Sophie’s POV
The evening air is crisp against my skin as I walk down the familiar street toward Blaze and Asher's apartment.
A bottle of expensive wine, a peace offering for the disaster of our last double date, is tucked under my arm, and my phone is pressed to my ear as I chat with Blaze about tonight's plans.
"I'm about three blocks away," I tell him, stepping around a couple walking their dog. "Eric should be arriving soon too, right?"
"Yeah, we're waiting for both of you."
Blaze's voice is warm, relaxed in a way I haven't heard in weeks.
"This time we'll actually get through dinner without drama. Asher and I have made a pact—no fighting, no passive-aggressive comments, just good food and good company."
"I'm holding you to that. Eric was traumatized enough by the last attempt."
"How is Eric, by the way? Things are still going well?"
I smile despite myself. "Things are... good. Really good, actually. I think you'll like him better when you're not watching your husband implode across the table."
"Fair point. We weren't exactly at our best that night."
"Understatement of the century."
The street is quieter now, the residential block between the main avenue and their building lined with parked cars and dim streetlights. I'm mentally reviewing the evening ahead, dinner, wine, maybe games afterward if everyone's getting along, when I feel it.
A presence behind me—close, too close. Before I can turn, a hand clamps over my mouth from behind.
The scream dies in my throat as another arm wraps around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. A chemical smell floods my senses—sweet, cloying, unmistakably chloroform.
The wine bottle slips from my grip and crashes to the sidewalk, glass exploding across the concrete in a spray of burgundy.
"Sophie? Sophie, what was that?" Blaze's voice, distant and tinny through my phone. "Sophie, you there?"
One of the attackers stomps on the device, crushing it under his heel. The screen shatters, cutting off Blaze's increasingly frantic shouts.
My lungs burn with the effort of not breathing, every instinct screaming at me to gasp for air while the soaked cloth presses against my nose and mouth.
The chloroform seeps into my skin, making my eyes water, but I force myself to go limp. To pretend the drug is working.
The arms holding me loosen slightly—just enough.
I drive my heel backward with every ounce of strength I possess, connecting solidly with my attacker's knee. He howls in pain, his grip releasing, and I tear free, stumbling forward onto the sidewalk.
Run. I need to run.
But the second attacker is faster. He tackles me from behind, and my head strikes concrete with a sickening crack. Pain explodes across my temple, white-hot and blinding. Something warm trickles down my face—blood, I realize distantly. My blood.
"Grab her," one of them hisses. "We need to go before someone sees."
Hands grip my arms, starting to drag me toward the street. Toward the dark sedan that's been haunting my peripheral vision for weeks. My vision swims, consciousness threatening to slip away, but I fight to stay present, to stay alive.
Then everything changes. A figure barrels out of nowhere, crashing into my primary attacker with enough force to send them both sprawling.
Through my blurred vision, I recognize Eric—his face twisted with fury as he throws punches with surprising skill, driving the man back with each blow.
"Get off her!" Eric's voice is raw, primal. "Get the fuck away from her!"
More footsteps, running. Blaze and Asher burst onto the scene, both of them sprinting from the direction of their building. They must have run the entire three blocks after hearing the attack through the phone.
Asher reaches the second attacker first, tackling him away from me with the brutal efficiency of someone who's spent his life in physical competition.
Blaze is right behind him, and together they overwhelm the man who was seconds away from dragging me into that waiting car.
The fight is brief but vicious. Realizing they're now outnumbered and outmatched, the two attackers break free and sprint toward the sedan.
They leap inside, doors slamming, and the vehicle screeches away into traffic—disappearing around a corner before anyone can think to grab a license plate.
"Sophie." Eric drops to his knees beside me, his hands hovering over my face like he's afraid to touch me. "Oh God, Sophie, your head—there's so much blood."
"Head wounds bleed a lot," I manage, though my voice sounds far away. "Looks worse than it is."
"We need to call an ambulance," Blaze says, pulling out his phone. "And the police. Those men clearly knew what they were doing—this wasn't random."
"No!" I grab Eric's wrist with more strength than I knew I still possessed. "No police. Please don't call them."
The three men stare at me like I've lost my mind.
Eric's brow furrows with confusion. "Sophie, what are you talking about? You were just attacked—"
"I know what just happened." I struggle to sit up, and Eric immediately supports my back, his hands gentle despite the tension radiating from his body. "But calling the police will only make things worse. Trust me."
"Trust you?" Blaze's expression shifts from concern to barely controlled fury. "You were just attacked by people who've obviously been stalking you, and you don't want police involved? What the hell is going on, Sophie?"
"It's complicated…"
"No." His tone brooks no argument, captain's authority ringing through every syllable. "We're going upstairs right now, and you're telling us absolutely everything. No more secrets, no more half-truths. Everything, Sophie."
I look at the three faces surrounding me—Eric's worried confusion, Asher's guarded concern, Blaze's righteous anger. They deserve the truth.
After everything they've just done, after running three blocks because they heard me scream through a phone, they deserve to know what they've gotten themselves involved in.
But the truth means admitting how badly I've failed. How my father's choices have once again put everyone I care about in danger, how I've been lying to my closest friends for months while a target grew larger on my back.
"Can you walk?" Eric asks softly, his hand steady on my arm.
I nod, though my head throbs in violent protest. "I think so."
"Then let's get you inside." He helps me to my feet, keeping one arm around my waist for support. "We can clean up that cut, and then..." He glances at Blaze. "Then you can tell us what's really going on."
As they guide me toward the building, I steal one last look at the street where the dark sedan disappeared. The people in that car know where I was going tonight, know who my friends are, know that I'm no longer as vulnerable as they assumed.
Which means this isn't over. It's just beginning. And God knows who’ll get hurt next.