What?

"Why are you helping me? Why are you going out of your way to capture those people? I never asked for your help... so why?"

Liora's voice trembled—not from weakness, but from a storm swirling in her chest. Her eyes, wide and searching, locked onto Donovan's as if peeling back his every layer, desperate for a truth he kept hidden.

Donovan's throat clenched. 'Because I love you.' The words bloomed inside him like a flame, simple and blazing. And yet, it refused to pass through his lips. Not yet. The time wasn't right—not when her heart was still healing and her mind clouded by the echoes of pain.

Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, "I'm trying to feel less guilty, Liora. I should have left that meeting much earlier, and I should have been waiting for you. Not you!"

His voice dropped lower, steadier, as he reached out, gently brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. "You were my responsibility. I was the one who invited you. You were under my watch. This…"—he gestured vaguely at the hospital room—"this shouldn't have happened. I am only trying to do the right thing."

He paused and let his words settle before continuing, "And... maybe this is my way of saying I want to extend a hand for friendship. I don't expect forgiveness, but I need you to know this—nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever reach you without going through me first."

Liora blinked. Her throat tightened as a rush of emotion caught her off-guard. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. Not with such softness. Not with such sincerity. Why?

Her gaze dropped, then lifted again, sharp and pained. "Are you pitying me, Nova?" There it was—raw, unfiltered. Her wounds weren't just on her skin. "You treated me like I was invisible in high school," she said, sitting up a little more. Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. "I wanted to thank you... for that time, you stopped those boys, but you just—just walked past me like I didn't exist."

Her words hit him like quiet thunder, each syllable pulling open old chapters he had kept locked away. Donovan said nothing for a moment. Then, he slowly flipped the back of her hand again—gently, like it was something precious.

"You always ate chocolate chip vanilla ice cream," he said softly, eyes still on hers. "You preferred plain water, never soda, even when everyone else drank it. And you liked spaghetti pasta more than any other shape of pasta. And before Kali practice, you tied your hair into a tight bun. Always!"

Liora's breath caught. Her eyes widened with every detail he named, the heat blooming across her cheeks like a sunrise spilling through curtains. Her lips parted in awe.

"And you say I treated you like you were invisible?" Donovan tilted his head, a gentle smirk playing on his lips—but it wasn't smug. It was sincere. Disarming.

Liora couldn't utter a word while she maintained her gaze on Donovan.

Donovan leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving her. His fingertips traced a loose baby hair from her forehead, sweeping it softly behind her ear, brushing her skin like a soft drop of water gliding down her neck, tickling the path it moved giving gentle and electrifying sensations. Liora's breath hitched as her lips trembled, not from fear but from something far more delicate.

"I care for you, Liora," he said, his voice a low promise. "Not out of pity. I've never pitied anyone. And I never will. Especially not you."

His hand moved instinctively to touch Liora's cheek. His fingers moved through her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. 

Liora's face turned a dark shade of red, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she felt the warmth of his touch. Despite her shyness, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his, captivated by the depth and mystery of emotion she saw in them.

There was something in his eyes—an ocean of emotion, vast and unreadable, yet strangely comforting. It invited her in.

Liora almost shyly reached out and took his hand in both of hers. Her slender fingers traced the lines etched into his palm, her touch featherlight. She marvelled at how his hand, firm and warm, wrapped around hers so perfectly like a puzzle piece she hadn't known was missing. The size difference made her feel delicate but never weak. Sheltered, but never small.

Her palm rested over his, and her eyes widened just a little. "Do all men have hands like yours?" she asked, brows lifting with honest curiosity. "So big?"

A smile tugged at Donovan's lips—calm, easy, a little too smooth to be innocent. "No," he replied, voice low, like a secret murmured between lovers. "Maybe my hands are just the right size to keep you safe."

He hadn't meant to flirt, not deliberately—but somehow, with her, everything came out softer, more tender. As though she pulled gentleness out of the parts of him that had forgotten how to be soft.

Liora bit her lower lip, the pink of it deepening as her lashes lowered. Still, her gaze flicked back up to his, and there was something blooming between them now—quiet, uncertain, but unmistakably real. A spark that didn't need fire to burn.

She didn't have to speak. Her silence was its own language. It was spoken in the way she held his hand. Trust was being built not with grand gestures but through a touch, a look, a breath held between two people on the edge of something unspoken.

And then, a gentle knock shattered the stillness.

The door opened slowly, and a female doctor entered, her ponytail neat, her white coat crisp over well-fitted trousers and a blue button-down. Her heels made no sound on the polished floor, but her presence was enough to draw Liora's and Donovan's attention away from each other.

"Good morning, Mr Magnum. And you too, Liora," the doctor greeted with a warm smile, her eyes quickly observing the locked hands but choosing not to comment.

Liora didn't pull away. Neither did he.

The doctor noticed Liora's palm was holding Donovan's. The corner of her lips stretched upwards, but she decided not to comment on it. She gets to experience with her own two eyes what the nurses have been gossiping about since night.

The doctor noticed Liora's slender hand still nestled in Donovan's. The corner of her lips tugged into a knowing smile, but she said nothing, letting the moment pass in respectful silence.

"I am Dr Stein. I will be attending to you from here on. I am also a therapist. Let me check your vitals, Liora," she said, approaching the bed with gentle authority.

Donovan took a quiet step back, his presence still lingering just behind the doctor as she began her examination. Dr Stein attached the blood pressure cuff to Liora's arm, checked her pulse, and shone a small light into her eyes to test responsiveness—all the while maintaining a calm, comforting tone.

"Your pulse is a little higher; given the situation you both were indulged in, it's nothing out of the ordinary," Mrs Stein made a playful remark, making Liora want to hide her face under the blanket.

The doctor's attention shifted to the fresh bandages on Liora's forehead. She observed them with a critical but compassionate eye.

"Would it be possible for you to explain to me what happened yesterday night?" The doctor asked, her voice as delicate as silk and careful.

Liora paused. She glanced down, then at Donovan, before looking back to the doctor. Initially, she managed to discuss her departure from her residence and her entry into the Twilight Zone, but as she continued to attempt to remember, her thoughts were increasingly filled with disjointed images and icy sensations.

Then her body gave a soft shiver, her shoulders curling in slightly, and she instinctively looked toward Donovan—her anchor in the storm.

Dr Stein stopped. That was all the answer she needed.

"I won't press," she said softly. "In my opinion, you are good to go home now, Liora. I have written a prescription—this pill is for after meals, once daily. And this one…" she handed over a small white envelope, "is for moments when the anxiety becomes too loud. Take it. And always keep it with you."

Liora nodded quietly. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr Stein stood, turning to Donovan. With a subtle gesture, she invited him outside.

In the hallway, the sterile air carried their conversation in hushed tones.

"How is she, really?" Donovan asked, his voice low but edged with concern.

"She is stable for now. " Dr Stein replied, her professional poise unwavering. "But emotionally… fragile. I feel your presence makes a lot of difference in her life. She trusts you, Mr Magnum. I think with your help, she might be able to fight against her PTSD."

Donovan looked down for a beat, processing those words before meeting the doctor's eyes.

"She needs to start therapy soon. But more than that—she needs to feel safe. Don't let her feel lonely, Mr Magnum."

"That would never happen," came a quick reply from Donovan.

Back in the room, Liora stood up abruptly, rustling the blanket. Her brows knitted as she peered under her pillow, then scanned the drawers, the edge of the bed, even beneath it.

Donovan entered just in time to catch her frantic movements. "What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled.

"My phone… I think I left it at the club."

Donovan did not waste his time, and he moved toward the wardrobe, opened it smoothly, and retrieved her small purse. "You mean this?"

Liora let out a breath of relief. "Thank you! Mama, Uncle Dane, and—" she paused, "Daran must be worried sick."

The mention of Daran's name was like a jolt through Donovan's chest. His jaw clenched, and his fists curled at his sides. He had forgotten about him entirely. DARAN! OF. COURSE! The name echoed in his mind like an insult.

As Liora flipped through her notifications and began replying, Donovan studied her expression. She looked… calm. Relieved. Fond, even. She scrolled through missed calls, typing a message quickly.

"Sorry, I was busy. I'll call you as soon as I'm free," she wrote with ease—like he still mattered.

The ache in Donovan's chest deepened.

"Are you and Daran… still together?" he asked, feigning casualness that didn't quite reach his voice.

"Me and Daran?" Liora chuckled. "No. He is my best friend, Nova."

Donovan blinked. "Your ex is your best friend now?"

Liora blinked up at him. "No. He was never my boyfriend," she corrected with an amused shake of her head.

"But you used to call him 'baby,'" Donovan said, spitting the word out like venom.

"Oh!....That! Because he made me say it. He chose his own nickname," She chined up with confidence, "and in my defence, I didn't even know it meant something romantic." She pouted in embarrassment. "I was naive back then, okay?"

Donovan stared at her. 'She. Didn't. Know?'

All this time, he had carried that jealousy like a knife stuck in his ribs. The restraint he had to exercise not to put Daran six feet under. And yet here she was… unaware of its meaning. Unbelievable—she hadn't even known what she was saying? He nearly laughed aloud.

If Daran ever dared to come try to make any such move on her again, Donovan would make sure he disappeared—not out of rage, but out of necessity. There were no moral rules in this war. No honour in love.

If it meant wiping Daran off the face of the Earth, so be it.

Liora wasn't just someone he cared about but the love of his life. And anyone who stood between them was already dead in his eyes. He would be the villain if it meant protecting her. And Daran... was already a ghost walking.

"I want to leave this place. Will I get the taxi from here to the university?" Liora said she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He gave a nod. "Allow me the privilege of escorting you back to the university safely."

Liora stood on the opposite side of the bed from where Donovan was. Liora tilted her head slightly, "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely! We are friends now, Liora. There is no need for formalities between us. Just give me a command, and I will ensure to follow it."

Liora's heart skipped a beat. The tone of his voice wasn't just playful; it was intimate, like a vow wrapped in casual words.

She blinked rapidly before something warmed her cheeks. A delicate blush bloomed across her face, painting her skin a soft rose-pink that didn't go unnoticed by Donovan.

Donovan tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on her with quiet satisfaction. He didn't say anything, but the subtle lift of his brow made it very clear that he had noticed. And he liked what he saw.

Liora turned her gaze away, flustered, clutching the hospital blanket to her chest. "I-I need to change my clothes…" she mumbled, trying to hide behind the sudden awkwardness.

But before she could finish, came Donovan's calm and smooth voice. "Let me help you with that."

The words hit her like a lightning bolt. She jerked her head toward him. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth slightly agape. "W-why would you help me change my clothes?!"

Donovan didn't flinch hearing her question. He was still calmly admiring her blush, which had now darkened to a vivid shade of red. He leaned back a little, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. "You want me to help you change your clothes?"

"What?" Liora blinked, completely thrown off.

"What?" Donovan repeated, brow creasing faintly as if trying to decode her reaction. "Wasn't that what you just said?"

Liora's jaw dropped. "I said I need to change, not that I want your help doing it!"

Donovan held back a smirk, his fingers brushing through his hair as he leaned against the wall near the door. He was clearly enjoying her flustered state.

"Right. Of course. My mistake," he said smoothly, but the corners of his lips betrayed his amusement.

Liora turned away again, hiding her face out of embarrassment. And Donovan couldn't help but think— She looked adorable when she was embarrassed. And maybe, just maybe, teasing her like this would become his new favourite pastime.