Chapter 5

Before Iris could even make sense of what was happening, a violent force slammed her onto the icy, rain-slick pavement. Her umbrella skidded away, and rain poured over her unprotected body.

Pain exploded in her chest. She clenched her teeth, forced herself to breathe through it, and pushed up on trembling arms.

Two strangers stood a few steps away. Cheap floral shirts clung to their frames, doing nothing to hide the fact that they were thugs. The stench of low-grade cigarettes drifted toward her.

She dragged herself backward, every movement tearing through her ribs.

"What are you people doing?!" she demanded.

One of them smirked, baring yellowed teeth as his tongue slid across them. His gaze crawled over her body, lingering where her soaked clothes clung shamelessly to her skin. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Understanding struck her like ice water.

Her eyes darted around the area, searching for a way out.

They were beside a redevelopment construction site. Green mesh fencing flapped weakly in the rain, and broken stones and debris littered the ground. Near her hand lay a shattered ceramic vase, one edge jagged and sharp.

She snatched it up and hurled it at them without warning, then bolted toward the mouth of the alley.

Less than a yard away, they caught her.

They slammed into her back and drove her down, their combined weight crushing her resistance. The reek of cigarettes flooded her senses, so strong it nearly forced her to retch.

She dug her fingers into the wall, nails scraping painfully against concrete as she struggled.

Then she saw him.

Right across the alley's opening, Alfred stepped out of his car.

She tried to call to him. They were no longer lovers, but they had once loved each other. That had to matter. He could not possibly ignore something like this.

"A-Alfred! Alfree—"

It was too late.

A hand clamped over her mouth. She was dragged backward into the alley, her nails carving long, desperate streaks into the wall before darkness swallowed her.

She watched as Alfred paused, glanced blankly toward the alley, then turned away to help Regina from the car. Their figures moved together down the street and disappeared.

Iris felt her face drain of color. She had never known how cold a man could become after he stopped loving their partner until that moment.

Another violent shove sent her crashing to the ground. Her phone spilled from her bag and skidded across the pavement. She lunged for it, but panic wrecked her coordination. Her fingers missed again and again, as if her body had stopped responding to her thoughts.

The men watched with open amusement. Laughter spilled from them.

"I wouldn't bother, sweetheart," one said, pulling out a bottle of cheap liquor. "Even if the cops show up, it's all consensual, right?"

His companion raised a phone and aimed the camera at her.

Terror flooded her mind as their plan snapped into place. They meant to get her drunk and claim she had initiated everything. They would film it, then spread the video through the city and destroy her reputation.

This was planned. No ordinary street thug could have devised something like this alone. Someone else had to be involved.

Before she could finish the thought, one of them undid his belt and stepped closer.

Iris gathered every ounce of strength she had left and stomped hard.

"Fuck!" he snarled, grabbing his leg.

He seized her foot, yanked her toward him, forced her jaw open, and began pouring liquor down her throat.

She fought, gagged, and choked, muffled sounds tearing from her chest.

His breathing grew heavy. His eyes fixated on her soaked clothes. He grinned wildly. "I can't wait to fuck Mr. Sinclair's darling!"

'Mr. Sinclair… How do people like this even know him? How do they know Alfred and I were together?'

Someone had set this up. Someone had paid them to ruin her!

He leaned in for a kiss. The liquor burned her throat, leaving her unable to scream. She lashed out blindly with kicks and punches.

Her resistance only enraged him. He clamped a hand around her throat. "Stop fighting! You're nothing now. Just a discarded bitch he threw away!"

His grip tightened. He tore at her vest.

Air vanished from Iris' lungs. A loud buzzing filled her ears. One thought cut through the chaos with brutal clarity. She had wasted four years of her life on him.

Through the haze, she remembered the announcement of Alfred and Regina's relationship.

'No!' She forced her bloodshot eyes open, fueled by sheer hysteria. She would rather die than let them win.

Her hand clawed at the ground and closed around something sharp—the jagged shard of the broken vase.

She swung it toward his temple.

The man suddenly went pale and staggered back, collapsing onto the pavement with a dull thud. The one holding the phone crumpled moments later, already unconscious.

Iris pushed herself upright, biting her numb lips to keep moving. She staggered forward and lifted her head.

A black umbrella hovered above a tall figure. Rain streamed off its edge like a misty veil, blurring everything beneath it. The figure looked unreal, as if torn from another world. Through her fading vision, only one detail stood out.

'That pair of black eyes… They feel familiar…' She could not focus long enough to place them. Her legs gave out, and she fell against his chest as darkness crept in.

The man's strong arms caught her, lifting her with surprising ease.

He spoke close to her ear in a deep voice. "I got you."

…

Regina leaned back against the headrest and looked at Alfred with tear-filled eyes. "I'm so sorry, Freddy. I can't believe I sprained my ankle and made you stay with me in the hospital instead of going to work."

Alfred stared out the window without a word.

Slightly startled by his silence, Regina raised her voice and lowered it again at once. "Um, Alfred?"

He turned away from the window with a frown. "Is it just me, or did you also hear Iris calling out to me earlier?"

Regina nearly lost control of her expression, but she reined it in at the last second.

"Was she following you again?" she asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Alfred hesitated, then let out a short laugh. "Oh, is that what it was? I thought she'd finally grown a spine and blocked me. Now she's pulling this again? Pathetic. I'm not giving her a single moment of my time."

Regina smiled in response. Then she clutched her foot and gasped.

"Ow!" she cried.

Alfred hurried to her bedside. "What's wrong? Let me see."

"Okay." Regina began lifting the hem of her skirt to expose her ankle.

She kept pulling it higher, almost baring her entire leg. She rubbed her thighs together slightly and moaned, "It hurts so much, Freddy. What do you think we should do?"

Alfred smiled faintly and climbed onto the bed, bracing himself over her. "You witch."

Regina looped an arm around his neck. "Does the fair knight want to slay her?"

"Does he ever."

Their lips met.

A nurse entered to administer medication, took in the scene, and promptly fled the room with a sheepish laugh.

Elsewhere in the hospital, in a completely different ward…

Iris finally woke up.

A young nurse stood nearby. "Oh, you're awake at last. Are you feeling any discomfort?"

Iris shook her head and glanced around the room. The mysterious savior was nowhere in sight.

She reached for the nurse's hand. "Where is the man who brought me here?"

"He left after making sure your fever had gone down, Miss McGuire," the nurse replied.

"Did he leave his contact information or anything like that?" Iris asked.

"No."

"I see."

The disappointment surprised her. The man who had saved her felt strangely familiar. Yet she could not place him.

The nurse picked up a neatly folded scarf from the bedside and handed it to her. "While you still had a fever, you kept saying how cold you were. You grabbed his scarf and wouldn't let go, like it was a lifebuoy. Neither of us could pry your hands free, so he decided to leave it with you."

Iris imagined the tug-of-war she had forced on everyone and wished she could sink back into sleep. It was mortifying.

The scarf was made of high-quality wool, so soft that she could not bring herself to set it aside. It was black, but the intricate embroidery revealed the hand of a seasoned tailor who had poured an absurd amount of care into the work. No ordinary person could afford something like this.

She lifted it closer and caught his scent. A faint trace of cigarette smoke lingered, along with a cold, distant aura. It reminded her of the eyes she had seen beneath the umbrella.

"I didn't expect my shift today to bring me two absolute dreamboats, ma'am," the nurse added. "And both of them were so sweet. There was Mr. Sinclair and Miss Quinn. Oh my God, they were so affectionate that we couldn't even step into the room."