It had been a few days since the incident in the garden. Maya was slowly recovering, though the gnawing fear of nearly being killed hadn’t left her. The image of that knife—of the hooded man—still crept into her thoughts when the house fell silent.

But she didn’t let it show in front of Alejandro. He was already doing more than enough for her. She didn’t want to burden him further with her anxiety.

Today, however, the walls of the mansion felt suffocating. She needed air—something beyond the cold marble and closed curtains.

Adjusting the soft sleeves of her gown, Maya walked toward Alejandro’s bedroom. Thankfully, he had bought her some clothes recently—feminine, comfortable ones that helped her feel a bit more like herself. Whoever that was.

She knocked gently. A few seconds later, the door opened.

Her breath caught. Alejandro stood before her with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Water glistened on his chest and abs, muscles flexing slightly as he pushed back his damp hair. He looked like a sculpture come to life—every line of his body carved with precision.

Before she could look away, his voice broke the silence, low and teasing.

“Like what you see?”

Maya blinked, flustered. Her cheeks flushed deep red as she quickly averted her gaze.

“I—I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

Alejandro didn’t say anything. He simply stepped aside, allowing her in with an amused smirk.

Maya stepped in hesitantly, mentally scolding herself.

Way to go, Maya. He probably thinks you’re a pervert now.

Maya glanced around the bedroom. It was luxurious, yes—but it had a clinical air to it. The walls were a stark white, almost too clean. A stethoscope rested neatly on the bedside table, and a thick book on neurology lay open on the bed, pages marked with scribbled notes.

Alejandro stood by the mirror, running his fingers through his damp hair. His reflection looked composed—sharp jawline, focused eyes, and that same unreadable calm he always wore like armor.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, his eyes meeting hers through the mirror.

Maya blinked. “Huh?”

Alejandro turned to face her fully. “You want to ask something. So ask.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “How did you—?”

“You’re like an open book, Maya,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on her.

Their gazes held for a long moment—his intense and unblinking, hers a little shaken under its weight. Then Maya looked away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, um... I was actually thinking... maybe I should go outside for a bit. Fresh air, a change of environment—it might help trigger some memories.”

Alejandro’s expression changed ever so slightly. A flicker of something—hesitation, maybe even reluctance—passed across his face, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come. Maya didn’t notice, lost in her hopeful request.

He offered her his usual half-smile, charming and calm.

“I’ll take you in the evening.”

Delight flickered in her expression. “Really?”

He nodded once, then turned to walk into the wardrobe.

As he disappeared behind the door, Maya let out a soft sigh and glanced around the room again.

Maya glanced around the room again, her eyes trailing over the carefully arranged décor. The bookshelf caught her attention—it was packed with neurology books, thick and academic. Titles she could barely pronounce, let alone understand.

Her gaze shifted to the dustbin beside the bed. A frown crept onto her face. It was filled with several used injection tubes. That felt… unusual.

Just then, Alejandro stepped out of the wardrobe, dressed in a crisp formal shirt and dark trousers. As always, he looked effortlessly handsome.

He noticed the direction of her stare and smiled, his tone light.

“A surgeon needs a lot of experimentation with medicine, little Miss Curious.”

Maya looked up at him, startled for a second before she nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation.

“Oh… yeah. That must be tiring.”

Alejandro walked over and buttoned his cuff, his movements smooth.

“It is. But the human brain is a fascinating mystery… sometimes it takes more than a scalpel to understand it.”

Maya gave a small, thoughtful smile, but her mind lingered on the injection tubes.

“So,” Maya said with a teasing glint in her eyes, “what do you think it would take for you to understand my brain…? Even I can’t seem to decode it these days.”

Alejandro turned to her slowly, his gaze intense—almost unreadable. His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“I’m still figuring it out.”

Maya’s playful smile lingered, but it faltered slightly under the weight of his gaze. It was the kind of look that felt like it could strip away every wall she didn’t even know she had. Their eyes locked—caught in a moment that neither seemed ready to break.

Her breath caught. She looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her pulse unsteady.

An awkward silence filled the air, thick with something unspoken. Alejandro cleared his throat and rubbed his beard, composing himself.

“Let’s go have breakfast,” he said, his voice more casual now.

Maya nodded quickly, grateful for the change in tone. She stepped out of the room, her heart still fluttering as she walked ahead.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Evening cast a warm glow through the tall windows of the mansion. Maya stepped out of her room, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She had taken her time getting ready, carefully choosing a red dress that hugged her frame just right.

Alejendro sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, a crease between his brows. At the sound of her throat clearing, he looked up—and froze.

His phone stilled in his hand, forgotten.

Maya stood there, a soft blush dusting her cheeks under the intensity of his gaze. He didn’t blink. His eyes traveled from her heels to the fall of her dress, then to her face. She shifted slightly under the weight of it.

She finally broke the silence, her voice unsure.

“Uhh… shall we go?”

Alejendro blinked, like he’d just returned to the room from someplace else entirely. He stood, still looking at her, but now there was a softness in his expression—something close to awe.

“Yeah… let’s go,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

They drove through the dusky streets, the world outside painted in hues of gold and rose as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. Maya sat beside Alejendro in the car, her fingers gently resting against the windowpane. Her eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the bustling world outside—the people, the lights, the freedom.

It felt like she was seeing it all for the first time.

A soft breeze slipped in through the slightly open window, brushing against her skin like a whisper of memory.

She turned her head to look at him, her voice gentle.

“Where are we going?”

Alejendro’s eyes stayed on the road, but a small, knowing smile curved his lips.

“Somewhere you’ll like.”

Maya studied his profile for a moment—his calm demeanor, the quiet confidence he wore like second skin. A part of her trusted him. Another part wondered why that trust came so easily.

She smiled faintly and looked back out the window, letting the silence between them fill with comfort instead of questions.

.

.

.

.

.

.

They stepped inside the treehouse restaurant, and Maya's eyes immediately widened with awe. The warm amber lights hanging from the wooden beams, the soft rustle of leaves just outside the open windows, and the faint scent of jasmine in the air—it all felt like stepping into a fairytale.

The interior was a perfect blend of elegance and comfort—hand-carved wooden furniture, soft cushions in earthy tones, and delicate vines creeping along the walls. Gentle music played in the background, adding a layer of serenity.

A staff member approached them with a polite smile and led them toward a private table tucked near a large glass wall that overlooked a moonlit forest below.

They settled into their seats, and Maya looked around with curious fascination, her fingers lightly brushing over the intricate woodwork on the table.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed out, eyes glowing.

Alejendro, however, wasn’t looking at the décor.

His eyes were on her, taking in the way the soft light kissed her features, the spark of childlike wonder in her gaze.

He murmured under his breath, almost to himself,

“It truly is.”

Soon, dinner arrived, and the table filled with the warm aromas of freshly made pasta, grilled vegetables, and a glass of red wine. Maya twirled her fork into the creamy pasta and took a bite.

A soft moan escaped her lips.

“It’s really good,” she said, eyes lighting up.

Alejendro smiled, watching her. His gaze lingered for a second longer than it should have—then he leaned in and gently wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. His touch was warm, firm yet careful.

Maya blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“Uh… thanks,” she murmured.

“My pleasure,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

She gave a small smile, but her curiosity tugged at her again. She looked at him thoughtfully and asked,

“Uh… what about your family?”

Alejendro’s hand stilled, his fork hovering just above the plate. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice calm but distant.

“I’m an orphan.”

Maya’s smile faded.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Maya.”

He cut her off gently, his reassuring smile returning, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. “It was a long time ago.”

There was a quiet pause, heavy but not uncomfortable. Maya reached for her glass and took a sip, her heart softening.

Just then, the waiter returned to clear their plates. As he reached across the table, his hand accidentally knocked over the small bowl of ketchup.

It spilled in a quick splash—bright red landing on Maya’s dress, staining the front of her chest.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am!” the waiter exclaimed, reaching for napkins.

But Maya didn’t respond.

She froze.

Her gaze locked onto the spreading red stain. Her breath hitched. Time slowed. In her mind’s eye, a vision surfaced—flashes of a blood-soaked floor, the metallic scent, footsteps sloshing through it. Screams. Fear. Shadows.

The air in the restaurant suddenly felt suffocating.

Alejendro noticed immediately. He was out of his seat and beside her in seconds.

“Maya,” he called gently.

She didn’t blink.

Her fingers trembled as she stared down at the red liquid creeping across the fabric.

“Maya, look at me.”

His voice was firmer now, but still laced with concern.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Alejendro… it’s blood. I— I’m scared. Oh my God—”

She began rubbing the spot frantically with shaking hands, trying to scrub away what her mind insisted was blood.

“No, no—get it off—get it off—” she whispered in panic.

Alejendro grasped her wrists gently but firmly.

“Maya, hey—look at me.”

She met his eyes, tear-brimmed and terrified.

“It’s not blood. It’s just ketchup,” he said slowly, clearly, anchoring her to his voice.

But Maya didn’t hear him.

She was spiraling.

“No… no, get it off me—get it off!” she cried, her voice cracking. Her hands clawed at the fabric of her dress, rubbing harder, faster—so violently the red smear only spread further across her skin.

Tears poured down her cheeks, smudging her makeup, painting streaks of panic across her face.

The soft hum of the restaurant dulled. People turned to look—confused, curious, concerned—but Alejendro didn’t spare them a single glance. His focus was solely on her.

“Maya,” he said again, more firmly now—but still gentle, still anchored in warmth. His brows drew together as he saw her digging into her skin.

“No, no, it’s blood—it’s blood!” she cried out again, trembling as her panic overtook her.

“Maya, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Her flailing stopped instantly, her fists caught between them as he wrapped her tightly against his chest.

“Hey… shhh. You’re okay,” he whispered, one hand protectively around her back, the other cradling the back of her head.

“ You’re safe… I’ve got you.”

She sobbed into his shirt, breath hitching, body still trembling as her mind tried to make sense of the chaos it had unleashed.

Alejendro’s voice stayed low and calming.

“Nothing happened. It’s over. I’m here.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her damp cheek.

“You’re safe with me.”

And slowly… painfully… she started to breathe again.

Alejendro didn’t say a word as he gently lifted her into his arms, cradling her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Maya didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Her body trembled, her breath came in shudders, and her heart still pounded with fear.

He carried her to the car, shielding her from the lingering stares with the steel of his presence. He opened the door and carefully settled her into the passenger seat, closing it softly behind her before circling around to the driver’s side.

Inside, the air was heavy with silence.

Maya sat there—her hands limp in her lap, dress stained, makeup smudged, eyes glassy. The ketchup still streaked her skin like something far more sinister, and she was shivering, lost in some place in her mind she didn’t know how to escape from.

Her head throbbed—like something was clawing to break free from the haze.

Alejendro turned toward her, his brows furrowed, lips pressed in a line of worry. He took out a clean handkerchief and reached out, his touch slow and feather-light.

He gently wiped the red smear from her collarbone and neck, each pass of the cloth like a quiet apology.

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, voice low and sure. “Hush now… it’s over.”

Maya let out a broken sob, and Alejendro’s hand stilled—then moved to her face, wiping away the smudged lipstick, the streaks of tears on her cheeks.

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she leaned forward and rested her head against his chest—seeking the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the only anchor she had at that moment.

He froze for only a second, then wrapped an arm around her, letting her stay there—letting her breathe.

“I’m here,” he whispered into her hair, eyes dark with concern and something deeper, unspoken. “You’re safe now, Maya. I promise.”

And for a while, they sat in silence, hearts beating close, while the night wrapped around them like a fragile shield.

Alejendro felt her breathing slow—soft, even, steady.

She was asleep.

His gaze lingered on her peaceful face, and something in his expression shifted. The warmth drained from his features, replaced by a cold, unreadable calm. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small vial and syringe—its contents clear, nearly unnoticeable under the dim light of the car.

The same kind she had seen in the dustbin.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, uncapping the needle and drawing the liquid with quiet ease. No hesitation. No falter. Only purpose.

He glanced at her again. Her head rested against his shoulder, her makeup smeared, lips parted slightly in sleep. So fragile. So trusting.

Alejendro’s jaw clenched.

He tilted her gently, supporting her arm with care. With calculated movement, he pressed the needle into the soft flesh near her shoulder.

A faint hiss escaped her lips, her brows twitching ever so slightly—but she didn’t wake.

He watched, unblinking, as the plunger sank.

Once done, he withdrew the syringe and tucked it away, wiping the small mark with the edge of his sleeve. He stared at her for a long moment.

His hand moved to her face—fingertips brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over her cheek.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Sleep, Maya… You’re safest when you forget.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he started the car, his eyes fixed forward. Calm. In control.

But the shadows in his gaze said otherwise.