9
1257 Words
Hazel POV
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too cold. I sat on the edge of Mom’s bed, holding her thin hand. She had woken up an hour ago, eyes glassy and confused. The doctor had come in, checked her vitals, and shaken his head.
“Two more days of observation,” he said gently. “Her blood pressure is still unstable, and the emotional stress… it’s taken a toll. Keep things calm.”
Mom squeezed my fingers weakly. “Lucas?” she whispered.
“He’s okay, Mom. I promise.” The lie tasted bitter. I hadn’t told her about the parking lot. About what happened in that car. About how my body still ached in places I didn’t want to think about. How every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands again—rough, demanding, unstoppable.
I hadn’t slept more than a few snatched minutes in days. My head throbbed. My legs felt like lead. Between running to the hotel, the confrontation, the assault, and now sitting here pretending everything was fine, my body was giving out. I felt dizzy, like the room tilted every time I moved. But I couldn’t rest. Not yet.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaking fingers.
Unknown number.
I answered anyway.
“Hazel.” Asher’s voice—low, controlled, unmistakable. “I’m going to the dungeon now. You should come too.”
My heart lurched. “Why?”
“Because your brother is coming home tonight.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen for a long second. Then I stood up too fast. The room spun. I grabbed the bed rail to steady myself.
“Hazel?” Mom’s voice was small.
“I have to go, Mom. I’ll be back soon. Rest, okay?” I kissed her forehead, tasting salt on my lips—my own tears, maybe. “I love you.”
I didn’t wait for her reply. I slipped out of the room, down the hallway, past nurses who gave me worried glances. Outside, I flagged a taxi with numb fingers. “Police station. The main one. Hurry.”
The ride blurred. Streetlights streaked past. My mind kept replaying his voice. Coming home tonight. Was it a trick? Another lie? Or had something changed?
By the time the taxi pulled up to the station, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely pay the driver. I stepped out into the cold night air and wrapped my arms around myself. My hoodie was still torn at the shoulder from earlier. I hadn’t changed. Hadn’t even looked in a mirror. I probably looked like a ghost.
Inside, the lobby was quiet. A desk officer glanced up, then down again when I said nothing. I followed the signs to the interrogation wing—somehow I knew where to go. My feet moved on autopilot.
The hallway smelled like stale coffee and bleach. Voices drifted from behind a half-open door. I pushed it wider.
There he was.
Alpha Asher stood in the center of the small room, arms crossed, face carved from stone. Ronald—his assistant—stood a step behind him. The station director hovered nearby, sweating. A young officer fidgeted with his belt. And in the corner, handcuffed to a chair—
Her.
The woman from the concert. The one who’d pointed at Lucas and screamed assault. The owner of Light Years Bar. She looked different now—no VIP glow, no smug smile. Her makeup was smudged, face pale as death. She trembled so violently the chair rattled. Her fashionable dress was wrinkled, one strap slipping off her shoulder. She looked like she’d been dragged through hell.
Asher’s eyes flicked to me the moment I stepped inside. Something unreadable passed over his face—regret, maybe. Or just cold calculation.
“This woman has already confessed,” he said, voice flat. “Your brother did not touch her that night. Someone bribed her to frame him. Now that the matter has been thoroughly investigated, your brother is free to go home.”
“Bribed?” My voice came out thin. I looked at him—really looked. “Did you ask someone to do this?”
“Of course not.” His tone sharpened, dark enough to make the room feel smaller. “Someone did it under my name. If I wanted to hurt someone, I wouldn’t target a child and use a woman like that. I have my own ways.”
The chill in his words made everyone in the room go still. Even the woman in the chair stopped shaking for a second.
He turned to the director. “Let him go.”
“Yes, Alpha. I’ll sort this out immediately.” The director practically bowed as he hurried out.
I didn’t wait. I followed him—half-running down the corridor, heart pounding in my throat. Doors slammed. Keys jangled. Voices barked orders.
Then the cell door opened.
Lucas stepped out.
He looked worse than before—thinner, eyes sunken, uniform hanging off him like it belonged to someone else. But when he saw me, something lit up inside him. A tiny spark.
“Sister…”
His voice cracked. Hoarse. Broken.
I didn’t think. I just ran.
I crashed into him, arms wrapping around his waist so tight I felt his ribs. He stiffened for a second—then hugged me back, burying his face in my shoulder. He smelled like concrete and despair, but underneath it—him. My brother.
“You’re alright now, Lucas,” I whispered, voice thick. Tears burned my eyes. “I’ll take you home. It’s alright.”
He nodded against me, shoulders shaking. I rubbed his back the way Mom used to when we were little. The tension that had lived in my chest for days—weeks, maybe—finally cracked open. Not gone. Not healed. But released, just enough to breathe.
I glanced over his shoulder.
Asher stood at the end of the hallway, watching us. His face was unreadable—dark eyes shadowed, jaw tight. For a moment our gazes locked. Something passed between us—silent, heavy, impossible to name.
Then he turned.
He walked away without a word. Back straight. Steps measured. Ronald fell in behind him like a shadow.
I watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.
My heart felt… hollow.
Empty.
Not angry. Not relieved. Just… nothing.
Lucas pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Mom?”
“She’s at the hospital. She’s stable. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
We walked out together—slow, careful steps. The young officer handed Lucas a plastic bag with his belongings: phone (dead), wallet, keys. He signed a form with trembling fingers.
Outside, the night air was sharp. Stars glittered overhead. A car idled at the curb—black, sleek, unmarked. One of Asher’s, probably. But no one approached us.
We started walking toward the main road to catch a cab. Lucas leaned on me a little. I didn’t mind.
“Sis?” he said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“What happened? After they took me?”
I swallowed. “A lot. But it’s over now.”
He didn’t push. He just squeezed my hand.
We kept walking.
Behind us, the police station lights faded. Ahead, the city stretched out—cold, indifferent, endless.
I didn’t look back.
- Writer
