She'll be fine."
My entire body froze.
Slowly—
I looked up.
And there he was.
Standing at the doorway.
Like he had always been there.
Watching.
Waiting.
My breath caught.
"Cheng… Mo?"
Behind him—
two men.
Medical staff.
Already moving.
Already prepared.
Too prepared.
She needs immediate care," one of them said, kneeling beside her.
But I couldn't look away from him.
Because none of this felt like coincidence.
None of this felt sudden.
"You…" my voice trembled.
His gaze met mine.
Calm.
Unshaken.
"I told you," he said quietly.
A step closer.
"I'd protect her."
My chest tightened painfully.
"From what?"
The question came out before I could stop it.
Before I could think.
His eyes didn't leave mine.
And this time—
there was no softness in them.
"From you."
Silence crashed over everything.
Because suddenly—
I understood.
The timing.
The presence.
The control.
This wasn't luck.
This wasn't help.
This was him.
It had always been him.
My grip tightened around her hand as they lifted her onto the stretcher.
"She's a heart patient," I said, my voice shaking. "She needs—"
"She'll get the best."
The interruption was smooth.
Certain.
Already decided.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel that same suffocating presence again.
"You left."
My breath hitched.
"And look what happened."
The words weren't loud.
But they hit harder than anything else.
Because they weren't just words.
They were blame.
Truth.
A trap.
My chest tightened.
"I didn't—"
"You did."
Soft.
Final.
His hand lifted—resting lightly on my shoulder.
But impossible to ignore.
"You ran."
A pause.
His voice dropped.
"And she paid for it."
My world tilted.
Because deep down—
I believed him.
And that was the worst part.
The stretcher moved past us.
Out the door.
Taking her with it.
Taking my last sense of control with it.
I turned to follow—
but his hand tightened just slightly.
Stopping me.
"Stay," he said.
That same word again.
But this time—
it didn't feel like a choice at all.
My breath trembled.
"…what do you want?"