Kael woke up to warmth.
Not the suffocating heat of alcohol lingering in his veins, not the dull ache pounding behind his temples—but a gentle, grounding warmth pressed against his forehead.
His brows furrowed.
Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes.
White.
Everything around him was white.
White walls. White curtains. White sheets. The faint hum of machines. And the unmistakable scent of disinfectant hanging in the air.
A hospital.
His gaze shifted—and froze.
Amara.
She stood beside the bed, her expression tired but calm, one hand resting lightly against his forehead as if checking his temperature. Her other hand held the chart at the foot of the bed.
For a moment, Kael forgot how to breathe.
His chest tightened.
His vision blurred—not from pain, but from something dangerously close to relief.
"So this is what dying feels like," he murmured hoarsely. "I hope I don't wake up from this dream."
Amara's hand stilled.
Then she frowned sharply and pulled her hand back.
"Don't say things like that," she scolded. "You scared everyone."
That voice.
Firm. Real.
Not imagined.
Kael's eyes widened.
The fog in his head cleared in an instant.
"You're… real?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," Amara replied flatly. "Unfortunately."
Hope exploded in his chest.
Kael pushed himself upright too quickly, ignoring the dizziness that followed. He reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip urgent, desperate.
"I knew it," he said breathlessly. "I knew you still loved me."
Amara stiffened.
Her eyes flicked down to where his fingers were wrapped around hers.
Then—without hesitation—she pulled her hand away.
"No," she said.
One word.
Sharp.
Final.
Kael stared at her, stunned.
"What…?" He laughed weakly. "Don't joke like that."
"I'm not joking."
"But you're here," he insisted, his voice rising. "If you didn't love me, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't care."
Amara didn't answer immediately.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
And for the first time, Kael noticed it.
The distance in her eyes.
The absence of warmth he had once taken for granted.
She sighed quietly and pulled a chair closer, sitting down across from him—not beside him.
A line, invisible but firm, drawn between them.
"You don't look like yourself," she said softly. "You look… lost."
Kael swallowed.
"You left," he replied. "Of course I'm lost."
She shook her head.
"No, Kael. You lost yourself long before I left."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she continued.
"I'm here because someone had to be. That's all."
Kael frowned. "Someone… had to?"
She nodded.
"You don't remember last night, do you?"
Flashback — The Night Before
The bar was loud.
Too loud.
Music thumped through the walls as Kael slammed back another glass, his movements unsteady, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled.
"Again," he slurred.
"Kael, that's enough," Liam warned. "You've had too much."
"Don't touch me!" Kael snapped, shrugging them off. "I said—don't touch me!"
He stood abruptly, knocking over a stool.
"Amara," he called out suddenly, voice echoing across the bar. "Amara!"
People turned to stare.
"Where are you?" he demanded, spinning clumsily. "Why won't you answer me?!"
"Kael, sit down," Jake urged. "You're making a scene."
But Kael shoved him away.
"Only Amara can touch me," he shouted. "Only her!"
His friends exchanged panicked glances.
This was bad.
Really bad.
Then—finally—someone made the call.
Amara arrived with Damian.
The moment Kael saw her, everything else vanished.
He staggered toward her, ignoring Damian completely, his eyes locked on her face like she was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"Amara," he whispered—and wrapped his arms around her.
Tightly.
Desperately.
"I knew you'd come," he murmured into her hair.
Before anyone could react, his weight went limp.
He collapsed.
Damian caught him before he hit the floor.
"He passed out," Damian said calmly, though his jaw was tight.
They rushed him to the hospital together.
Back to the Present
Amara finished explaining.
"That's why I'm here," she said quietly. "Your friends didn't know what else to do."
Kael stared at her, disbelief written across his face.
"But Damian isn't here," he argued weakly, looking around. "If he really came, where is he?"
"He went to get food," Amara replied. "He's been here all night."
Kael's jaw clenched.
"So he was here," he muttered.
Still—his heart refused to let go.
"You still care," he insisted. "You admitted it."
"Yes," Amara said honestly. "I care."
Hope surged again.
"But only as a friend," she continued. "As someone who shared my childhood. As the grandson of someone I owe my life to."
Her voice softened—but didn't waver.
"That's all, Kael."
He shook his head slowly.
"No," he said. "That's not true. You wouldn't blush if it were only that."
She froze.
"…What?"
Before she could respond, the door opened.
Damian walked in, holding a plastic bag filled with food.
"Sorry," he said gently. "The line was long—"
He stopped when he saw the tension in the room.
Amara's face flushed instantly.
Her cheeks burned red as she stood up abruptly.
"Oh—Damian," she said too quickly. "You're back."
Kael noticed.
Every detail.
The way her voice softened.
The way her eyes avoided Damian's gaze.
The way her hands fidgeted.
Jealousy burned hot and vicious in his chest.
Damian stepped closer, offering her the bag. "You haven't eaten."
"Thank you," she murmured.
Kael watched it all—his fingers curling into the sheets.
Her heart… isn't beating for me anymore.
But pride—and desperation—refused to let him accept it.
He looked away, eyes darkening.
If kindness isn't enough…
Then I'll use whatever it takes.
As Damian quietly unpacked the food and Amara thanked him again, Kael lay back against the pillows—his expression calm, his thoughts anything but.
Hope, twisted and dangerous, took root.
And Kael Navarro decided then—
He wouldn't let Amara go.
Not this time.
No matter the cost.