Listen to Halo by Beyonce.

It was now or never. The words were heavy in my throat, and the weight of them pressed on my chest like a silent warning. He needed to know. She was out.

I fidgeted with the ring on my finger as I stepped into Tristan's office, my mind racing through a hundred ways to say it without making him panic, without making him angry. But I knew—knew with a tightness in my gut—that this couldn't wait.

He glanced up from his laptop as I walked in, eyes gleaming with that casual, playful intensity he always had. His lips curled into a smile, the kind that always made me feel like I was walking into his world, not the other way around.

"What's got you looking constipated?" he asked, his voice light but laced with that familiar teasing edge as I took the seat across from him.

"Ha, you're not funny," I muttered, dropping my gaze to the ring again, my fingers still twisting it in anxious circles.

"Since when did you become so mean?" Tristan said, clutching his chest like I'd just stabbed him.

"Since when did you become so dramatic?"

He laughed, his smile widening, but I could feel the tension between us—the unspoken heaviness lingering just beyond the surface. He leaned back, taking a slow look at me as if he could see past the deflecting jokes. But before I could dig myself deeper into the awkward silence, his phone buzzed.

He snatched it up, glanced at the screen, and his grin widened. His eyes flicked over the message, and without a second thought, he moved the phone closer to me, clearly amused by whatever he was looking at.

It was a picture of Kayden inside the fridge, his face smeared in cake. Tristan laughed outright.

"Cassie was only gone for two minutes," he said, shaking his head.

"He's a handful, isn't he?" I remarked, trying to shrug off the feeling of unease building inside me.

He nodded, still chuckling. "Yeah. But I wouldn't change him for the world."

I forced a smile. "How's the wedding prep going?" I asked, shifting the conversation.

"Cassie wants something simple, so it's not much to do," he replied, leaning back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest.

"Are you okay with that?" I asked, reaching for the mint candy on his desk, my fingers still unsteady.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Whatever she wants. I'm lucky enough she said yes."

The smile on his face was one of pure contentment, and I could tell it meant the world to him. "I'm so happy for you, bro," I said, my voice warmer than I intended.

"Thanks," he said with a wink. "I'm looking forward to yours."

I rolled my eyes and chuckled lightly, the words still caught in my throat. "You're not getting an invite anytime soon," I joked, but my smile faltered. I couldn't help it. A small part of me wished I could tell him about Karen's release, about the nagging dread I couldn't shake. But this wasn't the time, was it?

"Everything good?" Tristan's voice cut through my thoughts, and I glanced up. His expression had shifted, the playful grin slipping into something more observant, more serious. He could feel the change in the air, too.

I froze. My heart kicked in my chest. I tell him. How hard could it be? But the words felt like they were lodged in my throat, like every possible thing I could say would make it worse.

"I'm just a little nervous about my second date," I lied. The words came out too easily, too quickly.

"I heard the last one went great," Tristan replied with a raised brow.

"She said that?" I asked, surprised. The idea of Cassie spilling the beans was amusing. I could practically hear her loud voice over the phone now.

"Cassie's not exactly known for her discretion," he said with a grin, rolling his eyes as though it were nothing new. "And they're so loud on the phone, I swear, the whole building can hear them."

I smiled, but the laughter didn't reach my eyes. I stood up abruptly, hoping to shake off the growing weight in my chest. "I should get back to work," I said, moving toward the door.

"As you should," Tristan called after me, his voice still light. "Don't forget brunch with Vander Corp."

I nodded, walking out and heading back to my office. My phone buzzed again, and when I checked, it was a text from Belvina. She needed me to unlock the door to my apartment.

A small thought stirred in my mind, unbidden. I had been thinking about giving her full access to the building, maybe even asking her to move in. But that felt like a decision too big to make just yet. I didn't want to scare her away.

I signaled for Elise to come over as I settled into my seat, my thoughts scattered. I texted Belvina to check in on her—she should have been at work by now, but there was no reply. The absence of it made my stomach churn.

"Everything okay?" Elise asked as she entered, her toothy grin a stark contrast to the nervous energy swirling inside me.

I didn't answer right away, instead watching my phone for any sign from Belvina. I hadn't heard from her since the morning, and that quiet stillness was unsettling.

###

The lights in the living room were on when I stepped inside the house, and there, by the door, were Belvina's crocs—small, familiar, and grounding in a way that made my chest tighten with something I didn't have a name for. She was here.

I didn't even bother to change. My heart was beating fast, like a kid racing to unwrap his Christmas gift. It didn't matter that I'd just seen her this morning, a quick goodbye as I headed off to work. When she was around, it was like I couldn't get enough. The feeling crawled under my skin and took root.

I rushed up the stairs, barely keeping my footsteps quiet, but it didn't matter. I opened the door to my room to find her sprawled on the bed, fast asleep. My black t-shirt hung on her like a dress, and even though she was asleep, she looked like home.

A soft smile pulled at my lips.

I moved to sit beside her, brushing a strand of hair off her face, my fingers gently tracing her soft curls. "Hey," I whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"Hey," she mumbled, barely stirring, eyes still closed.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my hand falling to her hair, stroking it softly.

"No," she murmured, and then her eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times, like she was seeing me for the first time. And then— The weight of whatever it was she was carrying, the heaviness in her eyes.

"I'll tell you about it when you don't smell like a library," she said, a weak smile pulling at her lips, but there was no hiding the exhaustion, the fragility in her voice.

I sniffed myself, realizing she was right. "I'll go freshen up." My tone was light, but there was a pit growing in my stomach. Something was off. "Have you eaten?" I asked, already standing.

"Yeah," she said, her voice small. "I finished a bowl of chocolate ice cream... and some nachos. I left some for you in the fridge."

"Thank you," I said, leaning down to give her a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. The cool water hit my skin, and I focused on nothing but getting clean. But even under the rush of the water, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

When I returned, I found her still in bed, curled up under the covers, her eyes half-closed. I grabbed the nachos from the fridge, scarfed them down, and shaved the stubble from my face, trying to ground myself.

I climbed into bed beside her, pulling the covers over both of us. She snuggled closer, and I wrapped my arms around her instinctively, holding her as if I could shield her from whatever storm she was carrying.

"What happened?" I whispered into her hair.

Her body tensed against mine, and she took a shaky breath before speaking. "A patient died in my hands," she said, her voice breaking, and my heart dropped into my stomach. "I only knew her for three days, but it feels like I lost a best friend. She was only six... so sweet, so dramatic, just like Chloe. And now she's gone. I couldn't help her. I was right there, and I... I couldn't save her. And I keep thinking—maybe I could've done something. Maybe there was something... something I missed."

My chest tightened, and I held her tighter, wishing I could take away that guilt, that anger. I stroked her hair gently, my voice soft but steady. "Hey, it's okay to feel that way. It's your first time... and I can't even imagine what you must be going through. But listen to me, Vixen. Don't blame yourself. You did everything you could."

Her shoulders shook as she nodded, and I felt her tears dampen the fabric of my shirt.

"She was only six," she whispered, and the pain in her voice cut through me like a knife.

"I know," I murmured, wiping away the tear that had fallen down her cheek, pulling her closer into me. "I know, baby."

I kissed the top of her head, holding her as if I could absorb the hurt for her, make it mine instead of hers.

"It's not your fault, Vixen," I whispered again, my words wrapping around her like a shield, though I knew it wouldn't erase what she was feeling.

She clung to me, her body trembling. "I'm going to miss her," she cried, and I could feel every sob in the depths of my chest. She wasn't just mourning a patient—she was mourning a child, a life cut too short, a piece of her own soul laid bare.

"What was her name?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion.

"Amy," she said, the name slipping from her lips like a prayer.

I brushed my thumb over her wet cheek, keeping my voice soft. "Tell me about her. What was she like?"

Her lips quivered, but she started. "She was... she was dramatic, you know? She loved to wear sparkly shoes, even to bed sometimes. And she would sing these little songs, even though she couldn't hold a note, and she'd make everyone laugh. She had this way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. Like, she'd just look at you and—boom—she had your full attention. You couldn't say no to her."

I smiled through the ache, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. "Sounds like she was something special."

"She was," Belvina whispered, her voice cracking again. "I just wish I could've done more."

"You did all you could, Vixen," I said firmly, holding her closer. And though I knew my words would never be enough to take away her pain, I could only hope that in this moment, I could be her strength, her anchor, as she navigated through the storm of grief that was threatening to drown her.

And for once, I didn't try to fix anything. I just held her, and I listened. Because sometimes, all you can do is be there, even when the words fall short.

####

I left work early on Friday, feeling the buzz of anticipation for the fundraiser. It wasn't my first time at one of these events—hell, I practically had a frequent flyer membership—but tonight felt different. I had been looking forward to it, and not just because of the champagne and the glossy guest list. No, tonight was about .

I stood in front of the mirror, frowning at the wave of hair growing longer than I liked. My fingers worked through it absentmindedly, still annoyed I hadn't gotten a haircut sooner. I wasn't the type to fuss over appearance, but even I had standards—especially when I had to show up looking like someone who cared. The suit arrived earlier today after yesterday's fitting, and it fit like a glove—dark, sleek, and exactly the kind of sharp edge I needed. I threw on my gold cufflinks and my favorite jewelry, ran my fingers through my hair, and took one last glance in the mirror.

The mantra that was always a little too rehearsed, but it worked. I sent a quick text to Belvina—"On my way"—and blocked out the nagging thoughts of Karen. Three days had passed without a single sign of her, and I was trying to convince myself she was out of the game, that she was . But deep down, I couldn't shake the worry gnawing at me.

I pushed it aside as I pulled into the driveway. Stepping out of the car, I joined the elevator with two teenage girls, both clearly eyeing me from head to toe. One of them, platinum blonde and wearing enough makeup to make a Kardashian jealous, moved closer. I instinctively took a step back. , not today, not in the mood. The elevator door slid open, and I was out of there faster than I cared to admit.

I knocked on Belvina's door, feeling my chest tighten with that rush of nervous energy. Was I about to do something stupid tonight? The thought crossed my mind, but it was drowned out by the sound of the door swinging open—and there she was.

She stood in front of me, looking like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Her black flare pants and white top with the bow at the front left me speechless. Her heels gave her no real height advantage over me, but that didn't matter. She looked breathtaking.

"Are you planning to steal the show, Vixen?" I teased, my gaze tracing over her, taking it all in. "You look... wow. I can't even come up with a word that does you justice."

She smirked. "It's my first runway fashion show, you know? There will be top designers there, and just so you know, I'm obsessed with fashion. If I hadn't gone into nursing, I'd have been a stylist—or maybe even a designer."

"I noticed," I said with a goofy grin. "You're killing me, Vixen."

"You look good, Parker," she said, locking the door behind her and linking her arm with mine as we made our way to the elevator.

The fundraiser was in Hollywood. We didn't have to drive long, but once we arrived at the museum venue, I could feel the shift. The space was enormous—high ceilings, grand staircases, the kind of place where you almost feel like you . People floated around in their gowns and tuxedos, whispering among themselves like they had all the time in the world.

Belvina squeezed my arm as we walked in, and I could feel her excitement vibrate through her.

"Oh my God, that's Pietro Beccari, Dior CEO," she whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. Every time she spotted a celebrity, she'd lean in and whisper something in my ear. It was endearing, and I couldn't help but smile. She was so tonight, like the world was hers for the taking. I loved seeing her like this—so confident and unapologetically herself.

When the show started, she went quiet, watching the models sashay down the runway, their expressions stoic, like they knew how to command an entire room without saying a word.

"The shoes are way too big for her," Belvina whispered, staring intently at a blonde model who was teetering unsteadily on high heels. "She looks like she's about to trip any second."

I chuckled. "You have an eye for detail, Vixen."

"Fashion is my second language," she said, a playful glint in her eyes.

We applauded when the show ended, the crowd erupting into claps and cheers as the models disappeared backstage. The MC came up to give a long-winded speech, which, honestly, I was barely listening to. My focus was on Belvina, and on what she might say next.

She pulled away to speak to one of her fashion idols while I sipped on my margarita, pretending to be interested in the speeches. My eyes, however, kept wandering, and before I could stop myself, I saw .

Lara.

My ex.

She hadn't changed. Same sharp features, same dark eyes that always seemed to know what I was thinking. She looked at me, and for a moment, I was paralyzed. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not tonight. I quickly turned away, forcing a smile when Belvina squeezed my arm again.

"Oh my God," she said in a half-whisper, "Lara Kokoreva—your ex. I was , you know?"

"Really?" I shot her a sideways look.

"I mean, I kind of wished I were her," she laughed, "but I was rooting for both of you."

My heart did a strange little skip at her words. "She wanted me to move to London with her. But... it just didn't work out," I said, avoiding the real reasons, the pain behind it.

We were silent for a beat. "Sacrifices can be hard," she murmured.

I glanced at her, surprised at the softness in her voice. But then it passed, and we were back to the surface-level banter. Just a quiet acknowledgment of the past.

As we made our way out, I glanced at Lara one last time. She was still watching me, but I refused to give her more than a glance. She was part of my past, and I was done looking back.

I saw my family's Victorian mansion as we drove by the familiar street. I hadn't been there for years neither have any of my siblings. We weren't ready to put it up for sale either, it was just deserted and forgotten.

I didn't expect her to ask about the house. But as we drove by the old Victorian mansion on my childhood street, Belvina's eyes widened.

"That's where I grew up," I said, nodding toward the familiar building. The one that looked so grand from the outside, but had been a tomb of memories since we all left.

She stared at it, eyes wide. "Wow, I always thought that was a museum."

I couldn't suppress the small laugh. "You want a tour?" I asked, the question escaping before I could second-guess it.

"," she said, the desperation in her voice so genuine, I couldn't resist.

I parked the car and typed in the gate's code, but the device was broken, of course. We had to walk through a small side passage I used to sneak out of when I was younger. She followed me, barefoot, her feet stepping carefully on the rough pavement.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," I warned, seeing her wincing with each step.

"Never stopped me before," she said, grinning.

Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms, lifting her effortlessly as she let out a surprised giggle. I carried her up the old stone steps, ignoring the strange knot in my stomach. Something about this place always brought up ghosts I wasn't ready to face.

The house was dark when I opened the door—dust settling in corners, the furniture covered in sheets like forgotten relics of a past I couldn't escape.

"Wow, this place is spectacular," Belvina whispered, awe in her voice as she took it all in.

I walked quickly past her, searching for something for her to wear on her feet. I found a pair of old slip-ons, handing them to her. The house felt too , the memories too loud.

Belvina came out of the kitchen, her eyes dancing with curiosity. "Can I have a tour now?" She grinned and intertwined her fingers with mine, pulling me along.

As I showed her my childhood room, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "I used to sneak over to the Sanchesters' mansion to play with Tristan."

She smiled at the memory, her back to me as she gazed out the window. "I can just imagine little Adrian running around here. Feels like you'd be trouble back then, huh?"

I wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her neck, my lips grazing her bare skin. "Maybe I still am," I muttered.

I pulled back slightly, searching her eyes. "Does this count as our second date?" I whispered, and she turned in my arms, her gaze intense.

"Yes," she said, "and I think I prefer it to the first."

The words hung between us, charged, heavy with what neither of us said aloud. I kissed her then, slow, deliberate, as if I could lose myself in the taste of her lips forever.

"Stalking you on social media," she murmured, her breath hot against my skin.

I grinned. "That was a good start."

"I have never kissed a girl in here, is it ok if you're the first and last?"

The mood shifted between us, but the tension simmered, thick and undeniable. Before I could react, she pushed me back onto the bed, her small hands moving swiftly, decisively. And damn, if it didn't make me hungry for more. She was on top of me in seconds, her lips crashing against mine, her body rubbing against me like she was determined to steal every inch of breath I had left.

I couldn't help but growl against her lips as she pressed closer, grinding against me, and I felt the fire building between us.

"Okay, that was unexpected," I managed to say through gritted teeth.

She didn't answer. Instead, she kissed me deeper, harder, as if she wanted to swallow me whole.

I nibbled on her neck and dug my fingers into her hips to ease her movement, I trailed wet kisses up her jaw to her lips. I smiled against her lips before taking her plump lower lip in a delicate kiss. Her lips were warm and so soft I could kiss them forever. She tasted like strawberries mixed with caramel, I pulled her hips closer and knotted my fingers in her wild curls.

She moaned as she held the side of my neck to bring my lips closer to hers, I could hear the light downstairs still flickering and the sound of cars driving by the street. I groaned as she increased her pace, rubbing against the bulge in pants. I bit on her lips as our tongues found each other in a deep kiss.

My hand slid slowly to the small skin exposed from her top, I played with her waistband before reaching for the bow holding her small top together. I pulled away to see if she was ok with me taking it off and if she wanted me to keep going. She gave me a small nod as she breathes hoarsely. One pull and the top came apart, I was left breathless for a moment as I stared at her bare tits.

She watched me nervously as I leaned closer and took the puckered bud in my mouth, her head fell back as I sucked on it and pulled it gently between my lips. She tried to hold back the moans leaving her lips. I played with the other sensitive bud as she brushed her fingers through my hair and rocked her hips slowly.

A loud crash echoed from downstairs, making Belvina flinch in my arms. Her body tensed, and I could feel her pulse jump in her neck as she looked at me, wide-eyed and horrified.

"What the hell was that?" Her voice was a mix of fear and disbelief, her eyes darting toward the door as if it might open and swallow her whole. "This place isn't haunted, right?"

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Her face, flushed with both fear and surprise, was too much to resist. "Relax, Vixen," I said, smoothing my hand over her back in a reassuring way. "It's just an old house. Anything could've fallen."

"Not exactly the comforting words I needed," she muttered, her arms winding around me as she buried her face in the crook of my neck. Her warm breath sent a jolt of desire through me, but I pushed it down.

"Okay, okay," I said with a grin, "let's go down and say 'hi' to the ghost. Maybe we can do a séance or something."

She hit me, hard, right in the chest. I chuckled at her reaction as she pulled away, shooting me a look that could've burned me alive. She tugged on her top, the soft fabric shifting over her skin as she stood up, moving toward the door.

"Fine, let's go find out what's haunting this place," she said, her tone a little sharper, but there was something in the way she clutched my arm as we descended the stairs that told me she wasn't quite as brave as she was pretending.

"I thought nothing scares you, Vixen," I teased, a smirk tugging at my lips.

She pinched me—hard. "Shut up, Parker."

The house was quiet when we reached the bottom of the stairs, the shadows stretching across the floor like they were alive. But nothing seemed out of place... until the lights in the living room flickered and went out. Belvina screamed so loud, I swear the walls shuddered, and then——she leapt into my arms, clinging to me like her life depended on it.

"Get me out of here!" she shrieked, her hands digging into my shoulders, her breath coming fast and ragged. Her body pressed against mine, and for a second, all I could focus on was the heat of her skin and the frantic thrum of her heart beneath my fingers.

"It's just the lights," I said, my voice low and steady as I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched on the flashlight. I swung it around the room, illuminating the empty space. "Relax."

"Relax? Really?" she hissed. "This is your family's house, and it's freaking haunted!"

I fought back a laugh, barely holding it in. "Look, nothing's going to jump out at you. It's just a glitch in the system."

But she didn't ease up, her grip tightening around my arm like she was afraid if she let go, she might be consumed by the darkness. I aimed the flashlight at her face, grinning when I saw the mix of frustration and fear in her eyes.

"Let's go," I said, trying to hide the amusement in my voice. "Before the ghost comes back for round two."

She glared at me, her arms still wrapped around me as we headed for the door. As we stepped outside, I locked the house behind us and glanced at her. Her hands were still shaking slightly, but she was too proud to admit it.

"That was fun," I said, half-sarcastic, half-trying to lighten the mood as we climbed into the car.

"Haunted house and a ghost in one night? You've got to be kidding me," she said, her voice strained but laced with dry humor. "You didn't tell me your family house had a dark history. Did someone die here?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles going white as the memories flashed in my mind. Her pale face. The sound of the heart monitor beeping. That weak, sad smile.

I closed my eyes for a split second, trying to shake it off.

"Adrian?" Her voice cut through my thoughts, soft and gentle, but it held an edge of concern. She reached over, placing her small hand over mine. Her fingers were warm, grounding me.

"I wasn't serious about the question, you know," she added, her voice a little higher, like she was trying to undo what she had just said. "Ignore it."

I forced a small smile, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. I gripped her hand, needing that contact, needing to her. "It's fine."

But even as I said the words, I could still feel the cold weight of that memory creeping back into my mind.

"Can you stop at a diner or something?" she asked, her voice light, like she wanted to change the subject. "I really need to pee."

I blinked, then nodded. "Sure."

We pulled into a small, rundown diner on the side of the road, the neon sign flickering like it might give up any minute. Belvina darted inside, and I waited outside, scrolling through some emails to kill time. But after fifteen minutes passed, I started to worry.

I glanced at my watch.

She left her phone in the car, so I couldn't text her. I waited another five minutes before stepping out and heading for the diner. I reached the door and tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked.

"Shit," I muttered, looking around. The parking lot was empty. The place had clearly closed up for the night.

"Vixen!" I called, pounding on the door. "You in there?"

There was no response, just the eerie silence. My heart started to race. Panic gnawed at the edges of my calm. I tried the door again. Nothing.

I knew she had to be in there. I could feel my adrenaline spike, and I reached for my phone, my hands shaking as I dialed 911. My mind was a storm of thoughts—

The operator sent a cop over, and when he finally arrived, he quickly picked the lock and let me inside. The place was empty—no sign of Belvina. But I found her, trembling in the bathroom, her eyes wide and filled with fear.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice rough. She didn't respond. I just helped her out and into the car, where she sat in silence, her face pale.

The drive home was quiet. Too quiet.

"Do you want me to take you to your apartment?" I asked softly.

"No," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

I nodded and gave her some space. I let her take a shower while I sat in the guest room, trying to give her time. But when I went to check on her, I found her curled up in the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her body tense with whatever nightmare had followed her from the diner.

I sat beside her, my heart aching, and took her hand.

"Do you need some space?" I asked, my voice careful, soft. "I can sleep in the guest room."

She turned her head slowly, just enough to meet my eyes. Her expression was raw, vulnerable, and I saw something in her gaze that made my chest tighten.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered, her voice so fragile it almost broke me.

I didn't need to hear anything else. I climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her into my arms, holding her close. But when she started crying, my heart nearly shattered. The sounds she made—soft, broken, like she was trying to hold it all in but couldn't anymore—broke something deep inside of me.

Her body shook with silent sobs, and I wanted to fix it. To fix .

But I didn't know how. And I hated myself for it.