Page 43

CHAPTER 42

Alana

It’s late, around 3 a.m .

But sleep eludes me.

My phone feels like a lifeline, I keep checking it, hoping for a message that will tell me everything is okay.

But I don’t even have Hunter’s number.

It never crossed my mind to ask.

He’s always been right behind me.

The apartment is swallowed by darkness, the silence thick and suffocating, broken only by Salem’s soft purring, vibrating against my legs.

A weight presses down on me, heavy and unrelenting.

I stare into the blackness, where shadows stretch like fingers across the walls and every creak feels like a footstep.

Fear begins to coil in my stomach, tightening with every breath.

I wonder if I’m safe here.

Safe without Hunter.

The thought lingers and with it, the desperation creeps in.

It’s as if the walls themselves are watching me.

And just like that, the panic rises.

Insistent and demanding.

I get up, turn on all the lights, check the locks.

“You’re fine,” I tell myself.

“You’re safe. Hunter trained you. If anything happens, you can throw a punch now. You know how to handle yourself.”

But it’s not working.

I don’t feel safe. Not even a little bit.

Not even at all. I decide to lock my bedroom door, too.

Salem looks at me like I’ve gone mad and maybe I have.

Every time I doze off, even for just two minutes, my heart jerks me awake, like a jolt of memory with claws.

Disappointment settles deep in my chest. I thought I had healed.

Thought I was past the panic, past the suffocating grip of terror that once stole my breath and made my body betray me.

But now? Now I know healing’s not a straight line.

It’s messy, jagged, like trying to stitch a wound that refuses to close properly.

Some days, the scar feels like nothing more than a faint mark, a reminder of strength.

Other days, it feels like a chasm, pulling me into darkness, reminding me of how fragile I still am.

It’s frustrating. It’s humbling.

And yet… it’s human, isn’t it?

To think we’re whole and then fall apart again, just when we’re starting to believe the worst is over.

I’m learning that the road to healing is winding and I can’t control the turns.

Some days are victories, others are battles and sometimes…

sometimes the battle is just getting through the night without my mind unravelling.

Around 4 a.m., I hear the front door open and my heart drops into my stomach.

What if it’s not Hunter?

What if it’s someone else?

I sit by my bedroom door, listening, my heart pounding as adrenaline kicks in.

I gather what little courage I have left.

Then I call out, “Hunter?”

“It’s me.” His voice echoes back to me, unmistakably his.

There’s something different about it, but it still tastes like safety.

I yank the door open, frantic.

I rush to him, finding him standing in the kitchen, drinking water.

Without thinking, I throw my arms around him, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

“What happened?” He peels my hands away from him, his touch firm.

Almost too firm.

“I—nothing happened,” I stammer, “but I was scared. And alone and—” I glance down at my hands, unsure of what to say.

The air around him feels different now, heavier, as if the very space between us has thickened with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

His shoulders are taut, his jaw set and yet he won’t even look at me.

There’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before, an invisible wall I can almost feel pressing against my chest. I search his face, but all I find is guarded indifference.

“You’re fine, Alana.” His voice is clipped, tense and it’s nothing like the teasing tone I’m used to hearing.

There’s no smirk, no warmth.

“You didn’t need me.”

His words hit me harder than I expect.

Like I’m made of glass and he’s just found the fault line.

There’s a coldness to him, like he’s pulled into himself, retreating into some part of his mind I can’t reach.

His body is tense, as if he’s already bracing for something I can’t see.

The shift is so stark it almost feels like two different people.

The one who walked out, still tethered to me and the one who returned, a complete stranger.

“You don’t get to decide when I need you,” I snap, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

He flinches, just barely, but it’s too late.

He’s already closing the door I was about to open.

Without waiting for a response, I turn and head back to my room, leaving the stranger in the kitchen.

I’m not even angry at him.

No, the anger isn’t for him.

It’s for me. For handing him the power to define my safety.

I hate how easily I handed him the reins, how deeply I let him settle into the space where my own control should live.

And so, I take back the power.

Every piece of it. Not because I don’t want him.

But because I can’t need him.

Not like this.

I sit on the edge of my bed, the city and ocean humming beyond the windows and let the silence settle around me.

I feel the sting of tonight’s unravelling, but beneath it…

a shift. A resolve.

I grab my phone to text my dad.

My hands are shaking again.

But my spine? Straight.

My fingers move without hesitation, my heart pounding with a strange, sudden clarity.

Each word is deliberate.

A quiet kind of defiance.

This isn’t punishment.

This is reclamation.

Me:

I need you to terminate Hunter’s contract.

I can protect myself.

If I want to feel safe, it has to start with me.

Not with him. Not anymore.