Raven's POV :
He choked me.
He choked me.
I stood in the middle of the living room, jaw tight, fingers trembling at my sides. The red scarf I had tossed earlier still lay crumpled on the floor, a forgotten splash of silk—just like my dignity, I suppose.
My throat still throbbed faintly where his fingers had curled. Where his obsession had sunk into my skin like it belonged there.
And worse?
Worse, I hadn't screamed.
Worse, I'd looked him in the eye, lips parted, fire in my veins—and I let him.
I let him touch me like that.
You've gone soft, Raven.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms.
What happened to the girl who never let anyone control her? Who broke jaws for less? Who spat at power and kissed danger just to remind it that couldn't own her?
And now?
Now I was letting a man—a man—put his hands on me like I was some glass thing to be held and broken in the same breath.
I should've made him bleed.
But I'd frozen… because deep down, some feral, fucked-up part of me liked the way his voice cracked when he said I was his.
No.
Next time he walks through that door?
He bleeds. Double.
I'd pay him back for every breath I couldn't take, every flicker of heat I felt when I should've felt rage.
The hallway clock ticked. The storm outside groaned.
And then—
A crash.
Car doors. Heavy, uneven footsteps.
My spine straightened.
The front door slammed open.
I spun.
Kairus.
Stumbling in, half-collapsing against the frame, blood trailing from his brow, the corner of his mouth torn open, knuckles scraped raw.
His shirt was torn. His jacket soaked. One of his arms hung limp.
And all that fury I'd built?
Gone.
I stood frozen, throat closing, breath catching on a silent scream. I should've shouted. I should've laughed and said serves you right. I should've…
But he looked up.
Eyes wild, bloodshot.
And he ran to me.
Not limping. Not hesitating.
He ran like he'd been dying to find me.
Like I was the only safe thing in a world that wanted him ruined.
And then—
He collapsed against me.
Arms wrapped around my waist, his blood smearing across my blouse. His head buried in my shoulder. His full weight slumped into me.
And my arms—traitorous, trembling—held him.
"Kairus? " I whispered. "Hey. Hey—what happened?"
He didn't answer.
He fainted.
His body went limp. My knees buckled beneath him, heart hammering. I lowered him to the floor, panic rising in my throat like acid.
"Mikhail," I barked into his contact, hitting call with trembling fingers. "Pick up. "
He answered on the second ring, voice tight. "Kairus? Where the hell-?"
"Kairus came home—bloodied. He fainted on me—what the hell happened?!"
A pause. A quiet curse.
"He walked off after the council meeting. I thought he went back to you—I didn't know… Shit. I'll send his doctor immediately."
I didn't wait for more.
I hung up.
Ran to the bathroom. Got the first aid kit. Toweled warm water. Came back and knelt beside his unconscious form.
His pulse was erratic. His skin pale.
God.
He could've died.
I started cleaning the gash on his temple first, trying to still my shaking hands.
"Of all the nights to get hit by a truck," I muttered under my breath, voice thick, trying to distract myself from the flood in my chest.
"Why'd you run to me, you idiot? "
But deep down, I already knew.
And that made it worse.
I swabbed the blood from his split lip, wrapped his wrist, pressed gauze to the bruises forming on his side.
"Idiot," I whispered again, softer this time.
But my fingers… they brushed his hair back gently. Like they forgot everything else.
Like I wasn't supposed to care.
Like I wasn't supposed to feel him collapse into my arms and want to scream and hold him all at once.
I pressed my palm over his chest, feeling the slow, thudding beat of his heart.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt mine echo it.
The knock came too late. The door was already opening.
A man in a long black coat entered first—late thirties, steel-rimmed glasses, a doctor's bag in hand. Behind him, someone else—a little older, dressed like he belonged to an entirely different world. Grey turtleneck, dark blazer, the kind of expression that didn't flinch at blood or bruises.
"Kairus' physician," the first man said, kneeling beside the couch without waiting for permission. "Mikhail sent us both. Is he stable?"
I nodded, still breathless, hands sticky with drying blood. "He hasn't moved since he passed out. I patched what I could."
"Good," the doctor muttered, already slicing away the remains of Kairus' shirt. "You kept him from bleeding out. That likely saved his life."
I swallowed. My fingers shook as I wiped them on a towel. Saved his life.
The second man didn't move to help. He just watched—me, mostly. His eyes weren't calculating like the others I'd met in Kairus' world. They weren't cold.
Just… sad.
"You're Raven, aren't you?" His voice was calm. Gentle in a way that felt strange in this room full of blood.
I straightened slightly. "Yes."
He offered a small nod, then glanced at Kairus. "He needs you right now. More than he'll ever say."
I frowned, lips parting. "Who are you?"
"Vasin," he answered, stepping closer. "His psychiatrist. I've worked with Kairus since he was twelve. On and off… depending on how much hell his father decides to drag him through."
Psychiatrist. I blinked. I hadn't expected that.
Vasin let out a quiet breath and crouched beside me, out of the doctor's way but close enough for me to hear his next words.
"He may look like a cold bastard," he said, voice low, "but inside he's just a ten-year-old boy trying to survive. Still bleeding in the snow where his father left him."
I didn't speak.
Couldn't.
I looked down at Kairus' face—cut, bruised, pale. His dark lashes resting against skin that looked too fragile now, like the frostbite of his past still clung to him.
"You see how he clings to control?" Vasin continued. "That's not power. That's fear. He builds walls not to keep others out—but to keep himself from shattering. He doesn't trust anyone to hold him together."
My throat tightened. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're different," Vasin said, eyes never leaving mine. "He doesn't bring women here. Never has. Not once in all these years."
My heart thudded.
Vasin tilted his head slightly, studying me.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you? The way he sees the world. How he doesn't react to colors the way most do. He picks his suits based on texture. He asks for red wine but doesn't care what shade it is."
I blinked. "What… are you saying?"
"Colors have always betrayed him," Vasin murmured, almost like a secret. "He sees the world differently. Monochrome, mostly. But then…" His eyes flicked to me again. "Then he met you."
I opened my mouth to speak, to demand what the hell that meant—
But a rough gasp filled the room.
Kairus stirred.
"Raven—" he choked, barely conscious. His body tensed beneath the doctor's hands, then jolted upright.
His eyes found mine. Bloodied. Wild.
He grabbed my wrist, hard—but not to hurt.
"To hell with everything," he rasped. "Are you okay?"
I froze.
He was the one covered in blood. Barely standing. Skin paper-white. But all he could ask was if I was okay.
My chest cracked open with something I couldn't name.
"I—" I breathed. "I should be asking you that, you idiot."
His hand dropped. His body swayed.
I caught him before he collapsed again.
"Easy," the doctor warned. "His ribs might be fractured. He can't move like that—he needs rest, stitches, pain meds—"
"I'll stay," I said suddenly. Voice steady.
Vasin stood, watching us.
I felt Kairus' head fall against my shoulder as the sedative worked its way through him.
But he didn't let go of my hand.
Not even in sleep.
And for the first time since this madness began, I realized something.
I wasn't afraid of him anymore.
I was afraid for him.