The drive back to the hospital was a blur as Xavier kept asking himself questions. “If Alessia was alive, where would she have been?” “Did Gabriele lie to me?” When he finally arrived at the Hospital,he strode down the familiar hallway to her room, but when he pushed the door open, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold for the second time that day. The room was empty. His heart seized in a sharp, painful clutch. Panic, hot and swift, flooded his senses. He spun around and practically ran back toward the main nursing station. “The patient in ward 302,Ari,where is she?” Xavier demanded, his voice tight and his usual control stripped away by fear. The head nurse looked up calmly. “Mr. Xavier, there’s no need for alarm. She was feeling quite restless and needed some fresh air. We moved her to the patients’ garden area. A nurse is going to fetch her shortly.” “No, don’t bother,” Xavier cut her off, already moving toward the elevators. “I’ll go get her myself.” He too

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots, three holes in the center of the target's throat. The heavy steel double doors of the range burst open. Marco, Gabriele’s right-hand man, rushed in, his face pale and sweat beading at his hairline. He didn't wait for the usual permission to speak. "Sir! There is a massive problem!" Gabriele didn't turn. He squeezed the trigger one more time before engaging the safety. Only then did he lower the weapon and look over his shoulder, his expression bored. "You’re interrupting my rhythm, Marco," Gabriele said, his voice smooth and cold. "This had better involve a funeral or a fortune." "The Kanes, sir," Marco panted, clutching a tablet. "Xavier... he went to their estate an hour ago. He burnt the entire house to the ground. The fire department just confirmed,everyone inside is dead. It’s a total loss." Gabriele let out a short, dry scoff. He reached up, adjusting his shooting goggles with a flick of his finger, a mocking smirk dancing on his lips. "The

The car glided to a halt in the driveway of Xavier's sprawling estate. Before the engine had even fully cooled, he was out of the driver’s side and rounding the hood, intent on scooping her up again. As he opened her door and reached in, Ari put a hand up, pressing it against his chest. The solid wall of muscle beneath his shirt made her fingers tingle, reminding her instantly of the overwhelming sensory overload she’d felt in the hospital garage. "I’d rather walk," she said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. Xavier frowned, his hands hovering. "Ari, you were just discharged. There is no need to be a martyr." "It’s not about being a martyr," she lied smoothly, shifting her legs out of the car. "I need to get the blood flowing. How else am I supposed to heal faster if I don't use my muscles?" He looked ready to argue, his mouth opening to undoubtedly cite some medical fact he’d probably bullied a doctor into telling him, but he stopped. He sighed, relenting. "Fine. But I am not

Xavier stood in the center of the room, the blow dryer still clutched in his hand. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He felt flushed, a localized heat radiating from the palms that had just been buried in her hair. He lunged for the thermostat, cranking the AC down until the vents began to hiss with sub-zero air. He waited, staring at the digital display, but the chill did nothing to cool the fire under his skin. "Get it together," he hissed to the empty room. He stripped off his shirt, throwing it blindly toward a chair, and retreated into his bathroom. He turned the shower dial to the far right, stepping under the spray before the water had even transitioned from lukewarm to freezing. The icy deluge hit his shoulders, shocking his system, forcing him to breathe in sharp, jagged gasps. He stayed there for a long time, eyes closed, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of her soft hair and the way she had looked at him through the mirror. Finally, the shivering took ov

The bathroom mirror was a wall of gray steam, but Ari didn’t need to see her reflection to know she looked like a wreck. She stood under the spray for what felt like hours, the water as hot as she could stand it, scrubbing her skin with a loofah until it turned a raw, angry pink—as if she could peel off the memory of the last hour. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the ghost of his hands on her waist. The memory of her own moans—so eager, so melodic—echoed in her ears like a taunt. She had spent weeks telling herself she would be the one in control. She was going to make Xavier sweat. She was going to be the prize he had to work for, the enigma he couldn’t quite solve. And instead, she thought, leaning her forehead against the cold, unyielding tiles, she was practically begging for it. The transition from high-stakes romantic tension to the messy, clinical reality of a period stain was a whiplash she wasn't sure she’d ever recover from. She felt loose,unmoored, and utterly str