4_ARNOLD

Arnold's world was a dark, suffocating void. There was nothing. No light. No sound. No sensation. Just the endless depths of unconsciousness, where time had no meaning, where the pain had been swallowed up by the abyss.

But then... something pierced the darkness.

A whisper. A feeling. A light that flickered, fragile and distant. His mind struggled to comprehend it. Was it a voice? Or just a fragment of memory?

And then, a pressure on his chest. He couldn't tell if it was a heartbeat or something else. Was it his own? Or someone else's?

He wanted to push it away, to sink back into the comfort of the blackness. But something... something was holding him. Gently, but firmly. A presence, insistent and familiar, yet foreign.

Breathe, a voice murmured, soft but commanding.

Arnold tried to obey, though it felt like a struggle, like the simplest act of drawing air had become an impossible task. He inhaled, but the breath came in jagged gasps. It was as if his body had forgotten how to work, as if it had betrayed him.

His eyelids fluttered. A faint light pierced through, blurry at first, like the distant rays of dawn cutting through thick fog.

Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.

The world was a blur. His head felt heavy, as if weighed down by the chaos that had happened before. A fleeting image flashed in his mind—an attack, a cold, sharp pain. Then... darkness.

As his eyes focused, the first thing he noticed was the ceiling above him. It wasn't his. He looked down at his hands and noticed tubes sticking out. it downed on him that he was at a hospital.

He tried to sit up, but his body screamed in protest. His muscles felt like lead, and a deep ache radiated from his chest, his ribs—every part of him. With a groan, he let himself slump back onto the bed.

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. His heart skipped.

"Easy," a voice said, soft but firm, like someone trying to reassure an animal that had just been wounded. It was a woman's voice, but there was something strange about it. Something... powerful.

His gaze snapped to the figure standing beside the bed. A woman, but not just any woman. She was simply the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, her beauty was ethereal. She looked like she was not of this world. She was slightly tall, her posture straight and commanding. Her features were sharp, intense—dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders, her brown eyes full of something almost otherworldly. She wasn't looking at him with pity. There was no softness in her expression. She was assessing him, like a predator sizing up its prey, but with an odd tenderness that didn't match her demeanor.

He blinked, trying to make sense of her. His throat was dry. He cleared it. "Who are you?"

She didn't immediately answer. Instead, she leaned closer, her hands bracing his shoulders to keep him steady. Her touch was firm, her strength undeniable, like steel hidden beneath the softness of her fair skin.

"That's not important" she said simply, her voice low and steady.

She looked so familiar, like he has seen her somewhere before. He kept staring at her willing his brain to remember.

It took a moment for the fog in his brain to clear enough for him to realize what had happened. He had been attacked—ambushed. The world he knew had shattered in an instant. There were flashes of faces, dark figures, weapons, and the unmistakable pain of betrayal. He had been left for dead.

And yet... here he was. Alive. Alive because of her.

"You saved me," he whispered, the words thick in his throat.

She gave him a small nod, her eyes never leaving his. "You were lucky," she said, her voice strangely detached, though there was an edge to it. "You wouldn't have made it on your own."

Lucky.

Arnold didn't believe in luck. He had built his empire with ruthless precision, never relying on luck. But now, as he looked at the little girl standing before, he couldn't deny the truth—he was lucky. But more than that, something about her stirred a deep, gnawing feeling inside of him, something he hadn't felt in years. Vulnerability. A reminder that he was not invincible, that his empire, no matter how high it reached, could come crumbling down in an instant.

But she... she wasn't just a rescuer. She was something else entirely. Something that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

"How did you find me?" Arnold asked, his voice rough as he attempted to sit up again, this time more slowly, testing the strength in his body.

She didn't answer immediately. She looked down at the ground for a moment, almost as if weighing her words. When she spoke, her tone was cold, matter-of-fact. "I saw the attack. I wasn't far. I knew you'd die if I didn't intervene."

Arnold frowned. "You saw it? You were there? How did you take down three men by yourself?"

She met his gaze. "That's also not important. I just came to check up on you to make sure the men didn't come back to finish the job but then I met your security men littered all over the hospital grounds. For people to be after your life, you must be an interesting fellow"

Interesting. The word hung in the air like a challenge. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that—so blunt, so without pretense.

Arnold stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

She shrugged, nonchalant. "You're dangerous. People like you—people who think they can control everything—they're always on the edge of breaking. I'm curious though, if you had all these security why go out at that time of the night alone knowing that people are after your life? Because I so sure you knew your life was being threatened"

He didn't know how to tell her he was tricked into coming out alone by someone he thought he could trust with his life.

He looked up and saw her staring at him. He knew she was trying to figure him out. She had this aura around her.

There it was again—the feeling. That gnawing sensation in his gut. Was it fear? Respect? Or something else entirely?

Arnold tried to focus on her words, but he couldn't shake the image of her face, the strength in her eyes, the way her mere presence made the room feel smaller, more intense.

She was not like anyone he had ever met.

"Get well soon I guess. And please be careful. I don't want to have to come save you again" with that, she turned to leave.

And for the first time in a long time, Arnold couldn't stop thinking about her.

As she turned to leave, her footsteps light but deliberate, he called out before he could stop himself. "Hey"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't forget those who save me," he said, his voice steady, though his mind was anything but. "You're not going to disappear anytime soon, are you?"

She didn't smile, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or maybe something darker.

"You might not want me around," she said cryptically, and then, without another word, she disappeared out the door just as the doctor walked in with two nurses and Taylor, his most trusted security.

Arnold was left lying there, his body still aching, his mind racing, trying to make sense of it all.

But one thing was clear.

He couldn't get her out of his mind.