The second her body touches the mattress, her eyes fly open.
She jerks upright, her breath hitching as her wide eyes land on me and then darts around the unfamiliar room. Panic flashes across her face in an instant. Her fingers clutch at the sheets as realisation dawns, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Before I can say a word… before I can put her at ease, Sana does what she always does best—she shuts down. Her expression hardens, her eyes narrowing, masking the storm inside her with a carefully crafted shield.
But I see through it. I always do.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, arms crossed as if that will somehow make her look intimidating.
I arch a brow, folding my arms over my chest with far more ease than I feel. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, given that this ismyfarmhouse?”
She groans and covers her face with her palms. “Of all places… I landed inyourfarmhouse. Just my bad luck.”
I smirk, enjoying this way too much. “Not your bad luck—mybad luck. I came here for some peace, but no… you had to show up and mess it all up.”
Her head snaps up, fire flashing in her eyes. “Well, lucky me for ruining your so-called peace, considering you’re the reason I ended up here. I came to this stupid place to avoidyou… yet here you are.”
We glare at each other for I don’t know how long until I see the corner of her lips twitch and I realize mine probably are too.
Just as I’m about to tease her more, she moves to stand, but the second her foot touches the floor, she winces, sucking in a sharp breath as she collapses back on the bed, clutching her foot.
My smirk vanishes, and I drop to my knees beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I fell,” she murmurs, exhaling sharply before looking back at me. “But that’s not as bad as the real tragedy of me landing in your farmhouse.”
I shake my head. “Dramatic as ever.”
“Annoying as ever,” she shoots back.
At her words, I fight the urge to smile. God, with her around, there’s never a dull moment. No wonder I’m not backing down, even with her trying to crush everything I feel. Because you don’t just walk away from something that feels like it’s yours. And you definitely don’t just let go of something like this—someone like her.
I gently run a hand over her ankle, checking for swelling. Her breath catches. Ignoring her reaction, I level her with a look. “Your ankle is sprained. Stay put. I’ll get you something for the pain.”
Without waiting for her to argue—because I know she absolutely will—I rise to my feet and turn away, needing to find something to ease her pain, because seeing her like this, hurting, twists something inside me in ways I don’t know how to handle.
And what’s even heavier on my chest? Having her here. In my space. In my room. On my bed. It’s testing every ounce of self-control I have. Every single shred of restraint.
I push open the bathroom door and grab the pain relief spray from the cabinet, forcing in a deep breath before heading back.
“Give me your leg,” I say, kneeling in front of her.
She hesitates, clearly debating whether to argue, but eventually stretches her leg out towards me.
“Drama queen,” I murmur, lifting her foot gently.
“I heard that,” she huffs, crossing her arms.
Grinning, I shake the can, spraying the cooling mist onto her ankle, my fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary. She shivers, our eyes lock for a brief second, a moment where we both mirror the heat, but then I release her foot and step back quickly. I don’t want to do something reckless, something I can’t take back, something that’ll make her run.
“There. You’ll survive.”
She scoffs. “Thank you for your incredible politeness.”
I smirk. “You’re welcome.”
She rolls her eyes. “Can I have your phone? I need to make a call so I can get out of your hair.”
My body tenses instantly at her words.She wants to leave?
