Page 9 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

I ’ve never wanted to run out of Finn’s office so fast in my life. Seeing him being arrested, yet even then, no cuffs, no drama.

Just a smug grin on his face. Like he knows he is going to be walking out of that police station unscathed.

They’re taking him.

And I’m the reason why.

I stand there, frozen, while the man I betrayed walks out of this hospital surrounded by cops like he’s nothing more than a case file waiting to be buried.

But he’s not.

He’s everything.

The chaos. The storm. The addiction I can’t name. Who will I become if I’m not constantly rivaling him?

My chest feels too tight, like my ribs are trying to strangle my heart. My hands won’t stop shaking. Not from fear. From the crushing weight of knowing I did this.

I let them take him.

I signed the fucking dotted line with my silence.

I did what they asked.

Set him up. Let them believe he’s the monster.

Because it was him or me.

And I told myself I could live with that.

But now that he’s gone—I’m not so sure.

His voice echoes in my skull. “Fill in for my shift, Dr. Miller.”

No bite. Just cold. I bolt for the stairwell the second the doors close behind them. I can’t breathe. I need to scream, to cry, to undo this somehow. But I can’t. It’s done.

He’s gone.

And maybe he won’t come back.

I slide down the wall and dig my nails into my palms, my knees pressed tight to my chest. There’s a tremble in my spine that won’t stop. My mouth is dry. My thoughts won’t slow down.

This was supposed to be the end of it.

They said once he was arrested, I’d be free. That my debt would be paid.

And fuck, there’s relief in that. There really is.

No more threats. No more notes on my car. No more distorted voices at three AM telling me what patient to kill next.

I did it.

I chose the devil I knew and threw him to the wolves to save myself.

So why do I feel like I’m the one bleeding out?

Why does it hurt this much?

Maybe because for all the hell Finn Quinn has put me through, he’s never lied to me. He’s never blackmailed me. He’s never forced me to become someone I’m not.

He’s an asshole, yes. But he’s the devil I know. The devil I poke.

The guilt slithers through me like a blade under the skin, slicing deeper with every breath. If he doesn’t come back… If they bury him…

What does that make me?

But if he does…

If he finds out what I did…

God help me.

Because even if there is a part of me that screams it wasn’t worth it, my freedom is worth more than any man.