Chapter 2

Rain streamed down my hair into my eyes—it was sharp and painful.

I wiped my face, not sure if it was rain, sweat, or maybe even tears.

The cut on my leg had probably torn open again. Warm blood kept gushing out, soaking a large patch of my pants—sticky at first, then turning cold against my skin.

But all these sensations started to blur.

The world seemed to go silent, everything fading out—except the sight of Asher shielding that girl. That image blazed in my mind, screaming so loud I thought it'd split my nerves wide open.

Asher gave a quick nod toward the armored truck.

Two more guys in matching black tactical gear slipped out, quick and wordless.

Without a word, they went straight to checking the damage on the red sports car.

They handled things with the precision of a crime scene team.

Not a single one of them looked my way.

I felt like some invisible obstacle—like I wasn't even supposed to exist here.

The girl peeked out from behind Asher's blast shield, just enough to show half her face.

Her eyes settled on my bleeding leg.

She, for a split second, let her lips twitch up—a tiny smirk, so quick I almost thought I hallucinated it.

The way she looked at me, that blend of pity and superiority, was like a needle straight to the bone, stabbing deep.

She said, "Asher, I was so freaked out. Thank goodness you showed up."

Asher gave her shoulder a gentle pat—his usual move for calming someone down.

I've seen that before. Back when I'd wake up terrified from a nightmare, he'd comfort me the exact same way.

Asher replied, "You're safe now. Don't take the car out alone again, especially not in weather like this."

The girl replied, "Fine." She stretched the word, practically pouting as she played cute.

Suddenly, she pointed at me and said, "Asher, she looks pretty hurt. She's bleeding a lot."

Asher finally turned his gaze to me, like he could barely be bothered to look.

Through a few meters of pouring rain, his eyes were unfamiliar—just distant and businesslike, coolly appraising me.

There was even a flicker of impatience in his eyes, so subtle I almost missed it.

He looked at me like I was just some random civilian who'd wandered past the line of police tape and was now screwing up their operation.

Asher asked, "Ma'am, do you require medical assistance?"

Did he really just call me ma'am? I couldn't believe my ears.

A cold shiver ran up my spine, harsh and biting—even worse than the freezing rain soaking through me.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt locked tight. No sound came out at all.

I just stared at Asher, unable to tear my gaze away from those eyes concealed behind his mask.

I wanted him to recognize me.

Even just an instant of shock, a flash of confusion—anything was better than this total, ruthless disregard.

But no. His eyes didn't change at all, staying calm and impenetrable—like the dead, still surface of some endless black water.

Maybe, to him, I was never meant to exist in this place. Never meant to set foot in his "real" world at all.

The girl tugged gently at Asher's sleeve and said, "Asher, she looks totally out of it. Maybe we should take her to the hospital?"

Her words came out sweet as sugar, but her gaze was all venom underneath.

She added, "After all, it's my fault—I'm the one who hit her."

Asher frowned, weighing his options.

Then he gestured to one of his men and ordered, "Take care of it."

"On it," the man replied.

Then the man walked over to me, his steps steady, radiating a kind of trained authority.

He said, "Ma'am, we'll arrange a ride to send you to the nearest hospital. Someone will be in touch about the accident."

I forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

Asher wouldn't even bother to say a word to me himself.

Not even a casual, "What are you doing here?"—not even just out of politeness.

To him, I was no different from a busted guardrail—just another inconvenience to be dealt with.

The man was already right in front of me, reaching out—maybe to "help" me, but more likely to usher me away.

I slapped his hand away, hard.

The sudden force sent agonizing pain ripping through my injured leg.

Nearly blacking out with the pain, I staggered and almost went down.

Clutching the cracked door of my ruined car, I somehow managed to keep myself upright.

My nails clawed into the freezing metal, gripping it for dear life.

I said, "No need."

It sounded so ragged—even to me—but there was a steel behind it, sharper and fiercer than I'd ever felt before.

I added, "I'll handle my own mess."

Asher's gaze stayed on my face for a heartbeat longer, a flicker of surprise—like he genuinely hadn't expected me to push back.

But that was it.

Asher nodded and said, "Fine. Everything will be paid in full."

With that, he turned away, slinging an arm around the girl's shoulders and murmuring something in her ear.

The girl glanced back at me, her eyes practically shouting, "See? He only cares about me."

Then they headed toward the black armored truck.

The rain soaked through his tactical gear, plastering it to his broad back.

That silhouette—I'd wrapped my arms around him so many times before. Now, seeing it, it was like a red-hot blade stabbing straight into my eyes, burning me from the inside out.

The door slammed shut. The engine growled to life. The black armored truck rolled away into the storm, just vanishing into the night.

And there I was, left all alone. Standing in the wreckage, the freezing rain pelting down, my heart was a wasteland of ashes.

Something warm trickled down my forehead. I couldn't tell if it was blood or if I'd finally let myself cry.

I wiped it away, hard, like I could scrub it all off.

I fished out my phone, its screen cracked and webbed with lines.

The broken glass threw back my own reflection—messy, exhausted, and lost.

I found the number, the one that had rarely been answered.

Once more, I pressed call.

The line was busy as usual. That cold, familiar sound stabbed at my ears, just as cruel as ever.

For five years, I'd always hung up without a word, but this time, I held on.

I let each harsh beep echo through me, like the last heartbeat left in my chest—until a robotic voice finally chimed in: "Sorry, the person you're trying to reach can't take your call right now."

I slipped my phone away, stared at the empty road, and the fresh tire tracks where that armored truck had been. Before I knew it, a low, broken laugh escaped me.

And as I laughed, the tears spilled over, mingling with the rain. All I could taste was the desperate, hopeless salt on my lips.

Asher, you really thought this was just another routine accident for you to sweep under the rug?

You couldn't be more wrong.

The second you chose to look the other way, the moment you threw me away for someone else, everything changed.

For five years, I'd been nothing but a joke—trapped in a marriage that was all for show, clutching a phone that never rang, and swallowing promise after promise that never even had a chance of coming true.

I'd had enough.

The pain shooting up my leg came in waves, but it was a joke compared to the ache chewing a hole clean through my chest.

Holding onto the battered car door for support, I made my way to the edge of the road, every step biting through the ache.

Leaning against the freezing guardrail, I fished my phone out of my pocket.

This time, I didn't call Asher. Instead, I dialed a different number.

It was a contact I'd kept for ages but never imagined I'd actually call.

The call was answered almost immediately.

A steady male voice came on the line, asking, "Who's this?"

I took a deep breath, swallowing down the knot in my throat.

I replied, "It's me, Elena Sterling. I'm in. Let's do this—I'm ready to work with you."