Aaron kept glancing at me, his jaw tight every time I flinched. The pain in my hand was sharp and relentless, a deep throb that sent shocks through my arm every time I moved it.
"I can't keep watching you in this much pain," he muttered, voice strained.
"You agreed—after the dinner," I said through clenched teeth, trying to hide my trembling fingers.
Before he could argue, two sharply dressed men approached our table—one tall, the other shorter, both with quiet authority. They bowed slightly, and Aaron stood. I followed suit, doing my best to mimic his professionalism despite the burning ache in my hand.
To my surprise, the men spoke perfect English and launched seamlessly into business. I pulled out my phone, fingers hesitating before tapping out the key points of the conversation.
Every keystroke sent lightning bolts of pain shooting up my arm. I winced, shuddered. The taller man paused, brows furrowed.
"Are you all right?" he asked, eyes sharp with concern.
"Yes," I lied with a tight smile. "It's just cold in here."
He nodded slowly, and the meeting carried on. I focused so hard on typing that by the time the men stood to leave, the pain had turned blinding. My vision blurred. Aaron noticed immediately, catching me as I swayed.
"I'm calling a cab," he said quickly, worry written all over his face.
I barely managed to get into the car, cradling my hand.
"I'll meet you there," Aaron said before shutting the door and running back inside.
At the hospital, I sat on a gurney staring at the white walls, blinking away tears. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only pain and exhaustion behind. Aaron burst in carrying my purse like it was a treasure.
"Next time, will you please listen and go to the hospital when I tell you?"
I sank back onto the bed, letting a weary smile tug at my lips. "I don't know, Mr. Simmons. I might just break it a few more times to get babied like this."
He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. My heart fluttered despite the pain. I was dangerously close to falling for this man in a way that terrified me.
He stepped aside to answer a call, and I barely heard the doctor explain that I'd need surgery that night if I wanted to fly home tomorrow. The rest was a blur—anesthesia, murmured voices, Aaron's reassuring hand in mine.
The flight home was a haze of painkillers and whispered laughter. I don't remember what I said, only that Aaron was smiling the entire time like I'd given him the world. I do remember him helping me up the steps of my apartment, carefully tucking me into bed like I was something precious.
Sleep came quickly.
At 3 A.M., I woke up disoriented and aching. Aaron was asleep in my recliner, shirtless, his laptop still open on his lap. I slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the bathroom.
That's when I noticed the kitchen light was on.
"So the CEO thinks he owns this apartment too, huh?" I mumbled under my breath with a tired smile.
But when something crashed in the kitchen, my blood ran cold.
"Aaron?" I whispered, heart pounding.
No response.
I walked in slowly… and froze.
My purse lay open on the floor. My wallet splayed out. My breath caught.
Then—I felt it.
A presence behind me.
A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking my head back.
And just like that, I was face-to-face with a ghost I'd tried to bury.
Josh.
He smelled of stale beer and cigarettes, his eyes wild.
"Hey, Little Laina," he slurred. "Miss me?"
I trembled, heart slamming in my chest.
"If you scream, I'll give you a shiner, you understand?" His grip tightened.
I nodded slowly, too afraid to move.
He let go and grabbed a beer from the counter, chugging it like he owned the place.
"That your boyfriend?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom. "The rich prick you've been screwing?"
I said nothing, barely able to breathe.
"I want what you've been giving him," he growled. "I want a taste of my pageant queen again."
"No," I finally managed. "You can't have that. Not ever again."
His face darkened with rage. He lunged—fists, violence, pain. He dragged me by my hair, threw me to the floor, ripped at my clothes. His hands were everywhere.
I fought, screamed, kicked—and finally landed a knee to his groin.
He howled, staggering.
I bolted for my bedroom, screaming Aaron's name.
Josh was right behind me, belt swinging. I didn't have time to block the next hit—
But it never came.
Aaron appeared like a storm, grabbing the belt mid-swing. His bare chest heaved with rage.
One punch. That's all it took.
Josh fell, blood pouring from his nose.
Aaron stood between us like a wall, shaking with fury. When he reached for me, I winced—but he was gentle. His hands were trembling as he touched the bruises on my arms.
Josh bolted. I ran to the door, but the lock was destroyed. I slid down the wall, sobbing, my body shaking from adrenaline and fear.
Aaron sat beside me, pulled me into his arms, held me close.
"You're safe," he whispered. "I promise. I've got you."
And for the first time in years, I believed it.