Aliana's entire body froze when the door burst open.
The sound was violent—wood cracking against the wall, hinges screeching—and her heart slammed in her chest. A man stood in the doorway, tall enough that his head almost grazed the frame. His arms and neck were covered in black ink, the tattoos crawling up like serpents under his skin. There was something dead in his eyes, a kind of hollow amusement that made the air turn cold.
Her breath hitched. "Who...who are you?" she whispered, her voice barely a sound. "Get out. You're in the wrong room."
He didn't answer, only tilted his head, grinning. "Wrong room?" he said in a low, rough tone. "Guess I got lucky, then."
Each word slithered through the air, thick with the smell of alcohol.
Aliana shot up from the bed, stumbling backward. Her knee hit the side table, sending the cracked lamp tumbling to the ground where it shattered into pieces. Her hands darted behind her, searching desperately for anything—a bottle, a phone, something she could defend herself with but there was nothing. Her fingers brushed the open diary on the bed, and her gaze flicked toward it.
He tried to kidnap me. He was big. Covered in tattoos.
Her pulse stopped for half a second.
It's happening.
Her voice trembled. "You need to leave. Right now."
He took a step forward. "You're a pretty one," he muttered, his grin widening as he reached up to tug at his shirt collar. "I was supposed to meet someone else, but I don't mind a change in plans."
Before she could scream, his hand shot out and tangled in her hair, yanking her head back so sharply that pain shot down her spine. She cried out, swinging wildly, her nails scraping at his arm. He slammed her onto the bed, the air knocked out of her lungs. She gasped and kicked, trying to push him off.
"Stay still!" he snarled, his breath hot and sour against her face.
She clawed at him, catching his cheek. He roared in pain, jerking back with a streak of blood running down his skin. His rage burned hotter now. He reached for something in his pocket—a leather strap, frayed at the ends—and looped it around her throat before she could react.
The pressure came fast. Too fast.
Aliana's legs thrashed against the mattress. She tried to scream, but the sound came out strangled. The room spun around her...the red and pink light bleeding together until everything was a blur. Her fingers clawed at the strap and her neck and deep red marks appeared on her skin because of her own clawing, her vision dimming as her lungs begged for air.
Then, suddenly the man got pulled back in an instant and the weight disappeared form her body.
The face of the man who had just done this was blurry to her, but it was pale, his eyes wild. Before the tattooed man could even turn, Joseph's fist cracked across his jaw. The sound was sharp and sickening. The man stumbled back, releasing the strap, and Aliana collapsed onto the bed, coughing, clutching at her throat as air rushed back into her lungs while her skin burned because of the scars.
Joseph didn't stop. He hit the man again, and again, each punch harder than the last, until his own knuckles were slick with blood. The attacker tried to crawl away, mumbling something, but Joseph grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him into the floor.
"You touch her again—"
Another punch.
"—and I'll kill you!"
Blood splattered onto the carpet. The man didn't move again.
By the time the motel staff came running, drawn by the chaos they'd ignored before, Joseph was kneeling over the man's unconscious body, his breath coming in short, heavy bursts. His fists hung limp by his sides, his shirt torn, his chest heaving.
They dragged the man out, muttering under their breath, leaving the room a wreck of blood, broken glass, and silence.
Aliana lay on the bed, her arms fallen on each side, trembling so badly the mattress shook under her. Her throat burned, the faint marks of the strap already darkening her skin. She stared at nothing, the diary still open beside her, her vision blurry with tears.
Joseph turned toward her slowly. The fury in his eyes was gone, replaced by something softer, rawer—fear, maybe. He turned towards her still
"Hey," he said, voice low and unsure. No response.
"Hey," louder now. Still nothing.
Her gaze was distant, her lips trembling.
He knelt beside the bed, his hands shaking slightly. "Aliana."
When she didn't move, he reached out, brushing his fingertips lightly against her cheek.
She flinched like she'd been burned. Then she snapped—screaming, scrambling backward, knocking into the wall behind her. "Get off me! Don't touch me!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "Stay away!"
Joseph froze, his chest tightening. His hands hung in the air before he slowly lowered them. "It's me," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "It's Joseph. He's gone. You're safe."
But she couldn't hear him. She was covering her ears, shaking her head, sobbing uncontrollably.
So he tried again, moving closer, slow as if approaching a frightened animal. His hand reached her shoulder, warm and careful.
"Aliana," he said again, softer now. "It's okay. He's gone. You're safe now."
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Then she looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of panic. For a long moment, she just stared—and then something broke inside her.
She lunged forward and threw her arms around him, clutching his waist so tightly he almost lost his balance, his bones felt on the verge of cracking. Joseph froze, caught off guard. He could feel her shaking against him, her tears soaking through his shirt. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. One of his hands moved to the back of her head, his bloodied knuckles tangling in her hair.
"It's okay," he whispered, voice cracking. "You're okay. I've got you."
Aliana buried her face into his shirt, her sobs quieter now, the fight draining out of her. Her body trembled with leftover terror, but Joseph just held her there, steady and unyielding, the faint smell of iron and sweat filling the space between them.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their breathing filled the room.
Joseph's voice was calm but firm when he spoke. "Can you walk?"
Aliana nodded, though her legs trembled under the weight of exhaustion. She pushed herself upright, the cold air brushing against her bare arms. The second she placed her foot on the ground, her knees gave out. Her body swayed forward in a helpless stumble, and before she could even gasp, strong arms caught her mid-fall.
Her cheek pressed against his chest, the steady beat of his heart thudding against her ear. The faint scent of rain and smoke lingered on his clothes, and she could feel the warmth of him seep through the thin fabric of her shirt. Joseph's grip was firm, protective, his voice a low murmur close to her hair.
"Easy," he said, one arm sliding beneath her knees. "I'll handle this."
Before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly. Her fingers curled against his chest out of instinct, the world tilting as he carried her toward the door. Every step he took echoed faintly through the dim hallway, the old wooden floor creaking under his boots.
As they passed through the doorway, Aliana caught sight of a woman standing just a few feet away. The hallway's red light brushed over her face, outlining her delicate features. For a second, Aliana's breath hitched. The woman looked like Beatrice—the same soft almond-shaped eyes, the same fall of dark hair framing her face.
But when she looked closer, she realized it wasn't her.
Still, something about the woman's expression made Aliana's chest tighten. The woman's gaze flicked from Joseph to Aliana—lingering just long enough for Aliana to see the flicker of hurt beneath her composed face. The tension in the air thickened, something unspoken stretching between Joseph and that woman.
Joseph didn't slow down. His arms stayed steady around Aliana, his jaw set as if refusing to acknowledge the other woman's stare. Aliana felt the shift in his heartbeat against her cheek slightly faster now, heavier.
Outside the building, the air finally hit cool against her skin, breaking the heavy heat of the room she'd left behind. Joseph's hold didn't falter as he walked into the open night, the faint hum of streetlights glinting against his profile.
Joseph reached the car in a few long strides, his arms never loosening around her. He opened the passenger door with one hand and gently lowered Aliana into the seat. The leather was cool against her back.
"Stay here," he said, his tone steady but distant, eyes fixed somewhere past her. "I'll be right back."
Aliana looked up at him, her heart still uneven from how close they'd been moments ago. He straightened, shutting the door softly, and for a second she caught the faint reflection of red hallway light on his face. He looked tense, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
"Wait," she blurted, just as he stepped back. "My things… they're still in the room."
Joseph paused, his hand on the car door. His eyes met hers briefly, calm but unreadable. Then he nodded once. "I'll get them."
And before she could say anything more, he turned and walked back toward the building.
Aliana let out a shaky breath and looked down at her hands, clasped tight in her lap. She told herself it wasn't her place to ask. She barely even knew him. And yet, the image of that woman's eyes and the way Joseph's expression had hardened lingered in her mind, gnawing at her until the quiet car felt heavier than the air she'd tried to escape. "Why did she look like Beatrice?"