Benedict’s roar echoed through the open space. He rushed to her, scooping her up like his whole world depended on it.
I stood there, my fingers twitching at my sides. Then I followed.
At the hospital, everything was white and humming and cold. He paced outside the operating room, still in the bloodstained suit. The mighty Benedict Karsov—untouchable, unreadable—was now a man clutching fear with both fists.
Then the doors slammed open and a doctor rushed out. “Massive blood loss,” he said, breathless. “She’s RH-negative. The blood bank doesn’t have her type.
“I’m RH-negative,” I said, standing up. “Use mine.”
He turned to me like I’d just slapped him.
“She needs it. Go ahead.”
After all, I'm leaving…
The nurse led me away. I lay on the stiff cot, needle in my arm, blood draining slowly into the bag. I watched it go, drop by drop, while Benedict was there when I came out. Still pacing.
“S-she’ll live,” I told him softly.
“Why haven’t you left yet?”
I looked away. “She misunderstood. I want to explain when she wakes up.”
He stepped closer. “You really like me that much, huh?”
Before I could speak, the doors opened again. The surgeon came out, removing his gloves. “She’s stable. She’ll wake soon.”
Benedict exhaled, tension falling off him in one long breath. I moved back to the wall. Disappeared into silence again.
**
WHEN MAEVE WOKE UP, I was there.
She opened her eyes, saw me, and instantly started crying.
“So you brought her here too?” she asked Benedict, voice shaking. “You want me to wish you both well, is that it?”
“No,” I said quickly. “You misunderstood. He really did have a meeting that day. The clothes, he just brought me along. Nothing happened.”
Benedict added, “She’s nothing to me. We’re married on paper. That’s all.”
Maeve stared at us both with teary, trembling eyes. “Prove it, Benny!”
Benedict frowned. “What do you want me to do?”
Maeve turned her head toward the window. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the storm raging outside. Rain lashed the courtyard. Thunder rolled loud enough to shake the walls.
“Make her kneel out there,” Maeve whispered, voice trembling. “In the storm. Let her stay until she passes out. No umbrella. No coat.”
Benedict blinked. “Maeve, she—”
“She’s scared of thunder,” she said. “You told me once. That her hands shake. That her breathing stops.” She turned to him, eyes glassy. “Prove I matter more.”
Silence fell like a shroud. He looked at her. Then at me. And for a moment, I hoped, hoped he would say no. That he would protect me, just once.
But instead, he stepped back and said, quietly, “Take her.”
The bodyguards moved.
I didn't struggle. What was the point?
They shoved me outside like I was trash. The cold rain smacked into my skin like slaps. Thunder cracked overhead, violent and too close, and my legs buckled. I dropped to my knees on the slick concrete, arms trembling, soaked within seconds.
The guards locked the door behind me.
I was alone.
The wind howled, whipping my soaked hair around my face. I tried to breathe, but every boom of thunder made my chest lock up.
Another crash. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood and all I remember is collapsing.
**
I woke up in Karsov’s estate three days later.
Not the hospital. Maeve didn’t want me there. Said I was faking it. But they didn’t know the truth. My body wasn’t performing. It had shut down.
Three days of silence, stillness, and sleep, that was all it could manage.
“Benny,” Maeve purred from the doorway, “When are we interrogating that traitor from Marseille? I want to watch.”
Then her eyes flicked to me.
“Oh, Miss Linwood. You’re awake?” She smiled like a debutante. “I didn’t mean for him to actually send you out into the storm. I was just mad. He took it literally.”
I didn’t answer.
She sat gracefully on Benedict’s lap, “I heard you donated blood to me. How romantic,” she cooed. “You bled for me. How about this? As a thank-you, you should join us tonight. Karsov’s sealing a deal with the Russians. Private dinner. No press. Just family.”
I opened my mouth to say no.
But she moved fast. Grabbed my hand before I could finish the first syllable.
“Don’t refuse.”
Benedict didn’t speak. He just looked at me, that same cold, loaded stare that meant: Don’t make a scene.
I swallowed. Then nodded.
**
The dinner was held on Karsov’s private yacht.
Three security checks. Twelve guards with semi-automatics. Surveillance in every room.
But everything was dressed in opulence—white leather chairs, crystal glasses, a chandelier that probably cost more than my life.
The ocean stretched out around us, calm but deceitful. Like everyone at this table.
Maeve curled against Benedict like she belonged to him. She laughed too loudly, whispered names into his ear, pretended to be scared when he mentioned the weapons deal.
I sat near the edge of the dining area, quiet, invisible. Watching. When Benedict stepped away to take a secure call, she came over.
“I don’t get you sometimes,” Maeve murmured, her diamond necklace catching the low light.
I turned to face her slowly. Calm. Flat.
“They say you love him,” she said, sipping her wine like it was blood. “That you’d take a bullet for him. But I’ve never seen a woman in love act like you.”
Her voice dropped.
“I framed you. Made you crawl. Made you beg. And when he obeyed me and left you in that storm, you didn’t scream. Didn’t even flinch. Now I sit in his lap and lick honey off his fingers and you still don’t move.”
Her smile widened.
“So tell me, Miss Linwood. Do you really love him… or are you just pathetic?”
I tugged at my lips. Thought about answering.
But then—
Boom.
A sound like thunder. A wave slammed into the side of the yacht.
“Ah!” she screamed.
We both went overboard.
The sea swallowed us whole. Something sharp ripped into my side as I hit the water. Blood followed. My blood.
“Two overboard! We’ve got two in the water!”
Then another shout: “One of them’s bleeding! Sharks’ll smell it!”
“Where are they?”
“They fell opposite side, we can only reach one!”
Then I heard Benedict scream: “Save Maeve!”
The words hit harder than the sea.
I sank.
I saw my blood stain the water.
And then… nothing.
