CHAPTER 7 : Blood on His Hands

The rain beat against the pavement like a war drum, relentless, unyielding. Alexander stood outside Eve's apartment, the cold seeping into his bones, but he barely felt it. His hands were still stained with blood—not his, not from the ring. This was different. This was worse.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

The door opened, and there she was. Sleepy-eyed, wrapped in an oversized sweater. For a moment, he forgot the world outside, forgot the sins clinging to him like a second skin.

"Alexander?" Her voice was soft, concerned. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead, he stepped forward, into her warmth, into her space. She didn't move away.

"I need you," he admitted, voice rough, broken. "Just for tonight."

She hesitated, searching his face for answers he wasn't ready to give. But then, she nodded.

And just like that, the war inside him quieted—for a moment, at least