The Stranger

**Nia's point of view**

I immediately dragged up my mask and spun around, aiming my gun at him.

But as our eyes met, Lord help me, I almost melted into them. I almost forgot about the situation I was in and just stared at him like a fool.

He was tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out his white dress shirt perfectly.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd been running his hands through it. But it was his eyes that held me captive. Green.

Not just green, but the kind of green that reminded me of forests after rain, deep and intense and impossible to look away from.

His jaw was sharp, covered with just enough stubble to make him look dangerous. And his lips, they were curved into this slight smirk that told me he knew exactly what effect he was having on me.

He didn't look threatened by the gun at all, as if he doubted I could even hurt a fly. His green eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in every detail with an infuriating calmness.

Then he started moving towards me.

"So you barged into my suite just to point a gun at me?" His voice was smooth, almost amused. "That's a new one."

I stepped back, keeping the gun trained on him. "Stop. Don't come any closer."

But he didn't stop. He kept walking forward slowly. Like I wasn't holding a weapon pointed directly at his chest.

"I'm warning you," I managed to get out through the voice changer. "I'll shoot."

He raised an eyebrow, still advancing. "Will you?"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

He stopped, narrowing his eyes at me. Then he walked past me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. It made my head spin.

He looked through the peephole, then turned back to face me.

"Why are you being chased by security?"

It was like I couldn't find my voice anymore. My throat had closed up. I didn't understand what was wrong with me.

Was I so mesmerized by him that I'd forgotten how to speak? Or was I scared to expose myself even more than I already had?

He stared at me for a long moment, those green eyes studying my face like he was trying to memorize it. Then he marched towards me with purpose.

I raised the gun higher. "Stay back."

He ignored me completely, walked right past to his closet, and pulled out a shirt and pants. He threw them at me.

"Change. Unless you're ready to get caught."

I caught the clothes reflexively, confused. "What?"

"You heard me. There are security guards outside this door right now, and that outfit," he gestured at my black clothing, "screams guilty. So either change or get arrested. Your choice."

I stared at him, trying to process what was happening. He was helping me?

I didn't waste a second wondering why.

I snapped out of my daze and found the bathroom. I locked myself in and stripped off the black clothes as fast as I could.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely button the shirt. It was way too big on me, hanging off my shoulders and falling to mid thigh. The pants were impossible, so I left them.

I stuffed my clothes and the wig into my handbag, checking to make sure the documents were still secure.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My blonde, bob, hair was messy from the wig, my face flushed and my blue eyes wide with adrenaline.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

By the time I came out, there was no one by the door anymore.

The stranger was now standing by the window, hands in his pockets, looking completely relaxed. When he heard me, he turned.

His eyes scanned my hair and my new look, lingering on the oversized shirt. Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could identify it.

"Better," he commented. "You look less like a criminal now. More like someone I'd actually invite into my room."

I wanted to ask why he helped me, who he was, what the hell was happening. But I saved it. Every second I stayed here was a risk.

"Thank you," I managed to get out, my voice still distorted by the changer. I started towards the door. "I'll be leaving now."

"Wait."

I froze, my hand on the doorknob. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to turn me in after all?

I turned slowly. He was holding something out to me.

My gun.

"You almost forgot this," he pointed out, that infuriating smirk back on his face. "Seems important."

Shit. What the hell was wrong with me?

I walked back cautiously and took it from him, our fingers brushing for just a second. Even that brief contact sent electricity through me.

"Thanks," I muttered, shoving it into my handbag.

"You're welcome. Try not to shoot anyone else tonight."

I didn't respond to that. I just turned and walked out, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.

I moved quickly down the hallway towards the elevator, keeping my head down, praying I wouldn't run into security.

My mind kept replaying that stranger's face in my head. Those eyes. The way he'd looked at me like he could see right through my mask.

My freedom depended on him right now. One word from him and I would be exposed. He knew I'd done something. He knew I was running. And yet he'd helped me.

Why?

The elevator ride down felt like it took forever. When the doors finally opened to the lobby, I forced myself to walk normally, like I was just another guest heading out for the night.

I made it outside and hailed a cab, collapsing into the backseat with relief.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

I gave him my address, then leaned back and closed my eyes. It was done. Caspian had signed the papers. The money would be transferred. I was free.

Well, almost free.

The moment I got home, I stripped off the stranger's shirt and threw it on my bed. I took a long shower, scrubbing away the sweat and fear and adrenaline.

By the time I got out, wrapped in my robe with my hair dripping wet, my phone was ringing.

Unknown number.

My stomach dropped. Was it him? The stranger?

I answered cautiously. "Hello?"

"Is this Mrs. Blackwell?" A professional female voice.

"Yes."

"This is Memorial Hospital. Your husband, Caspian Blackwell, has been admitted. He's sustained a gunshot wound to the knee. You should come right away."

Trust me to feign worry and shock. "Oh my God! What? How? Is he okay?"

"He's stable. We thought to inform you since you're his family.”

"I'll be there right away. Thank you for calling."

I hung up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Time to put on the performance of a lifetime.

I dressed in my usual outfit, a soft blue dress that made me look gentle and concerned. I applied light makeup, just enough to look presentable.

Then I grabbed my purse and hurried to the hospital, practicing my worried wife expression in the car.

At the hospital, I asked for Caspian's room at the front desk, and a nurse directed me to the third floor.

There he lay in the hospital bed, looking beaten up and pathetic.

His leg was elevated and wrapped in bandages. His face was pale, his hair messy. And right beside him, holding his hand like she had every right to be there, was Isla.

Something about the state he was in satisfied me deeply. Seeing him weak and in pain, knowing I'd put him there, it felt like justice.

But I immediately put on my worried look and ran to his bedside, pushing past Isla.

"Caspian! Oh my God, what happened?" I let tears fill my eyes, reaching for his other hand.

"Are you okay? Who did this to you?"

He pulled his hand away from me, his expression cold. "Do you truly care, Nia?"

The question hit me like a slap. It took all the control in me not to grab his injured knee and squeeze until he screamed. Not to tell him right there that yes, I cared very much about making sure he suffered the way he'd made me suffer.

Instead, I blinked at him with wounded eyes. "Of course I care. You're my husband. I love you."

He looked away, jaw clenched.

Isla turned to me then, her expression one of fake sympathy.

"Nia, I'd advise you not to disturb him right now. He needs to rest. The doctors gave him pain medication and he should sleep soon."

I stood frozen, staring at her. At the way she touched his arm possessively. At the way she spoke to me like I was the intruder here.

Had it always been like this? Is this how they had always treated me, but I was too blind to see what was wrong? Too desperate for Caspian's love to notice I was being pushed out of my own marriage?

I slowly retreated from the bed, my hands falling to my sides.

"It looks like I'm not needed here, so I might as well leave."

Isla nodded, actually nodded like she was giving me permission to go.

"That would be best. Could you make sure his favourite meal is ready when he gets home? And ask the maid to clean his room properly. You know how particular he is."

She was giving me orders. In front of my injured husband. Treating me like the help.

And Caspian just lay there, letting her.

I nodded with a smile, the kind of smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Of course. I'll take care of everything."

I turned to walk away, my heels clicking on the floor. But at the doorway, I paused.

I looked back at Isla, who was already fussing over Caspian again, adjusting his pillows and smoothing his hair.

"Isla," I called out sweetly.

She glanced at me. "Yes?"

"Take good care of him.”