Chapter 3

Luna

The morning light streams through the windows as I made my way down the hallway of the hospice. I stopped at the first patient's room, checking the chart on the door. Mrs. Alvarez—eighty-two, terminal, but still fighting. Her chart looks stable today, so I mark it down with a quiet nod and move to the next room.

One by one, I visited the patients under my care, checking their vitals and reviewing their charts. It's a routine I've become accustomed to, the same one I follow every morning. There's something calming about the predictability of it all. The names, the numbers, the data—it's all I've ever known in this job. And it keeps me grounded.

I gave a smile to Mr. Thompson, who's always asking if I brought him coffee. I didn't, but I promise him I'll bring some tomorrow. It's a small thing, but it keeps him going. Small moments like these remind me why I chose this career, why I keep doing it.

Once the rounds were finished, I made my way to my office, my feet dragging a little. The morning light was bright outside, but the hospice felt like a different world—a world that exists on its own time. I grabbed my cup from the desk, the hot liquid warming my hands as I took a sip, letting the caffeine slowly push the lingering tiredness from my mind.

Settling into my chair, I stared out the window for a moment, letting my thoughts drift.

But then, just as my eyes flickered back to the cup in my hands, the memory of last night hits me like a wave. The stranger.

I can still see him—his face, the tension in his eyes, the way he looked like he was about to snap. He hadn't been someone I should have helped. I knew that, deep down. But in the moment, I hadn't been able to turn him away.

Who was he? How did he end up bleeding out like that? His gaze had been so intense.

But the most troubling thing? The gun. How had he ended up with a gun?

What happened after I stormed out? I left him there, on my couch. Did he leave? Or is he still in my house, waiting for me to come back?

I shook the thought away, but it lingered. He was dangerous, unpredictable. Why did I even care if he stayed or went?

I glanced at the clock. I should be focusing on the patients, on the work ahead, but my mind kept drifting back to him. To that strange, raw feeling in his eyes. It unsettled me more than I want to admit.

Before I could stop myself, my fingers were already reaching for my phone. My mind raced with questions. Who is he? How did he get hurt? Why was he carrying a weapon?

I could feel my curiosity pulling at me. It's irrational, I know. I shouldn't be wasting my time on a stranger. But something about the whole encounter... something just feels off.

I quickly searched his face in the news, typing a few keywords: "Man injured in domestic conflict, gunshot wound." My thumb hovered over the screen, a strange anticipation building in my chest. My coffee cup rests forgotten in my hand.

I pressed "Search" and waited, heart pounding in my throat. A list of links pops up, but nothing about his injury. Instead, there's an article about a major business dispute—an article that features his face.

Hardin DeVante.

I pause, reading through the article. Hardin DeVante was the CEO of DeVante Enterprises, a highly respected legal corporation in the city. Known for its innovative approach to technology and business strategy, his company had made a name for itself, growing exponentially over the past few years.

But the article didn't mention anything about him being injured or anything personal. It talked about the company's recent disputes with another rival firm. DeVante had been involved in several high-profile meetings and negotiations, but there was no mention of anything that would connect him to the situation I found him in.

Nothing about a gunshot wound, no hospital visits, no police reports—just business news.

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Who was he really?

I closed the article, my thoughts racing. Was he hiding something?

I had no idea what he was involved in. What if I had just helped a criminal, or worse—what if I was entangled in something far more dangerous than I could ever imagine?

I couldn't stop scrolling, my eyes flicking rapidly over the article, trying to find any clue, any hint that might explain what I just witnessed last night. My fingers tremble slightly as I zoomed in on his picture, the same intense expression he wore when he was sitting across from me.

I barely noticed the buzz of my phone until it rang again, interrupting my thoughts. Jared's name flashed across the screen.

I hesitated for a moment, my thumb hovering over the green button. With a quick exhale, I swipe to accept the call.

"Hey," I said my voice a little too soft, a little too distracted.

"Luna, hey! You sound... off. You okay?" Jared's voice was warm, familiar, with that concerned edge he always has when he thinks something's wrong.

I glanced at the screen, catching the time. It's almost noon. I've been lost in my thoughts for longer than I realized.

"I'm fine," I answered quickly, trying to sound casual, "Just... busy. You know, work."

"You sure? I thought we were meeting up later today?" He paused, the hint of a smile in his voice. "Or are you too caught up with all those patients?"

I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on him. "Yeah, I'm looking at some patient charts, you know the usual. But later? Yeah, I'll make time. I promise."

Jared chuckled lightly. "Good, because I miss you. Let's grab dinner tonight, my treat. How about that?"

"Sounds great," I said, forcing the smile I know he can't see. "I'll text you the details later."

"Alright, babe. Take care, and don't work too hard. I'll see you tonight."

I hang up, a sigh escaping my lips. My gaze drifted back to the phone screen, still on the article about Hardin DeVante. I can't help but wonder if there's something more I need to know about him. Was I just a stop on his path, or was there more to our encounter than I wanted to admit?

**

I stepped into the restaurant. My eyes scan the room, and I spot Jared right away. He was sitting at a table by the window, his easy smile lighting up his face as soon as he sees me.

"Hey!" he called, his voice carrying across the quiet hum of the restaurant.

I couldn't help the smile that pulled at my lips. His smile had that effect on me. I made my way toward him. As I got closer, he stood up, his hand already moving to pull the chair out for me with that effortless grace I had seen countless times before.

"Always the gentleman," I said, amused, as I slid into the seat.

Jared leaned down and placed a quick kiss on my cheek, his lips brushing my skin gently. For a moment, I felt the warmth of his closeness and closed my eyes, enjoying the brief moment of calm.

"You're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and warm, his eyes gleaming with that playful edge.

I smiled, a soft laugh escaping me. "Thanks."

He took his seat opposite me, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that was both charming and teasing. His eyes lingered on me for a second too long before he leaned forward slightly.

"You know," he started, his tone playful, "I was almost panicking, thinking your patient would steal you away from me tonight again."

I rolled my eyes. "I told you, Jared, work doesn't always come first."

His lips quirked, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. "I know, I know. Just wanted to make sure I didn't lose you to your hero complex."

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" I asked, eager to redirect the conversation.

Jared leaned back, his grin widening as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I was thinking of making you my captive for the night. Dinner, then maybe a movie? Or would you rather skip the movie and make it just us?"

I smiled at his teasing tone. "Sure, let's do it your way."

We settled into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying our food and each other's company. Jared talked about work, and I told him about my day at the hospice. It wasn't anything exciting, but he always listened with interest. He had that charm that made me feel like I was the only person in the room, his eyes locking onto mine as if he cared about every word I said.

It hadn't always been like this, though. Jared and I had met a few months ago at a mutual friend's gathering. I hadn't expected much, but there was something about him—a quiet intensity beneath his carefree exterior—that drew me in. We'd exchanged numbers that night, and over the next few weeks, things had just...clicked.

He was sweet, attentive, and made me laugh, which felt like a breath of fresh air after the long hours I spent at work. Before I knew it, he had become my boyfriend. Maybe I hadn't expected it to happen so quickly, but with Jared, it felt right. At least, that's what I tried to tell myself.

Eventually, after the meal and some lighthearted conversation, I excused myself to use the restroom.

Once inside, I washed my hands and quickly touched up my makeup in the mirror. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been gnawing at me since the moment I'd woken up this morning.

But as I turned to leave, my heart nearly stopped when a hand suddenly pressed against my mouth, stopping me from shouting out. My body froze in place. My pulse raced, and my stomach lurched. And then darkness.

My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through me as I tried to sit up, but my limbs felt sluggish, as if the darkness had drained all the energy from my body. I was lying on a soft bed, the sheets smooth against my skin, but nothing felt familiar.

Then, I saw him.

Hardin.

He was sitting in a chair next to me, his sharp eyes locked onto mine. A cold shiver ran down my spine as the memories from the night before came flooding back—his mysterious presence, the way he'd invaded my space, his scent... his everything.

"What... what is this? Where am I?" I stuttered, my voice trembling.

Hardin leaned forward slightly, his gaze unblinking. "You're here because you're going to be my wife."

My breath hitched in my throat. "What?"