Gunshot

I am absolutely dead.

I glanced down at my shirt for the hundredth time, as if sheer willpower could erase the dark stain spreading over the fabric. Maybe if I kept my arms crossed just right, it wouldn't be noticeable.

Nope. That just made me look like I was trying to hug myself.

I adjusted my files in front of my chest instead professional, natural. Except now it looked like I was using them as a makeshift bib.

A muffled snicker from somewhere behind me made my ears burn. Yeah. They noticed.

Great.

Swallowing my pride (and the urge to bolt), I straightened my back and kept walking. I had bigger problems ahead—the terrifying woman behind that door, for one.

Swallowing hard, I pushed open the door.

Three men sat at the long, imposing table. They were well-dressed, sharp-eyed, and intimidating, though none as breathtaking as the man I'd seen earlier. But my focus barely lingered on them before it landed on the fourth figure,a grumpy-looking older woman with severe glasses, her mouth already twisted in disapproval. She looked like she could eat me alive.

I stepped forward hesitantly, my fingers gripping my files like they might anchor me. I moved to sit

"Who told you to sit?" her sharp voice cut through the room.

Heat flushed my face. I shot back up like I'd been electrocuted.

A long pause.

"Sit," she ordered.

I obeyed, my ears burning with humiliation. I swore I heard one of the men stifle a chuckle.

"Name?" she demanded.

I cleared my throat. "Tyler Lockwood."

She nodded, flipping through my application with exaggerated slowness, as if already unimpressed. One of the men leaned forward slightly, scanning my resume with a neutral expression.

"Tell us, Mr. Lockwood," he said, voice calm and measured. "Why do you want this position?"

Easy. I had practiced this answer a hundred times in the mirror. I straightened. "I believe my skills in"

A drop of sweat slid down my temple.

The woman's gaze flicked to my shirt. Her lips curled.

Damn it.

She adjusted her glasses. "Do you always show up to professional interviews looking like you just rolled out of a coffee shop disaster?"

I opened my mouth then shut it.

One of the other men exhaled through his nose, like he was trying not to laugh.

I tried to recover. "It was an accident, I"

""And if this happened in a meeting with a top client?" she cut in. "Would you 'accidentally' spill coffee on them too?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it. That was a trap.

A man on the panel exhaled through his nose, barely suppressing a laugh. "Let's move on. Your greatest strengths?"

This was my chance. I could turn this around.

"I'm a fast learner," I started, forcing a smile. "I adapt well to high-pressure situations, and I just failed a basic test of professionalism." The woman snapped the folder shut. "That's all, Mr. Lockwood."

Wait.

"That's it?" I blurted. "You're not going to ask me anything else?"

She sighed, rubbing her temple. "We'll redo your application. You can come back later."

My stomach dropped. "I failed, didn't I?"

"Time will tell," she said, with the finality of a judge delivering a sentence. "Now, leave."

I stood up stiffly, grabbed my files, and walked out.

Humiliation clung to me like a second skin.

One task. I had one damn task get the job. And I had failed. Spectacularly.

The weight of the interview clung to me as I wandered the halls, looking for the restroom to at least clean my damn shirt. According to the company's floor markings, there should be one nearby.

That was when I felt it again.

That presence.

A familiar energy crawled up my spine, and I turned only to see him.

"Him. Again"

The same man who had made me drop my coffee earlier. The one who had drawn everyone's attention to my disaster.

But this time, he walked past me as if I didn't exist.

My eyes flicked to his entourage, and that's when I noticed it. One of the bodyguards,his stance was off. His hand hovered too close to his waist like he is hiding something and the sweat on his brow was a dead giveaway.And then I saw it. The unmistakable shape of a gun.

Something about the way he moved sent alarm bells screaming in my head.

I didn't hesitate I followed.

They moved swiftly, but I kept my pace, careful to blend in. I didn't know why, but my gut told me something was about to go horribly wrong. And my instincts? They were always right.

Then, it happened.

The bodyguard suddenly slowed, crouching down. Something was off.

"Tying my shoelace," he muttered.

The others barely noticed as they walked ahead. But the moment they turned the corner, he stood, his movement sharp and precise.

His arm snapped up.

Gun in hand.

Aimed right at him.

Adrenaline slammed through me. No time to think. I lunged.

My shoulder crashed into him, sending us both to the ground. But he was stronger than I expected, too strong. He twisted, throwing me off like I weighed nothing. My back hit the cold floor with a brutal thud, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Distantly, I heard shouts. A scuffle. But my eyes locked onto one thing.the gun, still aimed, finger tightening on the trigger.

Move.

I forced my body to obey, muscles screaming in protest.

Bang.

The sound tore through the air like a whip crack.

For a split second, I felt nothing. Just the distant ringing in my ears, the world slowing to a crawl. Then white-hot pain seared through my side, ripping the breath from my lungs.

I staggered.

My knees buckled.

Wait… no…

Blood. Warm, sticky, and spreading fast.

Not him. Me.

The realization slammed into me harder than the bullet itself.

My vision swam, my body refusing to obey as the floor rushed up to meet me. But before I hit the ground, an arm wrapped around my waist strong, steady, keeping me upright.

A voice, low and urgent, echoed through the haze.

I barely registered it. My focus locked on the whiskey-brown eyes staring down at me.

A final, fleeting thought flickered in my mind before everything went black.

"Shit."