Pain met me first.
My entire body felt like it had been dragged across pavement. My limbs were stiff. My ribs burned when I tried to breathe too deeply. And still, it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most.
“Miss Whitmore,” a soft voice called out.
A nurse stood beside me, clipboard in hand, lips curved into a professional smile. Her eyes darted to the monitor before she looked down at me. “You’re awake. That’s good.”
I swallowed, throat dry. “Where’s… Jaxon?”
She blinked, then nodded. “He left earlier this morning. He hired our team to watch over you. He’s currently attending to Miss Ivy. She sustained some injuries as well during the incident.”
There was a silence.
Then I almost laughed—but there was no humor in it. Just this raw, hollow sound that scraped at my throat.
I was the one who fell. The one who passed out from pain. But she—she was the one he ran to.
And now he had left someone else to take care of me while he sat beside her bed, probably holding her hand and whispering sweet reassurances.
It was ridiculous.
I let my head fall back against the pillow and exhaled slowly through my nose. A part of me wanted to lie still, pretend I cared enough to let this hurt break me.
But I didn’t.
Even with my body screaming in protest, I pushed the covers off and swung my legs over the bed. The nurse rushed forward. “Miss Whitmore, please—”
“I’m fine,” I said, cold and firm. “I don’t need help.”
That was the first lie of the day.
I stepped into the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. The corridor was dimly lit, lined with muted green doors and flowers in too-perfect vases.
I didn’t mean to stop.
But I did.
Right outside the room next to mine.
The door was cracked open. Voices spilled into the hallway.
“It’s my fault,” Ivy whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “You got hurt because of me.”
“No,” Jaxon said, his voice too soft. Too gentle. “It’s okay. I’d do it again. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means keeping you safe.”
My nails dug into my palm.
“But what about my sister?” she asked, like it was a line rehearsed. “You’re her personal butler… and also the one to protect her.”
“She’s fine now,” he replied, and I could picture the look on his face—calm, unwavering, loyal. “Freya’s strong. She doesn’t need me the way you do.”
I felt something twist in my chest.
Strong.
That word again.
They all used it when they wanted an excuse not to care. Freya’s strong. She can handle it. She doesn’t cry. She’ll be fine.
But no one ever asked if I wanted to be strong.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden shuffle of movement. I peeked further.
Several men in black suits walked into Ivy’s room, each one carrying a velvet-wrapped gift.
“Who are they?” Ivy asked.
One of them stepped forward and bowed. “Miss Ivy, these are gifts from Young Master Smith. He heard about what happened and wanted to send these to make you smile.”
Ivy’s mouth dropped open in awe. “Wait—what? I don’t even know him personally!”
The man smiled. “But he’s been watching from afar. Admiring you.”
“Do you think I deserve this?” she asked, looking at Jaxon with wide, gleaming eyes.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation.
“And… do you think he likes me?” she added with a giggle.
Jaxon nodded. “Surely.”
I didn’t need confirmation.
I already knew.
Young Master Smith… was Jaxon. Hiding behind a title, crafting an illusion, so he could shower her with gifts under a different name.
I turned away.
But before I could disappear down the hall, her voice stopped me.
“Oh my gosh—Freya!” Ivy gasped. “Sister, look! Young Master Smith sent all these for me. I’m so lucky, don’t you think?”
I didn’t say a word. I just kept walking.
But Ivy wasn’t done. She caught up to me in the hall, her heels clicking frantically behind me.
“Wait! Are you mad? Is it because you’re jealous?”
I stopped.
Turned.
“I would never be jealous of you,” I said, every word like ice. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”
She reached for my arm again and I shoved her away.
Not hard.
But enough.
“Careful!” Jaxon called out as he appeared behind us. He rushed to Ivy’s side. “She’s not well yet. You should apologize.”
Apologize?
I stared at him for a long, hollow second.
And then… I did.
“Sorry,” I said, flatly.
For what—I didn’t even know. But I was tired. Too tired to fight anymore.
I turned and walked away, past the nurses, past the flowers, past the walls painted in colors meant to soothe.
Behind me, I heard him mutter, “Let her go… she’s probably just being dramatic.”
“I’m still worried,” Ivy’s voice chimed in sweetly. “Let’s follow her.”
