"I kept her alive.
That's what they'll say.
But no one will speak about
what I'll have to become to keep her that way."

Nathan's POV

My body moved before my mind did, or maybe my mind never caught up at all.

There was no space between seeing it unfold and touching her. I was already there, already grabbing her before she fell, already ripping the shard out of her bloodied hand.

Fuck. I shouldn't have done that. I know that. I fucking know that, but it was gone now, somewhere on the floor...lost in the graveyard of everything I didn't stop, everything I was too late for.

My hands were on her face, on her neck, on the blood.

Too much blood, too fucking much—

Stop the bleeding first. Think later.

My palm pressed over the wound, sealing it, trying to force it closed like I could shove time back inside her veins, but it spilled between my fingers anyway.

Her lashes fluttered, and her head dropped back, knocking the air out of my fucking lungs.

"No—hey...hey, look at me...Aylin—" My other hand came up, forcing her face back toward me, my fingers slick with her...her blood. Not mine. Hers.

I dragged her upright against me, anchoring her to me, my hand never leaving her neck, adjusting pressure when it slipped, pressing harder when the blood surged and spilled.

Her eyes tried, fuck, they tried to stay with me, half-lidded, heavy, dragging themselves open just enough to find me, like staying with me was the hardest thing they'd ever done.

Maybe it was. Maybe if I had let her go the first time she tried to run, if I hadn't dragged her back into me every time she slipped, we wouldn't be here.

The hazy green wrapped around my throat like a hand, tightening, tightening...crushing the air out of me the exact way it was leaving her. I couldn't breathe...didn't want to. If there was a way to trade it, I would've ripped the oxygen out of my lungs and forced it into hers, split myself open, and poured whatever was left of me into her body.

Anything would be less cruel than this...anything.

I slid my arm under her knees, quickly pulling her up against my chest, holding her tighter when her head lolled back again, her eyelids falling shut, my hand still clamped over her neck as my body moved without permission, without thought, driven by something darker than instinct.

For once, my first instinct wasn't destruction. It was pushing me forward, pushing the panic down, not allowing me to freeze but to act. I had to fucking act. I had to do something.

Blood ran down my wrist, my forearm, and soaked my sleeves.

Glass shattered louder under my steps as I rushed out, biting into my shoes, crunching, breaking further, but I barely felt it. The house blurred around me, walls, doors, everything...

The moment I was outside, Adam froze for half a second when he spotted me. His eyes dropped to Aylin, and something in him snapped into place. He moved fast, faster than I'd ever seen him, already ahead of me, already opening the backseat for me.

I got in, pulling her into my lap, adjusting her against my chest as the door slammed. Adam was already in the driver's seat, the engine roared, and the car lurched forward so fucking hard it threw us back.

My gaze focused on her neck, to the crimson coating my fingers, slipping through them in slow, merciless folds. It felt so fucking wrong, so warm, too...final. It didn't just stain, it clung to my skin, trying to take something from me as it left her, punishing me for failing to keep it in.

Only then did I notice how every muscle in me was locked up so tight...it felt like I was being held together by something external, something that would snap the second I loosened my grip.

My jaw clenched until it hurt, my shoulders rigid, my arm burning from the pressure I hadn't eased for a second. My nerves trembled under my skin, something trying to claw its way out, one breath away from breaking apart completely.

A sound was building somewhere in my chest, trying to climb up my throat, louder than a scream, something worse, something that would rip me open if I gave it space.

So I didn't. I couldn't.

I leaned in, my forehead brushing hers, my breath catching against the faint, fragile rhythm of hers...too light, too slow, could disappear between one second and the next.

My other hand slid from her jaw to her cheek, smearing warmth across her skin, pushing strands of blood-damp hair away from her face. Her skin was too soft, too pale. My favorite pinkish hue was fading, draining out of her.

Her lashes rested peacefully against her cheeks like she was only sleeping and not bleeding out in my arms.

I pressed my lips over her forehead, my eyes pressed shut, "Stay with me," I whispered, but it broke halfway through. "Stay with me, baby...please...just stay with me."

I pressed another feather-like kiss to her temple, "Stay with me, princess," I sucked in a stuttering breath, "Don't do this...don't you fucking do this to me."

My hand never loosened, pressed over the wound she carved into herself, right where her pulse lived. My favorite place. My quiet obsession. The one I brushed my fingers over without thinking, the one I pressed my lips to when she slept, the rhythm I counted when the world got too loud, a proof she was here, that she was mine, that she was alive.

And she had driven the glass straight into it, trying to silence it.

Take it away from me.

My fingers pressed harder, searching beneath the blood, beneath the warmth, beneath the panic, until I felt it.

There.

So faint, stuttering, but there.

A broken rhythm against my palm.

A fragile, defiant beat.

My last proof.

My last thread of hope. I clung to it with all of my might.

I begged it not to stop beating, I'd do anything, fucking anything to keep it. I'd tear apart anything trying to silence it, fate, death, god...anything stupid enough to reach for her, I'll rip it to pieces.

My lips pressed to her warm forehead again, too terrified to let go, my nose buried in her hair, the jasmine I was addicted to now steeped in iron, sweetness strangled by blood. I refused to think past it, refused to let my mind shape any ending that didn't have her breathing.

No.

She was going to be okay. My princess was going to live. There was no other option. I wouldn't let it be.

Without her, my whole world would dim, decay, and rot into something colorless. Without her soft pink, the green I got lost in every time she looked at me, the gold threaded through her hair...there would be nothing left but grey and ash and streaks of something far too dark to name.

We arrived at the hospital, maybe too fast, or maybe time collapsed somewhere between her pulse under my hand and the sound of the engine dying. My fingers kept moving over her skin, uselessly, desperately. I kept kissing her temples, brushing her hair back, holding her together in ways that didn't matter anymore.

I didn't feel the car stop, didn't register the door until Adam tore it open.

He was already moving toward the emergency entrance, calling for help. I stepped out after him, still holding her weak body, keeping her close, keeping her warm and with me.

They came fast, a couple of people closing in around me. I saw hands, felt them near, voices layered over each other as they reached for her, "Gunshot?" someone asked me, I guess.

"No, laceration to her neck, there is an active hemorrhage," my voice cut through the chaos, steady in a way that didn't belong to how I felt, too clinical and detached, "It's likely vascular, and with possible carotid involvement. I kept pressure, but she's hypotensive...breathing low, her pulse weak, and she's losing too much blo...she's—"

"Sir—are you a doctor?"

I didn't answer, didn't look at the woman asking, because if I looked away from that pulse for even a second, it would...stop.

"On three, transfer, careful...keep pressure there—" they said as they slid her from my arms onto the stretcher. I didn't want them to take her away from me.

I didn't let go.

I couldn't.

"Her vitals are dropping, let's move," that same woman said as the bed jolted forward, and I moved with it, keeping the pressure on her neck.

I barely noticed my surroundings...it was too white, too clean, too sterile for the amount of blood soaking into my skin. It felt obscene, a mess of epic proportions.

Machines beeped somewhere ahead, doors swung open, and people moved around me like none of this was real.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe this is just a fucking nightmare, and I'd wake up soon, she'd be in my arms, in my bed. Maybe I didn't leave in the morning, maybe I didn't leave her all alone and allowed this to fucking happen...

"Sir."

A hand touched my arm when I remained unresponsive, "You need to step back. We'll take it from here."

No.

I didn't move, couldn't process the words, didn't understand them. That fragile, stuttering beat beneath my fingers was the only thing tethering her to me. I didn't want them to cut that thread.

"We've got her," the woman said again, her voice more reassuring. "You can let go now."

Let go? How?

"We've got her," someone else said again, closer now as a gloved hand slid over mine, replacing it, taking over.

No...fuck, no.

My grip faltered, and I felt it, the last clear beat against my palm before my fingers slipped, dragged away.

Cold rushed in where she used to be, my hand so empty. For some fucked up reason, it felt like the last time I'd ever touch her.

Their voices blurred, doors opened, then closed, and just like that...she was gone.

My hand stayed suspended in the air for a second too long. Blood trickled from my fingers into the floor, one drop after another, one after the other, the sound so fucking loud, like gunshots hitting me in the chest, one after the other.

My hand fell to my side, my fingers twitched at her absence, her warmth, her softness, and the calming rhythm of her heart.

I took a step back, then another, needing something to keep me upright. My back hit the wall harder than I meant, the impact grounding and not grounding at all, because nothing was where it was supposed to be anymore.

I barely registered Adam's hand on my shoulder, barely heard him call my name, "Nathan," he said, squeezing my shoulder, "Do you want me to call someone?"

My throat moved, swallowing against something lodged there, something that wouldn't go down no matter how hard I forced it. I turned my head slowly to him and lifted my less bloodied hand. He placed the phone in it without asking anything else.

I blinked, my vision rather blurry as I dragged my thumb over the screen, smudging it with blood before I dialed the number and pressed the phone to my ear.

When I heard his voice, the words left me in the same detached low voice, "Can you come here?"

"Nathan?" He asked, slightly taken aback, "Where are you? What's wrong?"

Everything.

I wanted to answer him, but couldn't. My lips refused to move and form coherent words.

My vision blurred further, the edges collapsing inward, swallowing detail, swallowing space. The lights above flickered into streaks. The walls bent. The floor shifted beneath my feet.

My eyelids dropped, too heavy to keep open. Everything too loud and too far at the same time.

The phone nearly slipped from my grip, but Adam caught it, took it from me, and talked on my behalf as I tuned out the rest of the world.

Time passed, each minute and second felt like a decade being taken out of my life as I waited and waited...

My jaw ticked when my eyes dropped down to the red drying on my skin, darkening on my hands and clothes.

I looked up at Adam, who hadn't left my side for some reason, "Call her grandfather, she'd want him to be here."

I didn't wait for his response as I pushed myself off the wall and walked away, in desperate need to get the blood off me. I reached the bathroom, my movements rather robotic as I turned the tap on. The water rushed out, and I shoved my hands under it.

Red bloomed instantly. It bled into the sink, spiraled down the drain in thin, twisting ribbons, something alive refusing to go quietly.

I rubbed.

Again, and again.

Again.

It didn't fully come off.

It smeared and spread. It stuck to me like a fucking death sentence, a verdict. It knew...it knew that I failed her and refused to let me fucking forget it.

I scrubbed harder, nails digging into my own skin, dragging, scraping, like I could tear it off, like I could rip the memory out of my hands if I just pushed enough.

"Come off," I muttered, my voice barely holding it together, "Fucking come off—"

It stayed.

It wasn't just blood anymore. No, it was her hand, glass digging into her palm, that sharp, sickening sound when it broke skin. Her voice. Her last words. Her neck. The shard pressing in. The way it slid. The way she pushed it deep.

My breath hitched as something cracked within me. The memory looped, over and over and over again. Her smile. That broken, misplaced smile.

Fuck, no, no, stop, stop...

Water kept running. Blood kept smearing. Her voice kept echoing.

Stop.

Just fucking stop...

A groan rumbled from my chest, out of my throat, trying to stop this, to hold myself together, but couldn't. I was slipping, barely holding on by a thread as I slammed my hand against the sink.

The impact shot back through my bones, barely scratched the surface, but I needed it. I needed pain that hurt enough to drown her out, so I hit it again, harder.

The mirror rattled above me. My head lifted slowly, eyes dragging up to meet my reflection. I saw nothing but red...on my clothes, on my skin. My jaw clenched tight, and without thinking, my fist drove into it, once, then twice.

A crack split through the glass, it spread, branched, fractured...just like me.

So, I did it again, and again...

My chest heaved, heavy breaths tearing in and out, panting as I slammed into it like I needed to feel something, trying to outrun something I couldn't escape.

I didn't stop, I kept on going, until the mirror collapsed into pieces, until my knuckles split, until my hand was unrecognizable, red layered over red, hers over mine over everything—

The scream built in my chest, clawing its way up, tearing through everything in its path. I wanted it out. I wanted it loud enough to shake the walls, to split the air open, to make something listen to my plea.

I wanted to go back, rip time open, break it...rewrite it.

If I had stayed with her, or if I had walked away, if I hadn't pushed, hadn't pulled, hadn't buried myself so deep inside her head, maybe then she wouldn't be willing to kill herself just to kill me out of her. If...

My body jerked as someone yanked me back by force, my arm wrenched away from the sink, from the broken mirror I hadn't stopped hitting.

"Nathan!"

A hand clamped around the side of my neck, so strong, fingers pressing into muscle, trying to anchor me into my own body...because I was openly shattering at the seams.

My breath stuttered, breaking apart mid-exhale as the world lurched back into place in fragments, white tiles, shattered glass, red smeared across everything.

"Nathan, hey, hey, look at me," the voice cut through my dark thoughts again, the same hand tapped over the side of my neck twice, trying to sober me up.

My eyes blinked open fully, dragging through the blur, and only then did I feel the wetness trickle down my cheek.

Nikolas's brows were drawn tight, deep lines cutting across his forehead, his eyes scanning me, trying to map damage he couldn't see. One hand was locked around my arm, fingers curled like he'd had to pull me off something, the other cupped the side of my neck, keeping me upright.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice softening a bit, confusion mixed with something that resembled worry in his eyes as he watched me, all bloodied and unraveling.

Something inside me lurched violently, and before I could stop it, before I could think, control it, or be myself again, my body moved on some fucked up need and crashed into him. My forehead dropped forward, hitting his shoulder, my breath breaking against him as my hand grabbed onto the back of his shirt, clutching it or else I'd collapse straight through the floor.

His body tensed for a second, like he didn't know what the hell to do with me like this, but he quickly recovered. His hand slid from my neck to the back of it, holding me there, keeping me from falling apart completely.

His other arm came around me, "Hey, Nathan," his voice was calm in a way I wasn't, his hand cradling the back of my head, bunching up in my hair, "Tell me what happened, did someone hurt her? What happened? Tell me, and I will fix this."

I shook my head against him, my eyes pressed shut so hard it burned. The voice in my head had already decided the ending. There was nothing left to fix.

"She won't...die, right?"

His grip tightened instantly, fingers bracing at the back of my neck, not letting me fold in on myself. He edged back just enough to force my head up, to drag my gaze onto him.

"You can't think like that. She is going to be okay, you hear me?" He said, almost too sure, "She will be okay, and she is going to need you, Nathan, so you must get it together, alright?"

I nodded my head weakly, and he nodded back in assurance.

"Come here," His hand slid from my neck to my arm, guiding me back to the sink. The glass I'd shattered crunched under his shoe as he kicked the worst of it aside, clearing just enough space before he turned the water back on.

He let the cold water wash over my bruised fingers, his own carefully moving over the cuts, brushing off the blood. He took a paper towel and soaked it with water before bringing it up, wiping away the blood near my jaw and neck, from how close I've held her on the way here.

I felt like a little kid caught playing in the mud and forced to clean it up.

I brought the back of my hand up to my cheeks, wiping away whatever the hell had slipped out of me. Nikolas's gaze stayed on me, and for the first time since he met me, it seemed like he finally...understood me, in some fucked up way.

When he was done, the blood was gone, no longer sticking to my skin.

His hand came down on my shoulder, and he tapped it before squeezing just enough to pull me out of the spiral I was slipping back into.

"I know how it feels, Nathan, but you can't get wrapped up in what happened." He shook his head. Even when he didn't know every detail, he was kind of right, "You need to focus on what will happen now, on her, that's the important part, you get me?"

I nodded my head, my jaw locking so tight it ached. Focusing on the outcome felt harder than anything because the outcome meant accepting one truth I didn't want to touch.

She wanted me far away from her. She—

No, it's fine, that doesn't matter, the one thing that matters is her health, and I will get rid of anything that threatens her health...including myself.

When I stepped back into the hallway, the world felt louder than necessary. My senses had finally caught up to everything I'd been trying not to feel. Nikolas went outside to get me a spare shirt from his car to change into, fully aware of how I spiraled every time I saw her blood on me.

My gaze spotted Natalie as she stood a few feet away from Adam, her posture slightly tense, talking to him, probably trying to piece together something that couldn't be explained cleanly.

Her gaze flickered to me, and her eyes widened a bit, then she moved fast, coming to my side, her hand reaching for my arm, "Nathan—"

"You said she was getting better, Natalie." I cut through her words, stepping back from her touch.

I was less detached now, having just sobered up, more aware of everything that had unfolded within the past hour.

She stopped just short of touching me, her hand hovering in the air for a second before falling back to her side. "Nathan, listen to me—"

"Is this her getting better? Tell me," My words came out accusing. It wasn't her fault, I knew that, but I was bound to lash out one way or another, "You knew it, didn't you? You knew that she did hurt someone, you knew it, but you refused to say anything."

She nodded her head, "I had a theory only, from what she described, it felt like someone was missing from her memory. Something significant enough that her mind...cut it out entirely."

Her throat bobbed heavily, "I assumed she may have harmed someone close to her, but I couldn't confirm it, Nathan. Confronting it without certainty could've destabilized her further."

"Well, you got your certainty," I muttered in mockery, "She remembered it all on her own, just like you wanted her to, and look at what that did to her."

Her eyelids fell, her face twisting, internally wincing at the meaning behind my words.

"You and Malcolm told me she was getting better, that her episodes were decreasing. I shouldn't have listened to you," I shook my head, "She didn't get better, she was only getting worse, and I couldn't fucking see it."

The truth was, I was already blaming myself, but it needed somewhere to land, and right now, it landed on her.

"It's not like that..."

"It is," I cut in, stepping closer, "Can't you see it? At least before, she didn't have this...this urge to end it, Natalie, she wasn't trying to kill herself!"

My chest rose sharply. "Whatever you've been doing, this goddamn treatment, it's making her worse."

"It is not the treatment—"

"What else then?" I shot out loudly,  my control cracking at the edges. "What else could possibly be pushing her this far?"

"It is you, Nathan, for god's sake, it's you," She shot back, my anger pulling hers up with it. "I wasn't going to say anything but you...you trigger her, Nathan, her feelings for you trigger her."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"What I am saying is that her emotional response to you is dysregulated...you amplify everything in her. Her attachment, her fear, her guilt, her nervous system doesn't process you like a normal stimulus."

Her words rendered me speechless. I blamed myself for her being behind that door, but...was it really all me?

Natalie sucked in a deep breath, "Look, I've noticed it for a while. When you are away, she rarely ever gets an episode, if even at all. Before you came into her life, she used to get like one every couple of months, and they weren't even severe, but after you, it's nearly every day at this point."

In a way...she was right. I've noticed the pattern, too.

"I am not saying you are doing this to her on purpose, Nathan. It's just her feelings for you," She explained, moving closer, her hand brushing my arm to steady me, "you know where the lesion in her head is located, right where her emotions are processed, so every deep emotion she feels spikes that mass, triggers it."

I shook my head, my fingers twitching on the side, "For the love of god, Natalie..." I grated out, refusing every fucking thing about this.

"I am so sorry, Nathan, but it is the truth," She added, her brows pinching in sadness, "being near you destabilizes her system."

With me, she lets go...she told me that before. I used to like that, crave it even, but turns out I'd been blind to the fact that, for someone with her condition, letting go isn't peace, it isn't relief. It is collapse.

I wasn't just what steadied her. I was the rupture that split her open. The pulse that soothed her...and the storm that drowned it the next second. The cure she reached for, and the curse her body couldn't survive.

Natalie's hand came up, brushing my cheek, fingers slipping into my hair on the side, pulling me back into the present, "For now, let's just focus on her getting better, okay? We can deal with the rest later on," She mumbled in a low, reassuring voice, "We'll find a way, I promise."

My lips parted to speak, but I paused when my ears registered heavy footsteps cutting through the hallway. My head turned, my eyes falling on Aylin's grandfather as he walked in, nearly staggering forward like his body was struggling to keep up with the urgency driving it.

His shoulders were tense, drawn tight, his chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes found me, and he halted for a second, his bewildered gaze falling into my clothes.

Something shifted across his face, confusion cracking into something darker, something that didn't have a name yet.

He moved again, straight toward me. I stepped out from beside Natalie without thinking, expecting him to shove me, punch me, pour into me some violence I've deserved...but it didn't come.

He stopped, just short of me. His chest was heaving, his eyes dragging all over my shirt, tracing every darkened spot. The whites of his eyes were streaked red, veins standing out as his gaze snapped back up to my face.

"What happened?" His gaze searched my eyes, wanting to rip the answer out of them. His fingers curled into a fist at his side, "Wha...what happened? Say something. Where is she?"

"She is in surgery, they're operating on her now," I answered.

Panic flooded his eyes, his lips parting to ask more, but I gave him the answer he was seeking, "She remembered her, she remembers Riley."

The words hit him like a physical blow to the stomach.

He stumbled back a step, then another, his breath catching mid-inhale, recognition flooding his face in a way that made it clear he'd seen this before, lived it. The red in his eyes swallowed what little white was left.

"She hurt herself, didn't she?"

I nodded my head, my jaw clenching, my body trying to outrun the weight of it by focusing on movement, on people, on him, on anything that wasn't her lying behind that door. It was my brain operating in survival mode.

His hands came up to his head, fingers dragging through the silver at his temples. His gaze dropped to the floor, eyelids falling shut slowly, shoulders sinking under something heavy, almost like he'd failed her.

I was about to tell him that it was all my fault, maybe it would give his anger somewhere to go...somewhere deserved at least, but more footsteps cut through before I could speak.

I turned around, watching as Layla came into view first, moving too fast, her hand clasped tightly around another...Adrian's, Aylin's father. They entered together, hand in hand, Layla's eyes scanning the space in frantic confusion.

Her gaze landed on her father, and it instantly shattered. Her hand slipped from Adrian's, and she rushed forward, "Dad...where is she? What's wrong? What happened?"

He didn't have time to answer her because Adrian stepped past her, utterly enraged. His hand shot out, grabbing Charles by the collar, yanking him forward with enough force to jolt his entire body. "This is all your fucking fault!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls.

The old man was fully shaken off his axis, so he didn't push back, too caught in his own collapse to fight him.

"If you hadn't interfered in everything—" Adrian went on, shaking him, "if you had let us give her the treatment she needed, she wouldn't be here...she wouldn't be—"

Layla grabbed at his arm, trying to pull him back, but he didn't budge.

Natalie had moved beside me at some point, and I felt Nikolas come to a stop on my other side, watching everything unfold. "What's happening?" he asked me.

I didn't answer. My eyes were locked on Adrian, on the way his shoulders squared, the tension coiling through his body, the way his arm shifted slightly, his fist rising...he was about to hit him.

I moved before the thought fully formed, so fast. My hand shot out, catching his wrist mid-motion, my fingers wrapping tight, stopping him just before impact. Then I shoved him away from the old man, hard enough to make him stumble back.

My sudden interference made him falter, blinking up at me in surprise, his eyes widening in offense.

"At least he was the only one who stood by her side," I said, my voice rough, my gaze cutting between him and Layla, not letting either of them look away. "The only one who took care of her, while you and your wife blamed her for something that was never hers to carry."

My jaw tightened because it was all their fucking fault, "You didn't lose one daughter that day," I said, "You lost both of them."

Layla's eyes squeezed shut, her face folding in on itself, lips trembling as the truth hit where it hurt the most. She didn't argue, didn't deny it, because she knew it was the truth.

Adrian didn't, or maybe he did and just refused to let it sit in.

A low, angry sound tore out of him as he surged forward, the asshole ready to attack me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he snapped, his hand shooting out, fingers curling into the front of my shirt, fisting the fabric and dragging me toward him.

I was ready to crack his skull...would at least give my starving brain something to play with and chew on, but he was ripped away from me in a single, brutal motion.

Nikolas stood in front of me, between us, glaring down at Adrian, "Touch him again," He said in a very cold, controlled voice, "and you'll be joining your daughter on the other side of that door."

Adrian glared back, his body vibrating with rage, but kept his mouth shut, so I didn't spare him another glance. I turned around, looking at Charles, who seemed paler than before, less put-together than his usual strong stance.

I stepped toward him, my hand coming up to the back of his shoulder, gently guiding him away from them. I led him to the chairs on the far corner, and he sank into one, his body having given up pretending it could hold itself together.

His elbows dropped to his knees, and his head fell into his palms.

Adam came to my side and handed me a bottle of water. I gave him an appreciative nod before taking a seat beside the old man. I held the bottle out toward him. "Here, drink this," I said.

He lifted his head slowly, like it weighed too much, his eyes dragging toward the bottle as I pressed it into his hands.

His fingers twitched before they closed around it, tightening just enough to keep it there.

"Do you want me to call you a nurse or something?" I suggested.

He shook his head, straightening his body up. He leaned back into the chair, the back of his head pressing against the wall, his chest rising as he dragged in a breath that didn't quite fill him.

"How did she remember?"

I shook my head, "I have no idea," I said, "She's been remembering a lot of things lately."

He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, "One time, she made me tell her about what happened on that day, and when I did, she crashed out just like this..."

His jaw clenched hard, the plastic bottle in his hands bending under the pressure, cracking faintly as his grip tightened around it.

"Then, when she woke up...she had forgotten it all over again. So after that, I tried to keep her thoughts away from that day, tried to keep it buried somehow."

"It didn't stay buried."

He shook his head with a scoff, "Sure didn't."

"Riley didn't die that day...did she?" I asked.

The old man turned his head toward me. I expected him to lie, to deny it, but he didn't.

He shook his head, "She didn't," he said, "When the ambulance got to the house, they were able to get her heart beating again, but even if just for a very short second, oxygen didn't go to her brain, so she fell into a coma of sorts."

My brows pulled together as I listened. This was the part Layla hadn't given me...the part they buried for years.

"After that, Layla was busy staying at the hospital with Riley, so Aylin stayed with me, and slowly...I started noticing things weren't right, how her memories were getting all jumbled up. She'd remember things, forget others," His brows pulled closer, "till one day I asked her if she wanted to go visit Riley and she asked me, who is Riley..." He explained.

"The thing was, the further Riley stayed away from her, the better she got," He added, "But before that, those last couple of months before the accident...she was getting worse, having an episode almost every day, ending up harming herself or Riley in some way or another."

He shook his head at the bitter memoriers, "Layla and Adrian had no fucking idea how to deal with any of it. They didn't understand it, didn't handle it right...so it just kept getting worse."

"So you kept Riley away from her," I deduced on my own.

He twisted the cap of the bottle slowly and stayed quiet for a long moment before he turned to me and nodded his head, "Riley triggers her, the same way Layla used to trigger my wife."

The same way I trigger Aylin now.

"I saw the pattern," he went on, "I knew what it could turn into...so I did what I had to do."

My fingers tightened into a fist over my thigh at the hidden words in between the lines. I saw it too today, what it could turn into...which meant I'll have to do something about it.

"If Aylin had stayed with me back then, she would've gotten better, but that fucker Adrian wouldn't accept it, and he took her from me," His jaw ticked. "Going back to that house, seeing Riley's room, her pictures, she remembered everything all over again. He even took her to the hospital, and when she saw Riley, she broke down...and just like that, we were back at zero."

He looked at me, and I saw it, years of guilt, layered deep, settled into his bones, staring back through his eyes.

"He took her to that damned institution after, thinking they could fix her, but that place only ever made her worse, so I had to do something."

"What did you do?"

His gaze dropped slowly to the bottle in his hand, his fingers twitching against the plastic, his silence stretching for too long before he broke it.

"I made them believe Riley was dead," He said. "I arranged for it, took her away, placed her in another hospital in another city."

His jaw worked, "She was already not waking up anyway, but at least this way...they let her go."

He inhaled again, his voice dropping lower, "And Riley being gone meant Aylin had a chance."

When I first met the old man, I thought he was a bad man...turns out, he really is, but not in Aylin's story. He was the monster in Riley's story.

Do I blame him? No.

Would I have done the same? Without hesitation.

That's what he and I have in common...we'll always put Aylin first.

"They moved away after that, and Aylin did get better, just like I expected," He added, the words spilling out without me asking, like something inside him had finally cracked open, and he needed the truth to be out.

"But after some time...the guilt started eating at me, it became almost unbearable, watching my daughter like that, so broken over her death, I...I couldn't keep the lie anymore, so I told her."

He rested the water bottle away, its edges cracked already from how hard he pressed, "And of course, she had to tell Adrian too," He added with a scoff. God, he must hate the man so much.

"But Riley hadn't woken up by then...right?" I asked.

He stayed silent for a short while, almost too lost in the memory. He looked at me and shook his head, "No," His throat bobbed, "then after a couple of months, she passed away."

My brows drew together, and I shook my head. "No, she didn't."

His eyebrow lifted, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

"Riley is alive. She didn't die, so why are you lying now after everything you've just admitted?"

"I am not lying," he shot back, offense sharpening his tone, "She died, and Layla never forgave me for any of it, but at least I gave her the chance to see her again before that happened."

My head tilted slightly as I studied him. He wasn't lying, I think, which meant he didn't know.

"Riley didn't die, I am almost too sure, someone has been after Aylin for more than a year, sending her all types of cryptic messages, all leading back to that incident, so it could only be Riley."

The lines on his forehead tightened, disbelief pulling at his features. "That couldn't be...true."

I didn't answer right away. I let the pieces move, rearrange themselves to fit together. Busying my wavering brain with this felt so much better than succumbing to the thought of my beautiful princess behind that door, bleeding still.

I shook my head, like I could dislodge the image, force it out before it rooted too deep, and kept thinking.

It couldn't be Layla. When she told me almost everything this morning, there was genuine grief in her eyes. There was no way she knew Riley was alive, not just that, but fully awake and functional, too.

Which left one person.

"Maybe Adrian took a page from your book," I said slowly, the thought forming fully now, locking into place.

"The man already hates you, sure as hell doesn't trust you. I mean, you took his daughter away from him after all. When he learned that Riley was alive, he saw what you were capable of. The lengths you'd go to for Aylin, so he went just as far." I shrugged, "Maybe he felt like he had to protect Riley from you."

Charles's brows drew together, deeper now, his mind catching up, turning it over, testing it.

"I'm pretty sure he took her from there, faked her death," I continued. "Filed for divorce, because probably he didn't trust Layla with it either...then disappeared for his so-called rehab, a perfect excuse to vanish and stay hidden, to take care of his bedridden daughter."

The old man's eyes widened, realization settling in, "Could that...be true?"

I nodded, "I am pretty sure it is."

Before we could tear the theory apart or stitch it into something real, the operating room doors slid open. My attention snapped there instantly, and everything I had been holding at a distance, every thought, every image, every truth, came rushing back in folds.

Charles was on his feet before me. I followed a second too late, my body lagging, because as long as she was behind those doors, I could lie to myself, pretend she was still breathing the same way, her pulse still beating, but now...

Fuck, I almost staggered backward, almost ran away before the surgeon opened his mouth to speak, but a hand closed over mine, so soft and warm in a foreign way.

I turned, my vision still slightly blurred, and found Natalie beside me. She didn't say anything, but her fingers tightened around mine in reassurance.

The doctor's eyes moved between us, searching, but Charles was the one who stepped forward. "How is she?" He asked.

The doctor nodded calmly, "She is okay, you don't have to worry."

My grip on Natalie's hand tightened without me meaning to, my eyelids dropping shut for a second, my heart nearly skipping a beat, stuttering hard in my chest, like it had just remembered it could still beat too.

Fucking hell...

"The jugular vein was partially severed, so she lost a significant amount of blood, but we were able to control the bleeding and repair the vessel," He explained. "She required transfusions, but the surgery itself was successful."

"She's currently stable, but her situation is still critical, and we'll be monitoring her for any complications. We will have to keep her sedated for a couple of days at least to allow her body to stabilize and reduce stress on the repair."

"But she made it through the most dangerous part." For some reason, his eyes fell on me out of everyone, and he nodded, "You got her here in time."

Beneath the relief, something dark and cruel started to bloom, whispering that the dangerous part wasn't over yet, that it had only just begun.

I didn't save her, just like her grandfather didn't, all those years ago.

We both did the same thing, only kept her alive long enough to break again.

Something prickled at the back of my neck, that all too familiar sense of being watched. I turned my head, looking at the end of the hallway, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Some nurses, a man on his phone, a woman pacing.

The feeling didn't leave me, though. It sharpened. The urge scratched deeper, building under my skin, insistent.

I let go of Natalie's hand, "I'll be back," I said calmly before I turned and moved away, walking down the hallway.

I looked right and left, my gaze slid over people, pretending to be careless on the surface, attentive underneath, reading movements, rhythms, breathing patterns. My instincts worked overtime, falling on a specific figure, heading to the exit.

Hood up over the hair, petite shoulders slightly hunched in control. Steps measured, almost calculated in their slowness, trying not to be noticed. Well, that's the thing, I notice.

She moved through the sliding doors, and I followed. My pace didn't change, but my focus locked in.

The cold air hit me as I stepped outside. I let distance stretch between us on purpose, my steps quieter now, my path shifting slightly to the side, using the edge of the building to cut her off instead of chasing her.

She felt it. I saw it in the way her steps slowed, just slightly. The pause, the little tilt of her head, instinct recognizing instinct.

I slipped right, disappearing behind the corner of the building, blending into the shadow, letting her think she'd lost me.

One second, then two, and she moved again. I cut across the other side of the building, faster now, taking the shorter path, calculating the angle of her steps, the rhythm of her pace, the turn she was about to take before she even made it.

By the time she reached it, I was already there, waiting for her, hidden just beyond the corner.

My hand shot out, my fingers clamping around her arm, yanking her back hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. She tried to push back, to twist away, but I closed the space, drove her backward, my grip tightening as I slammed her into the wall.

I was on her instantly, one hand still pinned at her arm, holding her in place, my body caging hers, cutting off any escape before it even formed.

My other hand came up, gripping the edge of her hoodie and dragging it down.

Big green eyes blinked at me in shock. Her face looked almost innocent, short brown hair framing it, her small frame pressed back against the wall like it should've made her look breakable.

It didn't. That fire in her eye wasn't fear...it was pure hate.

"So we finally meet...Riley, is it?" I said, "Can't say it's been a pleasure."

Her jaw tightened, the muscle ticking sharply. Her gaze dropped to my grip on her arm, her nostrils flaring as she pulled once, testing, before snapping her eyes back to mine.

"Can't say that either," She shot back, a furious little thing I could easily squish, and I gladly would, "Kind of preferred her old boyfriend, you know, he wasn't trouble at least, you on the other hand..."

I leaned closer, trapping her further, "Me, on the other hand, am willing to finish Charles' job and get rid of you before my princess opens her eyes, would love nothing more than to erase you from her head forever."

Her jaw clenched, my words triggering her as she writhed beneath my hold, groaning, trying to kick me and push me away, her knee barely grazing my thigh in her lame attempts.

"I didn't do anything!" She shot out, hot, rageful redness coloring her neck and face, "She is the one who stole my life from me!"

"And you want her to pay for that?" I ground out, my grip tightening without meaning to, fingers digging into her arm through the fabric.

She nodded, "Yes, yes, she should pay, she doesn't get to live normally as if nothing happened, and if she wakes up and forgets it again, I'll make sure she doesn't get the chance to live it twice."

Her eyes burned into mine, her cruel words not matching her innocent young face, "I'll do everything. I'll keep going until she breaks again. Even if I have to push her underwater or down the stairs, I won't stop until she ends up exactly where she belongs, locked up in some institution, or even better...dead."

My hand raised, ready to fucking slam her head into the wall, knock her unconscious, and end this, but I stopped at the last second. My fingers twitched mid-air, shaking, before I dragged them back, curling them into a tight fist instead.

"Don't make me hit a girl, you fucking psycho," I grated out through clenched teeth.

She lifted her chin, so careless, not scared the slightest, "Show me your worst."

"You talk a big game for a little thing," I grumbled, "I could easily get rid of you."

She shrugged, "You mean you'll kill me? Well, been there, done that," She said with a click of her tongue, her eyebrow raising in mockery. God, she is really a little psycho, isn't she?

"But before you do that, let me let you in on a little something," She added, relaxing against the wall, tilting her head like this was so fucking normal, "when I looked you up, you know, when you started to become a little too important in my crazy sister's life, I found out that...there is another person with the same name as you, it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

"I mean," She blinked in confused innocence, "He just happened to attend the same college as me, I mean even the same class, talk about fate and destiny, huh?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

She smiled, "You know him, he has the same name as you, but he is younger, smarter, less troubled than you, and kind of adorable," She added, "You know, the kind of guy you could trust and he'd trust you back, you'd cry to him about how your grandpa wanted you dead, and he tells you how his uncle wanted him dead too, god, a match made in heaven, aren't we?"

What the—

My grip on her arm loosened slightly as my mind fell down the rabbit hole she just weaved. Fucking hell.

"So tell me," Her lips curled up into a fake pout, "are you going to break little Nathan's heart and kill his innocent girlfriend?"

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Author's note:

Hey!
I hope you liked the chapter, i will most probably update the next one on the weekend, let's see :)

Also for those wondering how many chapters are left, we are so close to the end, around 3 chapters left, maybe 4.
As you can see, everything is revealed and the only thing left is for them to deal with the aftermath.

What do you think they'll do? ;)

See ya soon ❤️‍🩹