CH 5: One Week Agreement

Seraphina’s POV

Coming back here wasn’t a moment of weakness or a sign that I’d lost my way. It was a calculated risk. A strategic choice.

Out there, in that foreign country, I had two contacts. One was Raph, my boyfriend, a man who couldn’t protect me from a paper cut, let alone the wolves that were hunting me. The other was the monster fighter whose thumb was still leaving a trail of fire on my skin.

So, no, I didn't wonder why I came back. I came back because when you were trapped between a devil you knew and a devil you didn't, you picked the one you thought you could use.

I came to Italy for a competition, to prove I was the best. Then, that stage was gone, replaced by a warzone. I had to get back to California before that old maniac found me, before he decided to collect his favorite prize. 

And this man—this beautiful, brutal fighter standing in front of me—was going to be the key to my freedom.

I finally looked away from him, my gaze landing on the sterile white wall behind his shoulder. “I went back to my condo to get what was mine,” 

Before he could respond, a sharp, buzzing ring cut through the tense silence. It wasn’t my regular phone. It was the burner phone I kept hidden, the one reserved for true emergencies. My mother’s name glowed on the screen, and a cold dread washed over me.

I spun around, turning my back to him as if that could shield me, and answered the call. My voice came out as a strained whisper. “M–Mom…”

I didn’t want her to worry. The lie was the only kindness I could offer her right now.

“Seraphina, honey! Your ballet mistress called me,” my mother’s voice was a frantic rush of words. “She said you’d vanished, that you were nowhere to be found. Where are you? Are you with Raph?”

Her questions were like hammer blows against my composure. My heart started beating a frantic, panicked rhythm against my ribs.

“No, Raph isn’t with me,” I said softly, forcing my voice to remain even, though it felt like it was on the verge of cracking into a million pieces. “I’m fine, Mom. I really am. I’ll be home soon, maybe by the end of this week. Please, just… don’t worry about me.”

I ended the call and slowly turned to face him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. The composure I fought so hard to maintain had shattered, leaving me exposed.

"I'm so sorry for this,” I began, the words tumbling out in a choked, desperate rush. “I already booked a flight—it’s for the end of the week. I just needed a place to hide—”

He cut me off, his question sharp and devoid of pity. “Why don’t you just call the police?”

I let out a shaky, humorless laugh. “Because I’m not from here,” I whispered, the words fractured. “And a man with enough money doesn't just twist the situation. He rewrites reality. The police would believe his story before I ever had a chance to tell mine.”

He watched me for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a curt nod toward the room where I had slept. “That’s your room for a week...” he stated simply.

He walked into the kitchen, the sound of a cabinet opening echoing in the quiet apartment. It was only then that my stomach betrayed me with a low, aching growl. He must have heard it, because his head snapped up, and his intense gaze locked onto mine.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to the dining table. “I’m cooking.”

The order was so blunt, so domestic, it was jarring. I watched him, completely bewildered. 

Who was this man? One moment, he was a cold, intimidating stranger, the next, a reluctant caretaker. He was a storm of contradictions, and I couldn't decide if the kindness was genuine or just another mask for the devil I saw lurking in his eyes.

It didn't matter. I walked to the table and sat, because, for now, I had no other choice.

***

After he cooked the steak, he plated it with a practiced efficiency and set it in front of me. He handed me a fork and a knife before preparing a plate for himself. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery.

He walked to the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, his back still to me.

“W-water is fine,” I managed.

He nodded, retrieving a pitcher of water and a glass. He set them on the table and poured the water for me. 

I offered a small, shy smile in thanks. For a moment, it looked like he might return it, but he just sighed and started to eat. We finished the entire meal in a tense, unspoken truce.

I was the one who finally broke the silence. “You have a fight tonight?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Yeah,” he said. “You want to come?”

I bit my lower lip, considering it. I’d never seen a real fight before, but I wasn't the same girl I was yesterday. I could hide in a hoodie and sunglasses. I needed to see his world, the one I had just stepped into. “Alright,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “If that’s okay.”

“Fine. Then you’re coming with me.”

“There are a couple of other things,” I said before he could dismiss me. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. “After the fight, I need you to accompany me to an ATM. And a store. I have no other clothes.”

A slow smirk spread across his face, a flash of the devil I knew was there. He seemed amused by my directness. “Anything else?” he asked, his tone a low challenge.

“Don’t worry,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

In response to my offer of payment, he just shrugged, a dismissive gesture as if my money was completely irrelevant to him.

He finished his meal, pushed his chair back from the table with a harsh scrape, and rose. He walked over to the entryway, grabbing a worn leather gym bag and a set of keys. He glanced back at me, his expression hardening with impatience.

“Let’s go. Are you coming or not?”

The suddenness of it all caught me off guard. “R-Right now?” I stammered.

A hint of annoyance crossed his face. “Yes, now. The fight won’t wait.”