Chapter six: The devil's breath
2076 Words
Phoebe couldn’t sleep that night. Even with the bakery’s comforting warmth still clinging to her hair and the residual ache in her limbs from the long day, sleep refused her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Wesley—his gun, his hands, his eyes, his kiss. Her mind looped through the impossible mix of emotions—fear, safety, revulsion, want.
But that was just the beginning.
The next morning dawned with exhaustion clinging to her body. Her mother had stayed in bed all night, complaining of pain, but refusing to go to the hospital. Phoebe had tried to stay strong, managing breakfast, cleaning the house, and preparing the bakery’s morning pastries before opening. The moment she unlocked the door, customers poured in.
By noon, Phoebe was moving on autopilot. Kneading dough, icing cupcakes, smiling through the blur. Until she heard a crash from the back. A sick, thudding crash.
“Mom?”
She dropped the tray of croissants, sprinting into the back room. Her mother was on the floor, lips pale, one hand clutching her stomach.
“MOM!”
The ambulance took too long.
At the hospital, she sat stiffly in a plastic chair, numb as nurses rushed around. An IV was being inserted. A doctor kept asking her questions she barely registered.
“Has she been eating well?”
“Has she complained of stomach pain before?”
“Does she have a history of ulcers or internal bleeding?”
She nodded, shook her head, cried, answered without knowing what she was saying.
Hours passed. Leah finally arrived, flustered and wild-eyed.
“Phoebe, oh my God, why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You had a shift,” Phoebe said quietly.
Leah cupped her face. “You’re my sister, not my staff. Next time, you call me. Immediately.”
Phoebe nodded, eyes empty. Her voice broke. “They’re saying she needs a minor surgery. Nothing dangerous, but... expensive. And it has to be fast.”
Leah’s breath caught. “How much?”
Phoebe looked away. “I used everything. Our savings. Even what was left for the renovation. And it’s not enough.”
Silence stretched between them like a deep chasm.
“So I’ll have to start again. Part-time jobs. Anything.”
“Phoebe—”
“No. Don’t argue. She’s my mother.”
Later that evening, Phoebe stepped outside the hospital into the night air. It was cold and silent. She stood on the curb, staring at her reflection in a parked car window. She looked... hollow. Fragile. A ghost of who she’d been.
Then she felt it.
That heat. That gaze.
Wesley was standing by a black SUV, dressed in a dark coat, his eyes watching her like fire beneath glass.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not moving.
He stepped forward. “I heard.”
“Of course you did.”
His eyes raked over her face. “You look like you’re about to fall apart.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve just had a long day.”
“I know what that feels like.”
“No, you don’t.”
He stepped closer. She didn’t move away. “Let me help.”
“With what? Blood money? Bribes? Or are you going to shoot my medical bills until they disappear?”
He smirked, but there was no humor in it. “You’re still sharp. Even now.”
“You don’t get to just show up, Wesley. Not when you scare me and confuse me in the same breath.”
His gaze burned into her. “What confuses you?”
“You.”
He stepped so close she could smell his cologne—deep, smoky, intoxicating. “Tell me to leave.”
She opened her mouth.
“Mean it.”
Her lips trembled. Nothing came out.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I didn’t offer it.”
“Then what do you want from me?” she demanded.
His voice was lower than a whisper. “You.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m not yours to want.”
“Yet.”
The silence between them was thick with tension. Phoebe looked away first.
“My mom could die, Wesley. That’s what matters right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned to leave.
“Phoebe.”
She paused.
He reached out, touched her hand gently. Just a brush.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”
That nearly broke her. She pulled her hand away, but her heart didn’t.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” she whispered, “but I’m not a piece on your board.”
“I’m not playing.”
She shook her head, backing away. “Go home, Wesley.”
He watched her go. The shadow of her figure flickered under the hospital lights. He didn’t follow, not yet.
But inside his chest, something twisted deeper. Not just desire. Not just obsession. Something far more dangerous.
He would wait. He would watch. And when she finally broke—when the pain became too much—he’d be there.
Not to save her.
To consume her.
Because he knew the promise he made yesterday to her and maybe she didn't mean anything she said but he meant his.
***********************
Later that night, Phoebe returned to the hospital room. Her mother was still sedated, the machines beeping a steady rhythm. Leah sat beside the bed, but stood up when Phoebe entered.
"You should go and rest. You've done a lot already," Phoebe said, placing a hand on Leah's shoulder.
Leah turned to her. “Can you stop this, Phoebe? Stop acting like we’re strangers.”
Phoebe froze, then dropped her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just… I don’t know, Leah. Maybe this is just how I am. I push people away. Always.”
And just like that, she broke down. Her hands trembled as she held her face, sobbing silently.
Leah moved to hold her. “You know you don’t always have to look strong, Phoebe. You don’t have to carry this alone. Your mom’s going to be alright, okay?”
Phoebe sniffed, burying her face in Leah’s shoulder. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”
A long silence passed before she added in a whisper, “Wes was here.”
“So…?” Leah prompted, raising a brow.
“I don’t want his money. We’re two worlds apart. We don’t belong in the same world. He kills with no remorse. So I can’t. I just… I can’t.”
Leah didn’t answer. She just held Phoebe’s hand tighter.
Then Phoebe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.
Hey Phoebe, Martin’s voice came through the line. I heard what happened, okay? I want to support you however I can. And please don’t say no. I’ve already covered the remaining expenses, so you don’t have to worry about it.
Phoebe blinked, stunned. “You shouldn’t have.”
You haven’t changed, Martin said with a soft chuckle. A simple thank you would do.
“Thank you,” she said, softly this time, the emotion cracking slightly through her voice.
Look, I know you don’t like people stepping into your space. But this time, let me. Just for now.
“I’ll repay you,” Phoebe said, trying to keep her voice steady.
How about you start with dinner tomorrow night? Just dinner. I’ll pick you up. No pressure.
She hesitated, then nodded to herself. “Okay,” she replied dryly, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.
For the first time in a long time, something other than darkness brushed the edge of her thoughts.
**********************
Phoebe sat by the window long after Leah had gone to get coffee. Her fingers tapped mindlessly against the armrest, her eyes staring into the blurry distance beyond the window. The fluorescent glow of the hospital corridor painted everything pale and lifeless. Her mother’s labored breathing was the only rhythm left in her life.
Every breath sounded like it might be the last.
She didn’t notice the figure standing silently at the door until he spoke.
“You’re breaking.”
Her body jolted at the sound, and her heart began racing before her mind even registered the voice.
Wesley.
She turned around slowly, stiffly. He was leaning against the doorframe like he belonged there—like the hospital itself had summoned him. The black coat, the dark eyes, the energy that always felt just a little too dangerous for confined spaces.
“What are you doing here again?” she asked, voice cracking.
“You didn’t say goodbye,” he said simply.
Phoebe rolled her eyes and looked away. “Didn’t realize I had to.”
"I told you I’m not playing a game.”
“And I told you I don’t want to be part of your world.”
He walked into the room, uninvited. He stood beside her mother’s bed, staring down at the fragile woman lying under tubes and pale green sheets.
“She looks like you,” he said quietly.
Phoebe’s lips parted slightly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t humanize yourself,” she whispered. “I’m trying really hard to keep hating you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easier than accepting that a man like you is the only one who’s shown up when it really mattered”aside from mart she added barely a whisper.
Wesley’s eyes met hers then. And the heat in them was terrifying.
“You think I enjoy being this person?”
“You kill people, Wesley. For fun.”
“No. I kill people for reasons. But you… you’ve made me start questioning all of them.”
He moved closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity.
“I watch you,” he said, voice low and steady. “Even when I shouldn’t. I think about the way your lips tremble when you’re scared. The way you pretend to be stronger than you are. And the way your eyes burn when you’re mad at me.”
“Wesley…”
No. Let me talk.”
He sat beside her, their knees brushing. She couldn’t move. His energy was a rope pulling her into fire.
“You don’t want my money, fine. You want your space, fine. But don’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
Phoebe swallowed hard. “Feel what?”
“This chaos between us.”
She stood up sharply, needing space, needing air. But he followed her.
“You think you’re broken,” he continued. “But you’re just unclaimed.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispered.
“You’re mine, Phoebe.”
“No,” she snapped. “I’m no one’s.”
But her voice was shaky.
Wesley moved close, too close. His breath was on her cheek, his fingers ghosting down her arm like he was branding her with invisible fire.
“Then why aren’t you walking away?”
Phoebe opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He leaned in—slow, torturous—until their lips were almost touching. But he didn’t kiss her.
He just hovered there.
“I could ruin you,” he whispered against her mouth. “And you’d still beg for more.”
Her whole body quivered. Her knees threatened to give out. But before he could move further, her phone buzzed again. She stepped back quickly, like she had snapped out of a spell.
She grabbed the phone and answered without checking the screen.
"Phoebe?" Martin’s voice again.
Wesley narrowed his eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “What is it?”
“Just checking in and to confirm dinner again."
“I said yes, didn’t I?”
“Alright, alright,” Martin said, laughing softly. “Just making sure you won’t bail.”
She hung up quickly and turned back to Wesley, whose jaw was clenched.
“I should go,” he said, the darkness behind his voice deeper now.
“Wes—”
“I’m not good with competition.”
She swallowed. “It’s not a competition.”
He stepped toward her again, his face unreadable. “Everything is, Phoebe. You just don’t know it yet.”
Then he left.
And when the door shut behind him, Phoebe let herself sink to the floor.
She was trembling.
Torn.
- Writer
