Chapter 11 – The First Real Thing

"Eva Monroe's Point Of View''

The nurses let me stay for an hour.

One hour. I spent what felt like an eternity—sixty agonizing minutes—behind a hospital curtain, watching my little brother lie there, unconscious and connected to machines that beeped like a relentless countdown I couldn’t stop. His skin seemed almost transparent under the harsh fluorescent lights, his lips cracked and parched, and his lashes barely fluttered with any sign of life.

I sat quietly by his side, holding a hand that didn’t respond to mine.

The disguise Cassian had forced on me felt like it was chafing my skin raw under my chin. The cheap black wig, the oversized hoodie. No one would recognize me—just some grieving ghost visiting ICU. That was the idea.

Liam never opened his eyes. I whispered things he couldn’t hear. There are so many things I kept to myself while he was awake. I did apologize for pulling him into my chaos. For trusting the wrong people. For being the reason he was here.

Then the nurse returned and said gently, “Time’s up.”

I wanted to scream. To tear the wires off the machines and run. But instead, I stood. Walked out of the hospital without a fight, like a good little prisoner in borrowed clothes.

The car Cassian sent was waiting outside. No driver. Just a dark, silent vehicle like a hearse in disguise. I got in. The ride back was pretty quiet. Rain had started to fall—just enough to blur the edges of everything around me. I found myself staring out the window, but my mind was elsewhere. All I could picture was the shape of Liam’s face behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

By the time we pulled up to the estate, it was already past midnight.

I stepped into the dining room, expecting it to be silent. But the chandelier was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the shiny table.

Cassian was sitting at the far end. All alone. No phone in sight. No glass of bourbon. Just him, with his elbow resting on the table and his hand propping up his jaw, like he’d been waiting for me to show up.

I froze in the doorway.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.

He just looked at me, as if he was at a loss for words too.

I walked past him and plopped down in the chair closest to the wall, still gripping the hospital wristband like it was my only connection to reality. I didn’t bother taking off the hoodie or the wig; I was too drained to let go of anything at this point.

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just... hollow.

He watched me through it. Eyes dark and unreadable. Maybe he expected gratitude.

I was really questioning whether I had what it takes.

Then he finally said something—his voice barely above a whisper, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

My head turned slowly. “What?”

His eyes held steady. “It’s for the surgery. It’s for the money. You don’t owe me anything.”

A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. “Are you sure about that? Because last time I checked, everything you do comes with a chain attached.”

He didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair and said, “Not this time.”

Not this time.

That did something to me. Twisted the knife deeper, because I couldn’t even hate him for it.

The enemy who ruined my life had just saved it—again.

And I hated how that made me feel.

I looked down at my hands. The ink-stained skin. The bandage on my finger from where I’d tried to rip the contract earlier, just before his transfer hit the hospital.

“I was going to burn it,” I said. “The contract. I was done playing house.”

“I know.”

I met his eyes again. “So why stop me? Why pay for it?”

He said nothing.

Just silence.

Then, finally, he exhaled and muttered, “Because you were going to leave. And I didn’t want you to.”

There it was again.

Not control. Not leverage.

Just the truth.

I closed my eyes. My throat felt tight.

“This would be easier if you stayed the monster,” I whispered.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t smirk. He just said, “Yeah. I know.”

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Cassian rose from the chair. I thought he’d leave. But he walked to the table’s edge and set something down beside me.

It was a photo.

Of Liam.

A candid shot—before the hospital, before the blood. He was mid-laugh, probably making a stupid joke.

“I found it in your room,” Cassian said. “Figured you’d want it back.”

My fingers curled around it automatically. I should’ve said thank you. I didn’t.

I waited for him to leave.

But he didn’t move.

He lingered there for a moment longer, looking at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

Then, in a voice so quiet I nearly missed it, he said, “You’re not the only one who's scared, Eva.”

That stopped me cold.

I looked up.

But he was already walking away—quiet footsteps disappearing down the hall, leaving me alone at the table, photo in hand, storm outside pressing against the windows.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t know who to run from.

Not him.

Not even myself.

But the part of me wanted to believe him.

Maybe he meant it.

That maybe, for once, something real was happening between two people built entirely from damage.

I lingered in my seat long after the lights had turned off, gazing into the darkness.

And I realized with a sharp breath:

He didn’t just pay Liam’s debt.

He made me owe him something I couldn’t repay.

Something worse than money.

Something like trust.

Or worse—hope.

He didn’t just save Liam. He cracked something open in me I’d spent years sealing shut—and now I didn’t know how to close it again.