POV Victor
I sat on the edge of her bed, my back pressed against the headboard, watching her breathe. The moonlight spilling through the half-open curtains cut silver lines across her face, softening every sharp edge of the last few days. Her lashes rested in dark crescents against her skin, her lips parted slightly with each slow exhale. She looked peaceful in a way that made something deep in my chest ache. Peace like this was rare for her lately, and I wanted to guard it like it was the last of its kind.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the occasional shift of the bedsheets when she moved in her sleep. My own heartbeat felt loud in my ears, not just because of her, but because I’d been sitting here long enough to feel the weight of everything I hadn’t said.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
The sharp vibration felt like it didn’t belong in this room. I pulled it out, angling the screen away from the bed like a reflex. Stacy. Of course it was Stacy.
Stacy: Send the money now or I swear I’ll tell her everything.
My grip tightened.
Another ping came before I even processed the first.
Stacy: You know I don’t bluff, Victor.
I stared at the screen, jaw locked until my teeth ached. Stacy had always been a hurricane I couldn’t quite close the door on, but this… this was a new kind of low. Dragging Mira into it, threatening me with her name in the same breath as a demand for money? That wasn’t just manipulation — that was an attack. And she knew exactly where to hit so it would hurt most.
I turned the phone over in my hand, weighing my options. If I transferred the money tonight, maybe I could stop her before she decided to make good on her threat. Handle the fallout later, in private. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, ready to type, ready to give in just to keep Mira from knowing any part of that history.
Before I could, I heard the sheets rustle.
“Victor?”
Her voice was thick with sleep, low and warm in the dark. I shoved the phone back into my pocket like it was contraband, forcing my face into something neutral before I looked at her.
She’d pushed herself up on one elbow, hair a messy halo around her face, eyes still heavy and unfocused.
“Why are you sitting over there?” she murmured.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I said quietly.
She tilted her head just slightly, but enough for me to see the faint crease between her brows. Even half-asleep, she was studying me like she could strip the truth right out of my skull. Then, without a word, she lifted the blanket beside her in a silent invitation.
“Come here.”
“Mira—” I started, because I wasn’t sure I could do this without giving something away.
“Please.” Just one word, soft but certain, and every reason I had for handling Stacy right now crumbled.
Tomorrow. I’d deal with Stacy tomorrow.
I slipped off my shoes, the carpet cool under my feet, and slid under the blanket. She shifted toward me without hesitation, curling into my chest like she’d been waiting for this all night. Her hand curled into the fabric of my shirt, knuckles brushing my ribs, and her head found that perfect place beneath my chin like she’d been there a hundred times before.
The tension in me eased just a fraction. I could feel the heat of her against me, the steady weight of her body grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed until now.
We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. Her breathing slowed against me, deepening in a rhythm that pulled at my own until we were in sync. For the first time all day, maybe all week, I felt the constant coil in my chest start to unwind.
Her scent lingered in the air — a faint trace of her perfume beneath the sharper memory of hospital corridors. It was a reminder of what she’d been through today, and maybe why she was clinging to me now. I let my arm curve fully around her waist, my palm settling flat against her stomach. She didn’t tense or pull away. Instead, she let out the smallest sigh, the kind that told me she felt safe.
Safe with me.
That thought lodged itself somewhere deep, where even Stacy’s threats couldn’t touch it.
I stared at the ceiling, letting my eyes blur in the dark, until the rhythm of her breathing pulled me under, too. The last thing I remember before sleep was the warmth of her body pressed to mine and the quiet thought that maybe I didn’t deserve this, but I wasn’t going to let go either.
I woke to cold.
Not just cold — shock.
Ice water slammed into my face in one brutal wave, stinging my skin, soaking my shirt, sliding down the back of my neck like it had been poured straight from the freezer. I sucked in a breath too sharp, jerking upright with a half-strangled curse.
Blinking through the blur, I dragged a hand down my face, flinging droplets onto the sheets, my hair sticking in wet clumps to my forehead.
“What the hell—” I started, my voice rough from sleep, but the words stalled in my throat when I saw her.
Mira was standing over me, her grip still tight on the now-empty glass in her hand. Her hair was wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with something far from embarrassment. Her eyes — those sharp, unflinching eyes — were locked on me with an intensity that made my stomach clench.
Her breathing was quick, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run up the stairs. The muscles in her jaw flexed, and every line of her body screamed that she wasn’t here to listen — she was here to demand.
She didn’t wait for me to recover, didn’t even blink as the words shot out of her like a bullet.
“What is the Triplet Pact!”