"You said you love me? Then beg for it. Beg for my love. Show me-prove it again and again until I say yes."
Beatrix is a girl of few words, someone who keeps her emotions locked away, unwilling to let anyone close. After experiencing deep trust issu...
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Ethan :
The shrill ring of my phone shattered the silence, dragging me from the depths of sleep. Groggy and disoriented, I reached for it blindly, my fingers fumbling over the screen as I answered without a second thought.
"Hello?" My voice was thick with sleep, barely more than a mumble.
A familiar voice cut through the haze. "Ethan, come downstairs. I'm in the parking lot."
I stiffened, my heart lurching. That voice—smooth, unmistakable—sent a jolt of awareness through me. I pulled the phone away, squinting at the screen, and there it was. Her name.
Beatrix.
I swallowed hard. "What... What did you just say?" My mind still struggled to catch up, half convinced I was dreaming.
"I'm at your building's parking lot," she repeated, her voice calm, unwavering.
Sleep fled instantly. I sat up, pulse hammering as a hundred questions crashed into me at once. What the hell was she doing here?
My heart stuttered in my chest. "What… wait, I’m coming." The panic in my voice was unmistakable.
I flung the covers aside and bolted from the bed, not stopping to think, not stopping to breathe. My mind spun with questions, but I had no time to find answers—I just had to get downstairs.
The night air hit me as I stepped outside, cool against my overheated skin. My eyes scanned the dimly lit parking lot, and then I saw her.
Beatrix.
She stood there, her gaze fixed on the ground, shoulders slumped, her entire frame weighed down by something invisible but crushing.
My legs moved before I could process it, closing the distance between us in a few quick strides. My hands found her shoulders, gripping them gently but firmly as I shook her lightly. "What are you doing here?" My breath came out uneven, my pulse still racing from the sudden rush.
Slowly, she lifted her head, and the moment I saw her eyes, my stomach dropped.
Red-rimmed. Unfocused.
Not again.
"You're drunk?" The words slipped out, more of a realization than a question. My mind scrambled for a solution, and instinct kicked in. "Wait, I should call Emma, see where she is—"
I reached into my pocket—only to come up empty. It hit me then. I left my phone upstairs in my rush.
