Chapter three
1243 Words
Katy’s pov
The door clicks softly behind me as I step into the room.
I hesitate just inside the doorway, suddenly aware of my wet clothes, my worn boots, the way I don’t belong in a place like this. The city lights stretch wide through the glass wall, glowing against the dark sky and then I see him.
He’s awake.
Sitting up slightly in the bed, staring out at the city like he’s been there the whole time, waiting. There’s something off about how still he is… like he’s holding himself together by force.
For a second, I think about turning around, Walking out, Taking the money and disappearing.
Then he turns his head and His eyes lock on mine, then everything in his face changes.
“Sandra…” His voice breaks, rough and low. “You came back.”
I freeze.
The way he says it like I’ve just returned from the dead makes something twist in my chest. His expression isn’t confusion, it relief.
He pushes himself up slightly, wincing, but he doesn’t seem to care. His eyes don’t leave me.
“I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew you wouldn’t just…he stops, swallowing hard.
My stomach tightens, I don’t move or even step closer.
He reaches for me anyway, like I’m already standing right beside him. Like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
“I’m not Sandra, I’m the girl who called the ambulance.” My voice comes out steady, even though everything about this feels wrong.
I stay near the door, one hand still resting on it, like I might bolt any second.
He doesn’t react the way I expect. Instead, he shakes his head slowly, like I’m the one who doesn’t understand.
“No,” he murmurs. “No, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I snap.
“Don’t pretend,” he says, his voice tightening. “Not with me, not after everything.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Everything? I don’t even know you.”
That hits something. I see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers curl against the sheets.
“I spent years…” he stops, dragging in a breath. “Years thinking I lost you.”
I frown, irritation creeping in now. “You’re talking to the wrong person,” I say flatly.
But he keeps going. “It was dark,” he mutters, almost to himself. “After that night… everything just…”He shakes his head. “Nothing mattered.”
His voice drops, quieter now. “Don’t leave again.”
The words land heavy and suddenly, this isn’t just weird. It’s unsettling.
“Oh, cut that crap out, Mr. D’Angelo.”My voice snaps sharper than I expect, cutting straight through whatever fantasy he’s stuck in.
I push off the door and step fully into the room, into the light, forcing him to really look at me.
“Look at me properly,” I say, folding my arms. “Do I look like someone you know?”
He flinches.
“Because I don’t know you,” I continue, my tone cold now. “And I definitely didn’t die, come back, or whatever story you’ve built in your head.”
His eyes search my face again, slower this time and carefully
“I have my own problems,” I add, my voice steady. “I don’t have time to be someone else’s ghost.”
For the first time since I walked in, he doesn’t speak immediately.
“You’re…” he starts, his voice quieter now. “You’re so different.”
I raise a brow. “Yeah, I tend to be myself. It works for me.”
He studies me like he’s seeing me for the first time and whatever version of me he had in his head.
His gaze drops briefly to my boots, my clothes, my hands then back to my face and Something shifts.
“I’m not Sandra,” I say again, softer this time, but no less firm.
He exhales slowly, like the truth is something he doesn’t want but can’t ignore anymore.
“I’m glad you’re not dead, but I have a son waiting for me.”mI glance at the clock on the wall, time is moving too fast.
Reality settles back in, Leo, home and Everything that actually matters.
I shake my head slightly, like I can shake this whole situation off with it.
“I did what I was paid to do,” I add, already turning toward the door. “You’re alive, That’s enough.”
I reach for the handle. “I’m leaving.”
“I’ll pay you!” His voice stops me mid-step.
I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose.
Of course.
I turn back slowly.
He’s trying to sit up further, ignoring the way his body protests, his face tightening with pain.
“Just…” he winces, gripping the edge of the bed. “Ten minutes. Stay for ten minutes.”
I stare at him.
“Name your price,” he adds, his voice rough but determined.
There it is… Money!!! The answer to everything.
I feel something twist in my stomach, not temptation this time, Something closer to irritation.
“No,” I say simply.
He blinks, like he didn’t hear me right. “I said name your…”
“I heard you.” I cut him off. “And I said no.”
His jaw tightens. “Everyone has a price.”
I let out a short laugh. “My time isn’t for sale tonight, Mr. CEO.”
I step closer, just enough to make sure he hears me clearly.
“Not for ten minutes, not for twenty thousand and for whatever ridiculous number you’re about to throw at me next.”
His eyes darken slightly.
“You can’t just buy people,” I add, my tone firm. “Not like this.”
I shake my head.
“You need help,” I say bluntly. “Real help, Not someone to stand in for whoever you lost.”
That one lands. I see it in the way his expression hardens, then cracks just a little underneath but I don’t wait. I turn and walk to the door.
I can still feel the weight of his gaze on my back as I step into the hallway.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Like something is still following me.
I walk faster, boots echoing against the floor as I head toward the elevator. My grip tightens around my bag.
“Sandra…”
The name lingers in my head, louder now than before.
I don’t know who she is and I don’t want to know bug something about the way he said it…
I press the elevator button harder than necessary.
“This isn’t my problem,” I mutter under my breath.
The doors slide open. I step inside quickly and hit the ground floor.
As they begin to close, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I’m done, I’m walking away.
Men like him… rich, powerful, broken in ways I don’t understand they belong in a different world, not mine
The doors almost shut completely… Then a hand slams against them and jerk open again. His voice, strained but unyielding, cuts through the silence…
“You can walk away tonight, but tell me something first…”
- Writer
