[ WARNING!: READER DISCRETION]
Melissa's hands trembled as she walked beside Stephan.
His men surrounded them at first, silent shadows with watchful eyes, but Stephan's presence alone was enough to command the space. Tall, composed, his light brown hair neatly in place, his hands resting casually in his pockets—he moved with quiet authority, every step measured.
He stopped.
The guards exchanged glances.
Are you sure?
Stephan lifted his gaze to them—calm, but firm.
That was enough.
They stepped back and left without another word.
The air shifted instantly.
Now it was just the two of them.
"Are you armed?" Stephan asked, his voice level, almost too calm for the question.
Melissa froze. Her throat tightened.
"No…" she whispered. "That's all of it."
He studied her briefly, then continued walking.
Melissa followed, her steps uneven, her breath shallow. Words slipped from her lips under her breath—broken, restless murmurs she didn't even realize she was saying.
Her phone buzzed suddenly in her hand.
Stephan's gaze shifted to her.
"I… I need to use the bathroom," she said quickly, her voice unsteady.
A pause.
Then he nodded once.
"Go."
Melissa hurried away, almost running. Two guards followed at a distance, but when she reached the hallway, they stopped, giving her space.
She didn't go to the bathroom.
Instead, she moved further—up the second floor, past the corridor, until she reached the open front yard balcony.
The wind hit her instantly.
Cold. Real.
She pulled out her phone with shaking hands.
And then—
Her world shattered.
"No—!"
The scream tore from her throat as the image filled her screen.
Her mother.
On the floor.
Blood everywhere.
Still.
Gone.
Melissa collapsed to her knees, her body shaking violently as sobs ripped through her chest.
"Why…?" she cried. "Why does this keep happening…?"
Her grip tightened around the phone.
"First dad… now you…"
Her voice broke completely.
"I tried… I tried to save you…"
Tears blurred her vision, but the image remained burned into her mind.
Then something shifted.
Her sobs slowed.
Her breathing grew uneven.
"What's the difference between me and Monk…?" she whispered. "I could have been a murderer tonight…"
Her fingers trembled.
"I almost killed someone… someone's love…"
Her head dropped.
"Monk deserves to die…"
A pause.
"…So do I."
--------
Downstairs, Stephan checked his watch.
Too long.
He turned immediately and walked into the house.
The guards straightened.
"She went to the bathroom?" he asked calmly.
"Yes, sir."
Stephan nodded and moved upstairs.
His steps were quiet—but faster now.
He stopped in front of the bathroom door.
Knock.
No response.
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
He knocked again, firmer this time.
"Melissa."
Silence.
"Open the door."
Nothing.
A pause.
Then—
"I'm coming in."
He pushed the door open.
Empty.
His gaze swept the room quickly.
Cold. Calculating.
Wrong.
He stepped out immediately.
-------
Upstairs, the wind wrapped around Melissa as she stood at the edge.
Her fingers clutched the phone tightly against her chest.
"I tried to save you…" she whispered. "But I failed…"
Her voice broke.
"…Evelyn…"
She looked up at the sky, tears streaming freely now.
"I'll just go with the wind…"
Her lips trembled.
"I want to fly away too… just like you did…"
Her foot moved forward.
Over the edge.
The wind howled louder.
She closed her eyes.
And let go.
Time stopped.
Her body tilted backward slowly.
The world beneath her stretched wide and distant.
The air rushed past her—cold, endless.
For a second—
There was no fear.
Just weightlessness.
Just silence.
I'm falling…
The elevator doors slid open.
Stephan stepped out.
His gaze lifted—
And everything froze.
Melissa was falling.
In that instant, his body moved.
Fast. Precise.
His hand shot forward—
Grabbing her arm just before she slipped away completely.
The force pulled her back violently, her body crashing into his chest.
Melissa gasped, her breath snapping back into her lungs as reality slammed into her.
Alive.
Stephan's grip was firm. Unshaken.
He held her steady, his expression calm as ever.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
"Do you want to die?"
His voice was quiet. Controlled.
But it cut deeper than anything else.
Melissa stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, tears still falling down her face.
Her world had just ended.
And somehow—
Stephan Quinlan had just pulled her back into it.
Melissa didn't answer. She couldn't. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Tears slipped silently down her face.
Stephan watched her for a moment—calm, unreadable, almost detached.
Then his grip loosened.
But his voice followed.
"Next time…" he said, tone even, almost indifferent,
"…I won't save you."
******
Evelyn sat at the edge of her bed, her fingers brushing lightly against her lips as a quiet smile formed.
My feisty little flower.
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
She wanted to hear it again.
A knock sounded at the door.
She stood quickly and opened it. A neatly dressed butler stood there, composed, his posture straight.
"Mr. Montclair requests your presence," he said with a slight bow. "At the front yard. Kindly dress appropriately."
Before she could ask anything, he turned and left.
Evelyn blinked, her heart skipping.
Front yard?
Her mind wandered too fast.
Was he going to say something?
Explain whatever this… tension between them was?
She changed quickly—casual trousers, a red top. Her platinum hair fell freely over her shoulders, softer now, longer.
She paused in front of the mirror.
She didn't want to cut it anymore.
She didn't walk.
She ran.
The garden stretched wide, flowers swaying gently in the wind, almost like a scene out of something soft… something romantic.
Then she stopped.
Abruptly.
Silas stood ahead.
Leather jacket. Dark trousers.
Two knives in his hands.
The softness shattered.
Evelyn slowed, her steps cautious now.
"W-why do you have a knife?"
Silas exhaled, glancing away briefly before looking back at her.
"Wrong question."
His voice was calm—but sharp.
"Next time, ask me if I would kill you with it."
Her breath caught.
The wind seemed to still.
Before she could react, Silas moved behind her.
His hand wrapped around her wrist, placing the cold handle into her palm, folding her fingers tightly around it.
Her hand trembled.
His voice dropped, close to her ear.
"Fight me."
A pause.
"Like I'm your enemy."
He stepped away.
Facing her now.
His stance shifted—fluid, controlled. The knife reversed in his grip, blade angled downward along his arm, his body relaxed but ready.
Dangerous.
Evelyn's fingers loosened.
The knife fell.
"I… I can't do that, Silas."
Silas closed his eyes briefly, his hand brushing his temple. Disappointed.
He picked up the knife and placed it back in her hand.
This time, he stayed behind her—adjusting her grip, her wrist, her stance.
His touch was firm. Precise.
She shivered.
"Hold it like it matters," he murmured.
He stepped away again.
"Now fight."
She didn't move.
In a flash—
He struck her elbow with the blunt side of his knife.
Evelyn gasped, clutching her arm.
He didn't react.
"Your enemy won't hesitate."
His voice was colder now.
"This is your second test."
A beat.
"Don't fail."
Something in her snapped.
Evelyn straightened.
Her grip tightened—but wrong. Heavy. Clumsy.
"Fight me, Evelyn."
She rushed forward, swinging wildly.
Silas dodged effortlessly.
Moved behind her—
Hit her elbow again.
Pain shot through her arm.
"You're holding back."
This time, she turned faster.
Anger rising.
She rushed him again—reckless.
Silas caught her wrist, twisted slightly, knocking the knife from her hand.
It hit the ground.
He picked it up and handed it back to her.
"Don't fight like—"
He didn't finish.
Evelyn moved.
Fast.
Her hand shot forward—grabbing his knife—
And in one swift motion—
She sliced across his cheek.
Silas stepped back instantly.
A thin cut opened.
Blood surfaced slowly.
Silence fell.
His fingers rose, brushing the blood.
His gaze stayed on her.
Unblinking.
Evelyn's breath hitched.
The knife slipped from her hand.
"Silas…"
She stepped closer, reaching for him—
But he caught her wrist.
Stopped her.
Straightened.
Let the blood trail down his cheek.
"Good job."
Calm.
Almost approving.
He threw the knife—it sank into the garden floor.
Then he turned and walked away.
Evelyn hurried after him.
"Let me treat it."
He glanced down at her.
"Sweetheart," he said lightly, "I'm good."
That faint smile again.
Not real.
Inside his room, he placed a med kit on the bed.
Evelyn stepped closer.
"Stop acting like a pumpkin head."
Silas paused—then chuckled softly, opening the kit.
"Pumpkin?" he murmured. "Do I act that cute to you?"
Evelyn pushed him gently onto the bed.
"Sit."
She grabbed cotton and antiseptic.
"Don't be a bad boy. Be a good one."
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"You owe me for that."
She leaned closer, cleaning the cut.
He winced slightly.
"That's what you get for testing a detective."
Silas didn't respond.
His gaze drifted—
To her hair.
Then lower.
Evelyn noticed.
"…Why are you staring at me?"
Silas exhaled quietly.
"You're beautiful."
A pause.
"With your hair longer."
His eyes stayed on hers.
"Don't cut it."
Evelyn scoffed, trying to hide the heat in her chest.
"Shut up before I kiss you."
Silas chuckled softly.
"Then go ahead."