Maya’s POV

I’m not sure if Saint’s words are still echoing in my head because of their meaning, or because of the way he said them, low, deliberate, like each syllable was meant to stop me in my tracks.

Some truths don’t protect you. They bury you.

The problem is, I’ve always been the kind of person who digs. I’m not good at leaving questions unanswered, especially when the answers are right in front of me wearing expensive suits and keeping secrets.

Saint is gone when I step out of the bedroom, the smell of his cologne still clinging faintly to the air. The apartment feels colder without him in it, not because he’s warm, God, he’s not, but because he’s the kind of presence that fills a room whether you want him to or not.

Lucio is waiting in the living room, arms folded across his broad chest. His expression is the same one he’s worn every time I’ve seen him: vaguely irritated, like my existence makes his job harder.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod, pulling on my coat. My bag is already slung over my shoulder; I packed it before Saint even left. “I guess.”

Lucio doesn’t answer. He just opens the door and gestures for me to go first. His version of chivalry, maybe. Or maybe he just likes to keep me in front of him so I can’t slip away.

The hallway smells faintly of polish and expensive wood, and I notice for the first time how quiet the building is. It’s not the normal kind of quiet you get in apartments, it’s the intentional kind. No kids, no loud neighbors, no one talking in the halls. It’s a silence that’s bought and paid for.

The elevator ride down is just as silent, but I can feel Lucio’s eyes on me. When the doors open, a black car is already waiting at the curb. He walks me to the rear passenger side, opening the door without a word.

The interior is as sleek and intimidating as the man driving it, and as soon as I’m inside, the doors lock with a soft, mechanical click.

We drive for a few minutes before I can’t take the quiet anymore.

“You don’t like me,” I say. It’s not a question.

In the rearview mirror, his gaze flicks up to meet mine. “I don’t trust you.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I patched up your boss when he was bleeding out in my bathtub. If I wanted to hurt him, I could have done it then.”

“You think trust is built in a night?” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “You showed up in his life at the exact moment things started getting bad. That makes you a risk.”

My hands tighten in my lap. “I didn’t ‘show up.’ He broke into my apartment, remember?”

Lucio doesn’t answer, and that silence tells me everything I need to know. He remembers. He just doesn’t care.

The city outside the tinted windows shifts from glass towers to brick buildings, the sidewalks filling with more people the closer we get to the hospital. By the time we pull into the staff lot, I feel like I’ve been holding my breath the whole ride.

Inside, the familiar smell of antiseptic wraps around me, grounding me in something normal. My coworkers greet me like nothing’s changed, like I’m still the same Maya who left her shift early two nights ago. They don’t know I went home and found Saint bleeding out in my bathtub. They don’t know he stayed.

I throw myself into the routine, charting, checking vitals, bringing in supplies. For a while, I almost forget the weight pressing against my ribs. But that illusion shatters a little before lunch when a man walks in.

He’s tall, maybe an inch shorter than Saint, with dark hair slicked back and an easy smile that looks like it’s been practiced in a mirror. His suit is perfectly tailored, the kind of expensive that whispers rather than shouts.

“Dr. Sutton?” he says, his voice smooth.

“I’m a nurse,” I correct automatically. “And it’s Maya.”

He smiles like the correction amuses him. “Nico.” He offers his hand.

I don’t take it.

The name rings a bell, and not the good kind. I’ve heard it before, in the same conversations where Saint’s voice went colder, where Lucio’s jaw tightened. Nico isn’t just some random patient or visitor.

“I heard you’ve been spending time with Saint Lachlan,” he says casually, like we’re talking about the weather. “He’s… an interesting man.”

My stomach twists. “If you came here for gossip, you’re in the wrong place.”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. I came to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

His tone is calm, almost friendly, but there’s a warning buried underneath.

I meet his gaze. “And why would you care?”

Nico tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering how much to say. “Because I’ve known Saint a long time. Long enough to know that everyone who gets close to him ends up bleeding.”

There’s a pause between us, and I realize I’m holding my breath again.

“Thanks for the concern,” I say finally, my voice sharper than I intended, “but I can take care of myself.”

The smile he gives me is almost pitying. “I hope so.”

And then he’s gone, walking out with the same unhurried confidence he walked in with.

I stand there for a moment, my heart still thudding too hard, before forcing myself back into motion. But the rest of my shift feels off-kilter. Every time I turn a corner, I half expect to see him standing there again.

When the day ends and I step outside, the black car is already waiting for me. Lucio opens the door without a word.

I slide in, but my thoughts are still back in the hospital, replaying Nico’s warning. I don’t know if I’m more unsettled by what he said… or by the fact that part of me believes him.