Of course — I'll rewrite a completely new Chapter 3 that fits your story
Elara didn't remember falling asleep, only the slow pull of exhaustion dragging her under. When she opened her eyes, the sky outside the tall windows had shifted from night to a bruised morning gray. Her shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat, but it was bandaged—cleanly, tightly, with the kind of precision you'd expect from someone who'd done it before.
She blinked, confused for a moment, until the events of last night slammed back into her mind like a door in a storm.
The warehouse.
The men chasing her.
The gunshot.
And Vander Hale standing over her like a dark silhouette carved from danger itself.
She sat up too fast. The pain shot through her and she gasped.
"You shouldn't move like that."
Her breath caught. He stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame as though he had been watching her for a while. He wore a dark hoodie this time instead of his usual tailored suits, but nothing about him looked softer. His expression remained unreadable, eyes sharp and cold against the morning light.
"Why am I here?" she asked, voice hoarse.
"You were bleeding out," he said. "I didn't have time to take you to a hospital. They would've tracked you."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "They? You mean the men from last night?"
He didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
Elara shifted slightly. The bed was too large, the room too clean, too… expensive. "This is your home?"
"No."
That surprised her. "Then where—?"
"One of my safe properties," he said. "No one knows about this place unless I want them to."
She stared at him. "Why help me at all? You could've just left me."
His jaw tightened. "I don't leave people to die."
"Is that a rule?" she whispered. "Or guilt?"
His jaw flexed again, and something dark flickered across his eyes. "Don't ask questions you're not ready to hear answers for."
The warning inside the words made her look away.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, stopping at the foot of the bed. "How is your shoulder?"
"It hurts."
"It would hurt more if I hadn't reached you when I did," he said. "The bullet grazed you, but you still lost a lot of blood."
She looked down at her hands, twisting the blanket between her fingers. "I didn't mean to see anything. I wasn't trying to get involved. I just… heard a noise and—"
"And you went toward it," he finished. "That was your mistake."
Her eyes snapped up. "I'm sorry that I tried to help someone."
Vander's expression didn't change, but something softened for barely a second.
"You shouldn't apologize for that," he said quietly. "You should apologize for not running faster."
Her stomach dropped. "Are they still looking for me?"
"Yes."
She froze. "So what am I supposed to do? Hide here forever? I have a life. A job. I can't just disappear—"
"You won't have a life if you leave." His voice was flat, certain. "You're not safe on your own anymore."
"And you think I'm safe with you?" she asked, her voice smaller than she wanted.
Vander moved to the small table against the wall, picked up something, and returned. A folder. Thick. Paper clipped tightly as though it held more weight than ink.
He placed it on her lap.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Your only chance," he said.
The chill in her chest spread. "A contract?"
"A protection agreement," he corrected. "You stay under my watch until I deal with the people hunting you. You'll follow certain rules. You'll be moved between secure locations. And you won't make contact with anyone unless I approve it."
She stared at the folder as though it might explode. "So… basically a cage."
"A cage that keeps you breathing," he said.
Her pulse thumped harder against her ears. "Why go to all this trouble? You don't even know me."
Vander didn't look away this time. His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unsettling.
"You got pulled into something because of me," he said. "I don't get to walk away from that. Not again."
The last two words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.
"Again?" she whispered.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "You're not the first innocent person caught in my crossfire."
She inhaled a shaky breath. "So this is guilt."
"This is responsibility," he corrected. "And whether you like me or not is irrelevant. The people after you won't stop. They can't afford to."
She closed her eyes, letting the truth sink in, painful and suffocating. She didn't want any of this. She wanted to return to her tiny apartment, her quiet life, her camera and her routine. But reality had already shifted. The moment she stepped into that warehouse, her fate had changed.
"I can't sign something like this without thinking," she whispered.
"You don't have time to think," he replied. "They already know your face. They already know your name. It's only a matter of time before they find out where you live."
"So you expect me to trust you?"
"No," he said. "But you can trust my ability to keep you alive."
Her heart thudded painfully. "I don't want to rely on someone like you."
A faint smirk touched his lips—cold, humorless. "And I don't want someone as stubborn as you in my care. But here we are."
She glared at him despite her fear. "You're impossible."
"And you're running out of options."
Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating.
Finally, Vander stepped back, hands in his pockets. "I'll give you an hour. Read it. Understand what it requires. Then make your choice."
Elara stared at the contract, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second.
"And if I say no?" she asked.
Vander didn't look at her when he answered.
"Then I'll take you back to the city," he said quietly. "And I'll hope you survive the night."
Her breath hitched.
He turned toward the door, pausing only for a moment before leaving.
"Elara," he said without looking back, "you didn't cause this. But now you're in it. And I'm the only person who wants you alive for more than one reason."
The door closed behind him.
Leaving her alone with fear…
and a contract that could rewrite her entire life.