"What was that for?" he demanded, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Hazel didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the collar, her fingers twisting into the fabric, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You lied to me!" she seethed, her breath uneven. "You said you wouldn't hurt him—then why?" Her voice cracked under the weight of her fury.

His face remained unreadable, his calmness infuriating. "First, tell me what happened," he said, his tone measured, controlled—too controlled.

Her grip on his collar tightened. "Vincent is in the hospital! He got into an accident—it’s your doing, isn’t it?" she accused, her chest heaving as she fought back the ache rising in her throat.

He parted his lips to respond, but before he could get a word out—

She yanked him closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I will never forgive you if anything happens to Vincent."

For a fleeting moment, their faces were mere inches apart. His eyes, dark and unreadable, searched hers. No guilt. No regret. Nothing.

The realization sent a chill down her spine.

She shoved him away, releasing his collar like it burned her, and turned to leave.

His hand shot out, fingers clamping around her wrist. "Stop."

She froze.

His grip was firm, but his voice—softer now—felt almost desperate. "I’ll come with you."

She scoffed, jerking her arm free. "Stop playing nice now "

Without another word, she stormed out, her heart pounding.

The cold night air hit her as soon as she stepped outside. Panic clawed at her chest as she scanned the street for a taxi, her hands trembling.

Before she could flag one down, tires screeched against the pavement. His car came to a sharp stop in front of her.

The window rolled down, and his gaze locked onto hers. "Get in."

She didn’t even look at him.

A taxi pulled up just in time, and without a second thought, she climbed in, slamming the door shut.

Through the window, she saw his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

As the taxi pulled away, his patience snapped.

His fist crashed against the wheel. "Damn it!" he growled through clenched teeth.

The city lights blurred around him as his vision darkened with fury.

That guy never stops coming between us.

Without a second thought, he started the car and sped after the taxi.

........

Hazel burst through the hospital doors, her heart hammering so loudly it drowned out the noise around her. The air smelled of antiseptic, sharp and sterile, but all she could focus on was the pounding fear in her chest.

Her vision blurred as she rushed to the reception desk, barely registering the shadow trailing behind her—Chris.

She didn’t care.

"Vincent Griff—he was admitted today. Where is he?" Her voice came out in a frantic rush, her breath uneven, shaking.

The receptionist glanced at her screen, fingers moving far too slowly for Hazel’s fraying patience.

"Let me check."

Hazel gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. Seconds dragged like hours.

Finally, the girl looked up. "He’s in surgery. He suffered a head injury, and the doctors are operating on him right now."

The words crashed into her, stealing the air from her lungs.

Her hand flew to her mouth as a sharp gasp escaped, her entire body going cold.

She barely noticed the way her knees nearly buckled beneath her—only one thought ran through her mind. No. Not Vincent.

Hazel turned abruptly, desperate to reach him, to see him, to do something—

And then she saw him.

Chris.

Standing right behind her.

Watching.

Her breath hitched. Her fear twisted into rage, boiling over as her eyes locked onto his.

She glared at him with a fury that could have set the entire hospital ablaze before storming past him, her steps loud against the pristine white tiles.

She reached the operation room, skidding to a halt. The bright red IN SURGERY light above the doors glowed like a warning, mocking her helplessness.

Hazel sucked in a shaky breath. Please, let him be okay. Please.

Her fingers clutched together in a desperate prayer as she stared at the doors, willing them to open, willing someone to tell her he was fine.

But nothing happened.

Nothing except the suffocating silence pressing in around her.

"I'm sorry, Vincent…" she whispered in her mind, guilt clawing at her like razors. "This happened because of me. He did this to you because of me…"

Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, her vision blurring once more.

And behind her, Chris stood in the distance. Watching. Waiting.

.......

More than an hour had passed.

The air inside the hospital felt heavier with each ticking second, thick with the weight of uncertainty. The silence wasn’t just still—it was suffocating.

Hazel sat on the cold chair outside the operation room, her fingers locked so tightly in prayer that her knuckles had turned white. Please, let him be okay. Let him wake up.

Every minute stretched into eternity, the ache in her chest growing unbearable.

Beside her, Chris sat quietly, his presence an unwelcome shadow. The tension between them was thick, yet he broke the silence.

"I'm not lying, Hazel. It really wasn’t my doing."

His voice was calm—too calm—but there was an edge of frustration beneath it.

Hazel didn’t respond.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, her silence screaming louder than any accusation ever could.

Then, the operation room doors swung open.

Hazel shot up from her chair so fast it scraped against the floor.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice unsteady, breathless.

The doctor pulled off his mask, exhaustion evident in his features. "We can’t say anything for certain yet. The operation was successful, but it’s a head injury. He’ll need a few hours to wake up… maybe longer. We’ll be monitoring him closely."

Hazel’s heart clenched. That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

She needed certainty. She needed someone to tell her he would wake up right now, that this nightmare was over.

But all she got was more waiting.

Moments later, the doors opened again, and nurses wheeled Vincent out on a stretcher. Hazel immediately fell in step beside him, her body moving without thought, her eyes never leaving his face.

Chris took a step forward to follow, but Hazel suddenly stopped.

She turned to face him, her eyes colder than he had ever seen them.

"If you have even a little bit of shame, then don’t."

Her voice was quiet, but the venom in it cut through the air like a blade.

Chris didn’t reply. He only stood there, watching as she disappeared behind Vincent’s stretcher, leaving him behind.

........

Chris sat in his car, his fingers digging into the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, but he didn’t care.

Vincent. Vincent. Vincent.

The name echoed in his head like a curse, each repetition fueling the rage burning inside him.

His breath came out ragged as he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The impact sent a dull pain shooting up his arm, but it wasn’t enough to calm him. Nothing was.

He always has to come between us.

Hazel was already slipping away, distancing herself from him with every passing second. And now this? This accident—this perfectly timed tragedy—was pushing her even further.

Chris leaned back, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. His mind was spinning, twisting in directions he didn't want it to go.

If I had ended him that day, at least Hazel’s hatred would have been justified. She’d despise me for the truth, not for a lie.

A sharp ringing pulled him out of his dark thoughts. His phone buzzed against the dashboard, but he barely glanced at the screen before answering.

"What?" he snapped.

"Boss, everyone is waiting," his secretary’s cautious voice came through the speaker.

Chris exhaled sharply, his patience snapping. "I'm not coming. Cancel it."

Without waiting for a response, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, his head falling forward. His fingers rubbed his temples as frustration boiled inside him, simmering just beneath the surface.

She won’t even look at me. Won’t listen. Won’t believe me.

And all because of Vincent.

Chris’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel, the temptation to drive back to the hospital clawing at him.

.........

The night stretched on, thick with silence, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The dim hospital lights cast soft shadows across the room, but Hazel barely noticed.

She hadn't moved from Vincent’s bedside. She hadn't moved. Hadn't blinked.

Her fingers remained curled around his unmoving hand, as if letting go meant losing him entirely.

Then—a knock at the door.

Hazel flinched, her  eyes snapping toward the sound. She expected a nurse. But it was him.

Chris.

He stepped inside, the overhead light casting sharp angles over his face. In his hand, he carried a cup of coffee.

"You haven’t eaten anything," he said, walking closer. He placed the cup on the table beside her, his voice softer than before. "At least drink this."

Hazel barely spared him a glance. "I don’t need anything from you."

Chris exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His patience was running thin, but he forced himself to stay calm. "You’re being stubborn, Hazel. I get it, you’re angry. But pushing me away won’t change anything."

Hazel’s nails dug into her palms. Her shoulders tensed as fresh rage burned inside her.

"You think this is just about anger?" she bit out. "Vincent is lying unconscious in a hospital bed because of you!"

Chris took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "You’re assuming it was me without proof. That’s not fair." His voice was lower now, edged with something dangerous.

Hazel opened her mouth to argue, to rip into him, to scream—

Then she felt it.

The faintest movement against her palm.

Her breath hitched.

She turned sharply, eyes darting to Vincent’s hand, to his fingers twitching ever so slightly.

Then, the heart monitor changed rhythm. The beeping was steadier now. Stronger.

Hazel leaned over him, her pulse racing. "Vincent?" she whispered, voice trembling.

Chris went completely still.

A slow, agonizing moment passed—

Then, Vincent’s lashes fluttered. His chest rose with a deeper breath. His fingers curled weakly.

His eyelids lifted, revealing hazy, unfocused eyes. He blinked sluggishly, confusion settling over his expression.

"Hazel…?" His voice was weak, but it was there.

A sob caught in her throat as tears spilled down her cheeks. She gripped his hand tighter.

"I’m right here!" she choked out. "I’m here, Vincent."

Behind her, Chris stood rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it ached.

His gaze flickered to Hazel’s hand—still wrapped around Vincent’s. To the way she looked at him like nothing else in the world mattered.

Something dark twisted inside him.

And for the first time, an ugly thought settled in his mind.

Maybe Vincent should have never woken up at all.

He should’ve stayed asleep.

Maybe forever.