CAMELIA'S POV

My eyes finally opened; the world felt wrong, but I'm still breathing.

The lights above buzzed faintly, too bright, sterile, and cold. The air carried the scent of antiseptic and latex. My throat burned like I'd swallowed sand. I blinked slowly, vision adjusting to the blinding white ceiling. My limbs felt like weights, my head like it had been split and stitched.

A beeping sound punctuated the silence, steady and mechanical. I was lying in a bed. Hospital? Panic tickled the edge of my chest.

I turned my head slowly, every muscle stiff and sluggish. My eyes locked on the blank white wall, empty and lifeless, but something felt off.

I turned again towards the door this time, and then my heart jumped into my throat.

"Thank God, you are awake." A man that sat beside me uttered, and my eyes widened in fear, Not a doctor, not a nurse, a stranger.

He was tall, even sitting very close to me, dressed in black, and broad-shouldered, with hands clasped together between his knees like he'd been sitting there a while. His dark hair fell just above his brow, and a scar sliced clean through one of his eyebrows. His eyes met mine instantly, cold and unreadable, and there was a drip line in my arm.

My breath caught, my body moved on instinct, and I screamed. "Killer!" The scream came raw and broken. And feral.

His eyes fixed on mine, he was speechless at first; he touched my hand, and I sprang into action.

I removed the IV out of my vein, ignoring the sting; blood beaded down my wrist. The machines next to me beeped wildly in protest, and I shot back against the headboard like it could protect me.

Still, the man didn't move, didn't even flinch. He looked at me like he'd expected this.

"You're safe." He said calmly, voice deep and gravel-edged. "You fainted on the road; I brought you here."

"I don't know you!" I snapped. "You are working with them; you set this up! You drugged me!" His jaw tightened.

The atmosphere of the room became intensely cold; his calm nature now rose above ground.

"I found you," he said, each word sharp. "In the middle of the damn road." He wasn't taking it lightly with me any longer.

My mind raced, trying to remember the street, the rain, the headlights, and the nothing.

"You're lying."

He stood slowly, and the tension in the room spiked. He wasn't threatening, but he was intense. A storm behind his eyes.

"You ran straight across traffic, you ungrateful lady." He bit out. "Didn't even look; you were barefoot and bleeding. I slammed the brakes so hard I nearly flipped the car to save you."

"I didn't!"

"You nearly got yourself killed!" He snapped, voice rising now. "I thought you were trying to die."

My breath caught in my lungs; he stepped closer, eyes burning with restrained rage. "You think this was easy? Watching you collapse in front of my headlights like a ghost?" He explained sharply. "Carrying you into this place, covered in blood, with no ID? I didn't even know your name. And now you scream killer at me like I'm the one who ruined your life."

I opened my mouth, but the words never came, because deep down. I knew he was telling the truth.

Pieces of memory returned in flashes. The cold pavement beneath my feet. The sound of tires screeching. My name echoing in my own head. And before all that, Diana, Alex.

Their betrayal, their naked bodies on the giant bed. My best friend and my fiancé, laughing, plotting, I had run, blinded by pain, I ran for my life.

And he—he must have found me right before I blacked out. Tears welled in my eyes, but I escaped their nest. He saw the change in my expression, saw the realization hit me, and slowly, his posture softened, just a little.

"Whatever you were running from." He said more quietly, "You almost didn't survive it." I looked away, humiliated, heart pounding.

"I didn't ask for your help," I murmured.

"No," he said, "you didn't, but I gave it anyway. You were bleeding, unconscious, and shaking; I couldn't just leave you there."

A long silence hung between us, heavy with unspoken things. "I didn't mean to scream." I said finally, voice small.

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair; the anger in his shoulders loosened slightly. "It's fine; you were scared. I get it."

He turned, moving towards the door like he was ready to leave for good. "Wait," I said suddenly, surprising even myself; he paused.

I stared at him for a moment, unsure why I didn't want him to go. Maybe because he was the only one who'd seen me when I fell apart, or maybe because for one terrifying moment, he wasn't the enemy but something else entirely.

"What's your name?" I asked. He looked back over his shoulder.

There was a faint glint of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, with a slight nod, he said, "Riven, Riven Harrison."

The name lingered in the room long after he walked out. Riven. And just like that, the storm had a name.

After a few minutes I stepped out of the ward, and the doctor's voice faded behind me as I signed the final discharge papers, bills settled by Riven before he left. A stranger I didn't know.

"Where do I go from here?" I asked inwardly to myself.

The scent of antiseptic still clung to my skin, and the bandage on my arm reminded me of how close I came to something worse. The hospital gown was long gone, replaced by a loose hoodie and sweatpants the nurse had kindly brought me, but the vulnerability still lingered in my bones.

For a moment, I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what came next. The corridors behind me were quiet now. The chaos, the fear, the pain—it had all been left behind in that sterile room. I was free to go, yet I wasn't sure where to go.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I stepped outside, squinting at the soft glare of the sun. "The air smelled different out here, fresher, crisper, but no less heavy." I said in a low tone.

I took a few slow steps down the hospital stairs, my mind replaying the events that led me here, then I saw him leaning against a sleek black car with tinted windows, arms folded across his chest, like he belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine rather than in front of a hospital.

"Oh, he's here again!"

Now I get to see his black shirt cling perfectly to his lean frame, and his expression was unreachable beneath those dark sunglasses.

"He's still here, but why?"

I had half expected him to disappear once I was stable. Most people would; most people did, but there he was.

My heart stuttered slightly in my chest, unsure whether to feel surprised, flattered, or suspicious. I slowed my pace, eyes never leaving his. He didn't move, didn't wave. Just nodded once, slowly, as if this was exactly how things were supposed to go.

I stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the tightness in his jaw and the tension in his stance. "You waited?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

He finally spoke. "You look better. That's a good sign." I nodded, unsure what to say, gratitude? Apology? Confusion?

But before I could form a sentence, he pushed himself off the car and opened the front door. "Come on," he said. "You're not in the condition to go home alone."

I looked at him; the bond was becoming stronger, but this isn't something I wanted to delve into right now, not after Alex betrayed my love for him.

"I'm not coming with you, thanks." I asserted, my voice barely above a whisper yet serious. My eyes were laced with many questions, but none of them mattered right now.

"I need to ensure you are safe, miss." He said, before his phone began to ring over and over again, he ignored it at first, but it kept ringing. "Give me space; I still have a few hours to go!" He spat at the caller.