MasukNATHANIELI am left standing in waiting room staring at the exact spot where Betty was standing seconds ago. My arms are still half-raised, my fingers curled inward, grasping at absolutely nothing but cold air.The ghost of her warmth is still radiating against my chest. The scent of her, even csomething soft and inherently her that cuts straight through the antiseptic smell of the hospital—is still clinging to my shirt.I can’t believe she ran. Again. Just like she did on that damn elevator. She looked up at me, her chest heaving, her beautiful green eyes completely blown wide with a panic so absolute it mirrored my own, and she bolted.A nurse pushes a cart past me, giving me a wide, cautious berth. I ignore her, my jaw clenching so hard f teeth grind together.I frrfcc try to stop Betty. I couldn't. Because for those three suspended seconds before she pulled away, I felt it. I felt the exact moment her walls crumbled. I felt her melt against me, her hands gripping my shirt like I
BETTYMy arms hover uselessly in the air, suspended in absolute shock.Nathaniel’s massive frame is wrapped around me, his face buried deep in my neck, his heavy, ragged breaths ghosting across my collarbone.For three paralyzing seconds, my brain entirely short-circuits. I can't process what is happening.But as the initial shock fades, the reality of where we are slowly seeps in. We are in the middle of a brightly lit hospital waiting room, the nurses and orderlies are passing by, and are starting to stare.I should push him away. I should remind him of the boundaries we have drawn. The unspoken ones. But as the suffocating relief that Harriette is going to survive rushes through my own veins, it dismantles every single defense mechanism I have left.So, I do what any decent human being would do. I slowly lower my arms and wrap them tightly around his waist.The moment my palms press flat against his back, a profound, overwhelming warmth radiates from his body, seeping directly thro
NATHANIELThe hospital administration had flatly refused my demand to rent out the entire floor as I had done in New York, but after a sizable "donation" to the ward, they had at least provided me with a private, secure on-call room to clean up in.It is a small, confined space, but meticulously clean.I drop the duffel bag onto the small cot, walk straight to the sink, and I turn the faucet on full blast, splashing freezing-cold water over my face, letting it soak into my messy hair.The icy shock does absolutely nothing to ease the twisting, agonizing fear in my gut regarding Harriette, but at least the heavy, dark bags under my eyes look marginally less pronounced in the mirror.There is a tiny shower stall in the corner. I stare at it. It is entirely too cramped and practical for my tastes, but looking down at my rumpled clothes from yesterday, I don't care. I strip them down and step under the spray.There is no hot water, exactly as I expected, but I have never needed a cold show
NATHANIEL.It has been exactly three hours and twelve minutes since Betty walked out of the hospital.In that agonizing stretch of time, I have paced every single square inch of this sterile waiting room. I have yelled at the nurses behind the front desk twice, completely lost my temper, and threatened to buy the entire hospital and fire the administrative staff, until security politely but firmly informed me that if I opened my mouth again, I would be escorted off the premises.I hate to admit it, but Betty being was the only thing keeping the darkest, most volatile parts of me in check. And the second she left me alone, I unraveled.I clench my hands into white-knuckled fists at my sides, cursing internally for the millionth time.Harriette is still in surgery. The doctor hasn't come through those swinging double doors to give me a single update, leaving my exhausted brain to conjure up only the most terrifying, worst-case scenarios.I have tried everything to keep my mind occupied.
BETTYAnything else? I tap my fingers anxiously against the marble island in the center of the closet. It could get cold. I crouch down and pull one of his heavy, oversized black hoodies from the bottom shelf, stuffing it into the duffel bag.That should be it. I grab the handles of the bag, but right as I turn toward the door, a sudden realization stops me dead in my tracks.Underwear.I let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, letting my head drop back. I have to go into Nathaniel Blackwell’s underwear drawer.What exactly has my life become?I turn back around, staring down the sleek rows of built-in drawers beneath the marble island. I pull the top one open. It is entirely packed with designer sunglasses, all subtly engraved with the letters N.B. I roll my eyes and push it shut.The second drawer. Watches. A terrifying fortune of Rolexes and vintage Patek Philippes resting on velvet cushions. I shut it immediately.The third drawer. Boxers, perfectly color-coordinated next to neat stack
BETTYWe haven't truly spoken since our heavy conversation the other day. He explained his side of the story, but if I am being entirely honest with myself... I feel distant from him. Like, there is a pane of glass between us, and I don't know how to break it.He takes a step forward, closing the distance, and reaches out, his good hand coming to rest gently on my shoulder.I stiffen.It is an involuntary reaction, something that has never happened between us before, but my body just entirely locks up and he notices. The warmth drops from his eyes, and he pulls his hand back, taking a slow step away."How is Harriette?" he asks, his voice quieter now.I fold my lips into a thin line and nod once. "She's in surgery. An emergency bypass for a blocked artery."Rhys takes another step back, running his good hand through his hair, as a heavy, jagged breath leaving his chest. He stares at the floor for a long second before looking back up at me with pure, unfiltered guilt and regret flicker
NATHANIELMy hands won’t stop trembling, and the paper shakes between my fingers, the words blurring no matter how many times I blink.I must have read the same line a dozen times, but it still doesn’t make sense. Divorce. “She wanted to divorce my grandfather?” The word tastes foreign in my mouth.
BETTYI freeze outside the door, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.I force myself to look in, and the sight steals whatever air was left in my lungs.The room looks like a battlefield, books scattered like fallen soldiers, and papers littering the floor in torn, angry flurri
BETTYAfter a full day of dust, drills, and paint samples, I still feel like the construction site clings to my skin.My fingers smell faintly of fresh cement and marker ink, and my back aches from leaning over blueprints all day.I should have gone home to shower, but Lucy can be very persuasive.S
BETTYI’ve been avoiding Rhys since the day he found me at the cemetery.The way his arms wrapped around me, and how I clung to him longer than I should have, hasn’t left my mind since.He didn’t pull away. He didn’t say a word. He just let me stay there, quietly breaking against him, and it didn’t







