Mia’s POV
The silence stretched between us, thick with hesitation. The stepbrothers exchanged glances, their usual arrogance stripped away.
They wanted to refuse. I could see it in the way their jaws tensed, the way their hands curled into fists at their sides.
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “If you’re not going to accept it, then I won’t do it.” My voice was firm, unwavering. “I won’t waste my energy on people who refuse to help themselves.”
Nathan’s throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.
Xavier exhaled sharply, rubbing his face like he was trying to hold himself together.
Sean stared at me, his eyes unreadable, while Rolex clenched his fists, his entire body rigid.
I knew what they were thinking.
They didn’t want to accept help from me.
Not after everything they’d done.
Not after the way they had treated me.
And a part of me? Wanted them to suffer.
They deserved to feel what I had felt-to know what it was like to be at someone else’s mercy, to be powerless, to have no choice but to beg.
So I turned on my heel and walked away, letting the weight of my words settle in. “Let me know when you decide. Or don’t.”
I didn’t look back.
The Whole Day…
I couldn’t get them out of my head.
As much as I hated them, as much as I wanted to see them pay, the thought of them dying because of their own stubbornness made my stomach twist.
They were idiots.
Foolish, prideful, reckless idiots.
And yet, they were still mine.
Not in the way they wanted to be. Not in the way fate intended.
But still…
I sat in the garden, my fingers twisting the petals of a flower between my hands, my thoughts spiraling.
What if they didn’t come to their senses?
What if they let their guilt consume them?
Would I really just let them die?
The answer should have been yes.
But my chest ached at the thought.
I wasn’t ready to forgive them.
Not even close.
But the idea of losing them, of watching them waste away, knowing I could stop it…
I sighed, gripping the flower so tightly the petals crumpled in my palm.
I needed to find a way to make them accept my help.
A way to break them down.
To make them realize that no matter how much they hated themselves, no matter how much they wanted to suffer, I wasn’t going to let them choose death. I waited.
Morning turned into afternoon. Afternoon bled into evening.
Still, they didn’t come.
I tapped my fingers against the wooden table, my jaw tightening. What the hell were they waiting for?
Did they really intend to just let themselves rot? Did their pride mean that much to them?
My patience snapped.
“Idiots,” I muttered under my breath, pushing to my feet. Fine. If they wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to them.
I stalked through the halls, ignoring the way my heart pounded. They were dying, and they were too damn stubborn to do anything about it.
The moment I stepped inside, the air felt heavier, like something was pressing down on my chest.
Nathan lay there, pale, his once strong, unshakable body now trembling under the weight of his own weakness.
I should have felt satisfaction.
But I didn’t.
I felt something far worse.
Panic.
Before I could process it, I moved, dropping to my knees beside the bed. My fingers reached for his wrist, searching for a pulse-too weak, too slow. His skin was ice-cold, his lips cracked, dry.
A lump formed in my throat.
Why?
Why was he still being so stubborn?
He was dying, and he was just letting it happen.
His body suddenly jerked, and before I could react, he fell forward.
Straight onto me.
I gasped, my hands instinctively catching his shoulders. His weight pressed me down, his chest against mine, his shallow breaths fanning against my lips.
My heart stopped.
His skin burned against mine, sending a trail of tingles racing through my body-dangerous, intoxicating, familiar.
I clenched my teeth, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in my stomach.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to feel anything.
I pushed against his chest, but his body wouldn’t budge. He was too weak, his muscles barely responding, and yet, even in this state, he had the nerve to let out a low chuckle.
“You’re warm,” he rasped, his lips grazing the edge of my jaw as he breathed.
My pulse slammed against my ribs.
I shoved him back, scrambling to my feet, forcing the distance between us. My skin still tingled where he had touched me, like he’d branded himself into me.
I inhaled sharply, glaring down at him. “I’m going to help you.”
Nathan’s lips barely twitched, but there was amusement in his eyes. “Don’t.”
I stiffened.
His hand reached out, catching my wrist before I could move. His fingers were too cold, barely strong enough to grip me, but the touch sent a pulse of energy through me, as if something was pulling us together.
I tried to jerk away, but he held on.
“If I have to die,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips curving slightly, “I’d rather do it in your arms.”
A shiver ran through me.
His thumb brushed over my pulse point, slow, deliberate. Then, before I could even react, he lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingertip.
Something snapped inside me.
I tore my hand from his grasp. “You’re not dying.”
His smirk wavered. Something flickered in his gaze-something real.
“Mia, don’t-”
But I didn’t listen.
His body was turning blue, his breaths barely there.
I didn’t care how much he begged me not to save him.
I wasn’t going to watch him die.
Without another thought, I grabbed my dagger, slicing deep into my palm.
Warm blood spilled down my fingers, dripping onto his lips.
“Drink,” I whispered, pressing my wound against his mouth.
He resisted, his body shaking, but I didn’t let go. His resistance crumbled. His lips parted, his throat working as he swallowed.
The moment he did, a warmth spread through his body. His shivers eased, his breathing evened out. The color slowly returned to his face, the tension in his muscles fading.
I let out a shaky breath.
And that was when I realized-I was stroking his hair.
My fingers had tangled into the strands, my touch gentle, soothing.
As if I cared.
As if I wasn’t supposed to hate him.
My stomach twisted. I jerked my hand away as if burned.
Nathan’s eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion still weighing on him, but there was something else there now-something that made my pulse stutter.
“You’re worried about me,” he murmured.
My throat tightened. “I don’t care.”
He smiled. Actually smiled.
“I must be dying if you’re taking care of me.” His voice was teasing, but there was something real beneath it-something almost soft.
I stood abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest. This meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.
But as I turned to leave, I couldn’t ignore the way my fingers still tingled from touching him.