"What is she to you, Dex?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came.

"Can't answer?" I tilted my head. "That's funny. Because I can."

His face went purple. "She's—she's—"

"Yours?" I finished. "Property? A toy you keep locked upstairs?" My smile widened. "Try again."

He had nothing. No answer to any of the questions. And I knew exactly why he couldn't answer.

Because answering would mean admitting what she really was to him. What he'd really done.

The crowd pressed closer, sensing blood in the water. Phones—those that still worked—recorded everything.

"None of you know who she is," I said, voice carrying across the silent foyer. "She's has a world that is her own world. Her own audience. Not yours. You're just the idiots who partied while she screamed upstairs."

I caught a movement in my peripheral. Ava, positioned near the door, rolling her shoulders, cracking her neck. Her drunk haze had burned off completely, replaced by the cold focus of a trained operator.

I caught her eye. Nodded once.

She moved like liquid death.

The first guy—one of Dex's muscle, easy—didn't even see her coming. She slipped inside his guard, drove a palm strike into his solar plexus, followed with an elbow to his temple. He dropped like someone cut his strings.

One second.

Jaxon turned, arm coming up to block. She ducked under, swept his legs, and as he fell, drove a knee into his face. Crunch. Out cold.

Three seconds.

Colt tried to grab her from behind. She reversed the grip, used his momentum to flip him over her hip, slammed him into the marble. His head bounced once. Lights out.

Five seconds.

Shane and Ky came at her together. Mistake. She sidestepped, redirected Shane into Kai, and while they tangled, delivered two precise strikes—throat and temple. Both dropped. Seven seconds.

Ryder backed up, hands raised. "Yo, I'm good, I'm—" She didn't care. Side kick to the knee. It bent wrong. He screamed, went down. Follow-up strike to the back of his head. Silence.

Nine seconds.

The second muscle guy pulled a knife. Bigger mistake. She disarmed him in one motion—twist, pull, snap—and his wrist broke with an audible crack. The knife clattered away. She finished him with a strike to the carotid. He collapsed.

Ten seconds.

Seven bodies on the floor. All unconscious. Ava stood there, breathing steady, not even winded.

The crowd lost its fucking mind.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"DID YOU SEE THAT?"

"WHO THE FUCK IS SHE?"

I walked through the pile of bodies, stepping over Jaxon's prone form, Lila still cradled against my chest. Reached the door. Stopped. Turned back.

Dex stood at the bottom of the stairs, face white, trembling, surrounded by a crowd that now looked at him like he was something diseased.

I met his eyes.

"I am going to end you," I said. Four words. Quiet. Absolute. A promise carved in stone.

Then I walked out.

The Jeep was already running, engine purring, ARIA's work. Ava slid into the driver's seat without a word. I climbed into the back, cradling Lila across my lap, her head resting against my chest.

The door slammed. Tires screamed. We peeled out of the driveway, leaving a mansion full of witnesses with their mouths hanging open, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

"Route optimized," ARIA reported. "Mercy General Hospital, six-point-two miles. ETA eight minutes at current speed."

"Make it six," Ava said, flooring it.

"Contacting Soo-Jin now. Instructing her to retrieve our belongings from the beach house and return to the Lincoln Heights mansion. Notifying your family of your imminent return."

"Good," I said, looking down at Lila. Her breathing was shallow but steady. The cut on her cheek had stopped bleeding, clotting in a thin red line. Bruises bloomed across her collarbone, her ribs, everywhere the robe had torn away.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

"Vital signs stable," ARIA continued. "Psychological trauma significant. Physical injuries: possible concussion, multiple contusions, minor lacerations. Recommend full diagnostic scan."

The city blurred past the windows. Streetlights became streaks of orange. Other cars swerved out of Ava's way as she carved through traffic like we were the only thing that mattered.

Which we were.

Lila stirred slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her fingers curled weakly against my chest, seeking something to hold onto.

I covered her hand with mine. "I've got you," I whispered. "You're safe." I did not know Dex could go this far. The reason I did not intervene was the subtle nod she gave me when the music first stopped when our eyes met and also when I called to come to my side, she gae me the same shake.

This translated in asking me to trust her she could end this herself.

Which was my fault that she turned out like this now.

Her eyes didn't open. But her breathing evened out slightly. Like some part of her, deep in unconsciousness, heard me and believed it.

The hospital appeared ahead—massive, lit up like a beacon. Mercy General. Where my mom worked. Where I'd spent countless hours waiting for her shifts to end.

Where Lila was about to get every bit of help I could throw money at.

Ava screeched into the emergency entrance, barely stopping before I was out, Lila in my arms, moving through the automatic doors with purpose.

"I need a VIP room," I said to the nurse at the desk, voice brooking no argument. "Now. Money's not an issue. Get me the best you have."

She looked at Lila, then at me, then grabbed a phone.

Within thirty seconds, doctors swarmed.

Within two minutes, Lila was on a gurney, being wheeled away, surrounded by medical personnel barking orders.

I watched her disappear through double doors, still seeing her eyes locking onto mine as she fell, still hearing that single word form on her lips.

Eros.

Ava stood beside me, hand on my shoulder. "She's gonna be okay," she said quietly.

I didn't answer. Just stood there, fists clenched, body still vibrating with barely contained violence.

Because somewhere across town, Dex was still breathing.

And I'd made him a promise.

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