Ella paced the edge of the hospital suite like a caged animal, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. The room—lavish, too silent—felt more like a penthouse than a ward. Every door she tried was locked.
Leon leaned against the far wall, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other loosely holding a mug of untouched coffee.
His eyes never left her.
Not for a second.
"You locked me in here," she said, voice flat.
He smiled slightly. "You were going to run again. I'm just… helping you make better decisions.
Ella's skin prickled.
The way he watched her—calm, calculating, yet strangely gentle—it was the most terrifying thing of all.
Because it wasn't the old Leon.
It was something worse.
This version didn't even remember their past, yet still acted on every instinct that once broke her into pieces.
And the scariest part?
She could feel her resolve slipping. Inch by inch.
Because when he looked at her like that… a small, traitorous part of her wanted to believe he'd changed.
His presence was like gravity—subtle, impossible to fight. She could scream, kick, claw at the walls, but it wouldn't matter.
She was already orbiting him again.
Drawn to a planet she swore she'd never revisit.
And when he stepped closer, eyes darkening at the sight of her uneaten dinner tray beside a nurse's anonymous bouquet—
He picked up the flowers and dropped them in the trash.
His voice was low. Dangerous.
"Don't accept gifts from people I don't know.'
Ella opened her mouth to protest—
But his hand suddenly shot up to his temple. He staggered, the mug slipping from his hand and shattering against the floor.
His breath caught.
Then—
"Get out," he whispered, gripping his head as if it were splitting open. "I… I saw something—blood. You crying. You said… 'I hate you.'"
He looked up at her, eyes wide with horror.
"What did I do to you, Ella?"