness after violence. Yet here he was. And he didn't want it to end. When she finished, she wrapped the cotton away and held his hands for a moment longer. Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles lightly.
She said quietly, "See what you have done to yourself"
"I don't care what happens to me. I don't care how hurt I am. Anyone who thinks they can put their hands on you like that—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening again.
Alina stared at him. This wasn't controlled for power. This wasn't ego. This was a man who had already decided, long ago, that she was his line. And no one crossed it.
"You make me reckless," Kai admitted quietly, eyes fixed on the river. "And I hate that." She felt something shift inside her chest.
"But I hate even more the idea of someone else thinking they have the right to you," he continued.
His eyes softened just slightly, but the intensity remained. "I don't apologise for what I did," he said. "I'd do it again."
Silence wrapped around them. Alina realised that this wasn't just possession. This was a claim not spoken, not demanded, but proven. And that terrified her… almost as much as it thrilled her.