Then—He brought it to his ear.
“I don’t care.”
His voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Why the fuck are you not here yet?”
There was a pause.
I couldn’t hear the response, but I could hear the tightening in his tone—the restrained fury building beneath every word.
“Will she have to bleed out before you drag your sorry ass over?”
His jaw clenched.
Hard.
The muscles in his cheek flexed as he listened, but he didn’t soften.
Didn’t ease.
“You have two minutes.”
Another pause.
His eyes flicked briefly toward me.
Cold. Intense.
“If you’re even one second late, I’ll end you the moment you step through that door.”
He ended the call without another word.
Tossed the phone onto the nightstand with enough force that the lamp beside it wobbled slightly.
Then—
Silence.
The room felt heavier after that.
His gaze returned to me.
Specifically—to my knees.
The towel I’d pressed there earlier was soaked through, darkened with blood.
Fresh crimson still gathered at the edges, slow and sluggish, as if my body hadn’t fully decided whether to keep bleeding or stop.
I shifted slightly.
Pain shot through me.
I inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the bed for support as my vision blurred for a second.
Then—I spoke.
Because the question had been burning in my chest since the moment he lifted me.
