Once a killer, always a killer. It was the last thing I could think of when I carried her in my arms, feeling her pain tearing through me with her breath shaking to uneven rhythms. She muttered my name several times, although very faintly, I still couldn't do a thing to undo the damage.

I couldn't take her pain away, and neither her fear that felt palpable through her eyes nor the innocent blood pouring in rivulets from her wound until I ordered her to keep putting pressure on it using my jacket that I had pressed against it.

And everything is my fault! I shouldn't have brought her here.

If only I kept my distance from her and held my desire checked, she'd be in Las Vegas living her life as peaceful as she used to before. Whatever the fuck had me think I could ever lead a normal life and do all the normal stuff normal people do was nothing but a whimsical moment of mulishness.

The door strips open. Dr. Dallas steps out with a beat-up expression on his wrinkled face while breaking the plastic gloves off his hands. My heart leaps but I bite the sting as a man should. I rush over, ready to hear something that's not bad news after the devastating thirty minutes of waiting.

"Tough cookie she is. She'll live," he says with a wry smile.

A warm breath emits from my lips.

I've never been more reprieved and I don't regret having her bullet removed right here. It would've been a hell of a risk driving her with how quickly things spiraled. The hospital is a mile away, and a chopper would've taken a round of waiting and patience was precisely what I didn't possess by then.

"Any complications?" I fix Dallas' gaze for a satirical response.

His shoulders slouch as he sighs a bit dramatically. "Nothing fatal. Not even a vital scratch. Lucky one—she'll heal soon enough," he explains and it feels like a balm for my inner soreness. "She needs aftercare, though, if you know what I mean."

I know what he means. She must be admitted to a decent hospital. She's not like him or me, or my brothers and all other men with guns outside.

"The chopper will be here soon. I'm taking her back to New York City," I say, more to myself as I'm stung by the idea of staying here a night longer.

Even though I still have unfinished business here which, for now, can wait.

Falcon can wait.

"Great. Do I need to tag along?" he asks.

"By all means," I answer

Dallas is an ex-military surgeon who's encountered far worse emergencies in war zones back in his days. I've known to trust his skills through his years of service to the family in our black operations. He and Roberto are good old friends linked by the Pentagon. I'm more grateful he was here today.

"Alright, let's get this done." He digs his fingers into my shoulder, squeezing it as he skates around me. "Oh, I put her to a beauty sleep so it should be smooth."

I nod, and I'm stunned that she didn't go to sleep on her own even when I lay her on the surgery table with my jacket still pressed at the side of her stomach. She held my hand assiduously; though nonverbally, she pled me to stay with her. But Dallas has an M.O. of doing surgeries alone with Lia, his assistant nurse.

Something about avoiding hysterics.

As I walk into the room my breath hastens through my nose. She's there, lying to oblivion with an IV tripod standing beside the bed. I look at her and begin questioning everything. My decision to choose business while I'm a trained assassin, my family and all the lies and secrets, and mostly...her existence in my life.

I pull a chair and sit, ransacking my brain for any possible alternative on some decisions I'm bound to make when the night bleeds to a new day, because, as ugly as it may be, some things are precariously hanging between my reality and how I depicted my world to be, and I know most of those things need to change now.

I manage to doze off for twenty or fifteen minutes and only wake at the touch of a key lock from outside the door which has me pull my gun into a grasp either instinctively or out of paranoia. Lia walks in carefully, her eyes full of acuity as she knows I'm armed and probably still under epinephrine. She announces herself and dashes through the room.

'I just want to check on her; the helicopter is here," she casually states, taking her nurse job more seriously than the easily questioned look of her in denim shorts and a thin tank top, her curly hair tied up in a sloppy bun atop her head.

"When can she wake up?" I scoop from the chair, stashing back my gun while at it.

It's still dusky outside, perhaps an hour past midnight, and the chopper drones outside loud enough.

"An eight hours anesthesia"—she gives me a surreptitious side glance as she checks on the IV bag that's still dripping slowly—"will have her awake by seven in the morning. Depending on her condition, they may have to sedate her for a while longer."

Fair enough, as much as I need her awake.

The transfer is done as swiftly as I prefer. In two hours we're back in New York City and onto the hospital where Dallas has already contacted his trusted person. We get Arabella a very comfortable recovery room after a series of tests, and gradually I can hear my heart ease.

And then I wait the night, checking on her from time to time, pressing small kisses into her fragrant hair, on her soft forehead, and even on her dry lips wishing she could open her beautiful eyes as soon as possible, right now if possible, and call my name just one more time.

But she doesn't, so I wait again and again at every irrecoverably passing second, seated on the couch facing her bed and directly at her. It's nearly four in the morning according to my phone, and the glowing moon fills the room with a blue hue. I cross my one leg on the opposite knee and try to sleep.

And then the phone buzzes, pulling me fully awake.

Unknown number. A frown flits on my tired face.

It's nothing new, however, so I pick it up and say, "Who is it?"

"I warned you! I told you to keep your distance! I fucking told you to stay away from her!" It's a furious woman's voice, loud and uncanny.

I swallow tightly and let my rage simmer the moment I recognize the voice.

In a hushed tone, between my clamped teeth, I reply, "It was a fucking accident."

"Fucking bullshit! Today's casualty, tomorrow's target! We both know the drill!" she snaps, her voice more agitated. I get up. "You are the danger, Adrian Castle! You can never protect her from yourself so back off while you still can! Break up with her or I'll do it for you and I fucking mean it."

Break up with her?

The muscles in my body grow tenser at the thought of losing her. I want to yell at this woman and channel this ache devouring my heart but all I can do is breathe in and out so rapidly because she's simply reminding me of the demons I've chosen to neglect.

Deep down, I know what I'm supposed to do. I'm very much aware of what should be done and I've been imagining a million different ways to break through this new predicament I never thought I'd experience in this lifetime. I understand what this woman wants even though I cannot easily oblige.

"You know what I'm capable of, Adrian Castle! I'm not letting you or anyone else drag my children in that dark shitty world so end it or there'll be a bloodbath." Coming from her, it sounds like a threat, but it's a holy warning. "Enough playing house with her! It doesn't even suit a monster like you so end it or I'll show her the real you. I'm not sure you're ready for that so don't test my patience."

The call ends but the phone remains on my ear even when my inundated teary eyes fall on Arabella. I swallow painfully and I let the tears fall before pulling myself together with a very, very long breath.

Arabella's fully back to life around two days later, though the waiting felt like an eternity. I'm right here with her as she adjusts to the room lightning, confusion bathed in her lackluster eyes that are usually bright with rife intelligence. She squints several times, craning her neck from one side to another.

And she sees me at last standing near the window facing her.

"Hey..." I whisper and she smiles slowly with a hint of elation I've seen on anyone who's been shot and survived. "Don't move." I push my way next to her, my body in dire need to hold her so closely until she can't bear it anymore.

Seeing Adrian in the flesh means I'm alive, even though my eyelids are heavy. I'm in a hospital gown, my wit scattered until I gather that I'm no longer in the Castle mansion. I forgo all the real and otherworldly stuff I saw and heard as I hung between life and death, my father's smile is one of them, and Adrian's voice too, by trying to sit up.

I wince back painfully, my left hand reaching instantly for the wound on the side of my stomach. Adrian snaps again for me to stay put, and this time he shuts the distance between us and fixes a pillow behind me, as well as the adjustable bed which props up a bit on the upper side to have me recline comfortably. The mattress sinks from his weight when he sits next to me.

"You're here," I croak.

A breath escapes his lips as he looks upon me with sleep-deprived eyes, and although he looks clean and neatly dressed in a black turtleneck sweatshirt, black dress pants, and a brown trench coat, I can still see the hell I've put him through by just the look of his face. Tears gather in my eyes alongside my smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asks me gently, but my focus is now on his touch as he takes my right hand and holds it on my lap.

"Alive,' I whisper, blinking back the puddles.

"Yeah, barely. It could've been worse." His jaw ticks, and I imagine his teeth gritted behind his softly pressed lips, the same way his fingers curl around mine with tension. "That was reckless, Arabella. It could've killed you," he spats.

"But it didn't, right?" A haggard smile breaks on my face at the warmth his mere presence gives me.

He's here, furious or not, and it's the only thing that matters. I swallow almost painfully at the dryness of my throat, and now I wonder for how long I've been unconscious.

"You don't understand!' Adrian snaps, and his cold gaze frosts me in place as exasperation washes over him, making his nose flare as he lets out rapid, heavy breaths.

"Adrian..." I try to move again but the ache sends me back with a groan. "Goddamn it!" I curse, holding my wound once again.

"Fuck, Ara, you can't move yet! Stay right here; I'm calling the doctor," he says urgently.

He gets up to reach the telephone but I refuse to let go of his hand. He holds his stance, straying his gaze away toward the window as though he no longer wants to look at me. I swallow the burning pain around my dressed-up wound and the IV needle on the back of my hand as I prop myself using one elbow.

I finally grab his full attention and affection, upon a soft whimper emitting from my lips again.

"Arabella, please." He lowers himself to brace my shoulders, attempting to put me back against the pillow and onto a rest. "You're still unwell and—"

I stall his face between my palms, forcing him to focus on me, his eyes to look only at me, because it's exactly what I need after the horror I've gone through thinking I was gonna die and leave my siblings alone, and leave him in a plethora of grief and guilt for eternity.

"Ara..." His breath hitches, his corded hands resting on my sides supporting his upper weight as he successfully avoids the IV tube attached to my right plastered hand.

"Please stay with me. I'm feeling fine and I know the pain won't go away immediately but it won't last either," I whisper, trying my best to allay him.

His eyes stare back at me, although clouded with uncertainties and fear and something new that scares the shit out of me that I choose to ignore, and features slights soften. I need him to hold me close, to inhale his cologne and body scents, and to feel his lips touching mine even briefly.

"Arabella..."

I push myself toward him, subtly and slowly to avoid stretching my wound, just to touch his forehead with mine, graze his stubbles against my cheeks, and feel his lips brushing against mine too close that I can almost taste them. And when he finally kisses me, although very gently and cautiously, he unlocks me again. He once again reminds me that I'm indeed alive.

He pulls back quicker than I'd prefer and says, "I have to call the doctor."

My heart sinks because I know something is not right each time I look into his eyes. Deep down, even though I'm adamant to admit, I know that one bullet has altered something between us and I feel my heart torn apart imagining what it is. Instead of the gunshot wound, new pain plummets inside my heart.

I get calls from home but I tell no one about the incident. I decide they shouldn't find out. Talking to Isla soothes me and tears betray my façade marveling at what would've become of her if I had died last night. She got her first ballet recital next Friday, which means I need to be in Las Vegas by then.

Camilla video-calls me from London and cries a river while scolding me for what I did. But aside from her tears, I see the extreme gratitude she now bears toward me for saving her life. Reece, Lance, and Z show up the next day, and for once the queen bee gives me a genuine smile and hug.

The next three days pass gravely until I'm discharged from the hospital. I spend three more days in the penthouse trying to understand the distended void between Adrian and me to no avail. He's no longer playful. He's become distant and cold despite his suaveness and ample attention on my recovery, including bathing me, changing my wound dress, and even feeding me sometimes

two days later I find him packing my stuff into a brown Louis Vuitton suitcase that seems new. I throw the towel off my damp just-washed hair—as at last, I can take a bath on my own—a frown heavy with questions on my face. He glances up at me only once before he announces that I should get dressed for the flight to Las Vegas.

"Are we leaving already?" I ask, perhaps a foolish question given the comeback stare he pitches me followed by a long, deep breath.

"No, you are," he says curtly.

I leap toward him and snap, "Why? Why are you in such a hurry to send me away, huh?"

His gaze doesn't fray, only his stern jaw tightens as though he's battling with something challenging inside, and letting it out is the only option left. He sighs again, his eyes ablaze.

"Because it's time you go back to your normal life, Arabella," he replies, glaring down at me unblinkingly. "The normal life where you don't get shot at a party! The normal life where your boyfriend doesn't pull the trigger on his bother! The fucking normal life where the brother doesn't try to kill his girlfriend or anything of similar details!" His voice roars incessantly at every word he says, rendering my heart to shreds and my eyes in streamlets.

"What the fuck are you saying, Adrian?" I cry, unbelieving. My heartbeat catches into rapids as I whisper, "Are you breaking up with me?"

No, no, no. Please, no.

"Yeah," he replies bluntly. His brawny chest, three undone buttons of his maroon dress shirt showing the tight sternum, heaves up before he adds. "Mario will pick you up in an hour and my jet is on standby. If you need anything else, just let me know and I'll gladly provide you. This is as far as our relationship can go, Arabella. I'm sorry."

I slap him so hard that my palm hurts. He cocks his head aside, taking the blow more calmly than I wanted him to. I slap him again, but he doesn't flinch and anger breeds uncontrollable rage that makes me hit him repeatedly on the chest as I can't find the right words to say.

"JUST WHY?" I shout painfully. "WHY DO YOU GET TO DECIDE FOR ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT?! Who are you to decide what's normal for me, huh? ANSWER ME, YOU JERK!" I hit him again, and gain, but quite weakly. I can barely feel the energy left in me aside from anguish. "You think I'm weak, right? You think I'm just a damsel in distress, is that it? Is that why you're pushing me away over and over again? Answer me, dammit! Just fucking answer me like a man!"

I choke in tears, my body succumbing to a deep ache burning me from within. Adrian grabs my wrists and binds them against his chest, holding me in place as my knees begin to buckle the more I cry and bury my face in his chest, hoping he'd hold me and take back his horrendous words.

"Why?" I rumble on, though faintly at each breath I take now. "Why, Adrian? Why are you hurting me again? You said you'd never leave me... You said I'm yours and you won't let go of me no matter what... You told me so many times and you even asked me to marry you." I wilt in sorrow, the pain more excruciating than the gunshot or any other I've felt before.

God, please, make this stop. I don't want a life without him. He's my normal now. I don't want any other normal if he's not any part of it. I want him and only him.

"Arabella, stop," he says gently, yet I can't even feel his arms holding me as they used to a few days ago, nor his lips kissing my hair so voraciously as he held me tightly against him.

He's just a giant, cold piece of human whom I want to hate so much right now. I tear myself apart from him, my eyes puffy, and maybe crimson, inundated by the web of intricate pain. Even when I step back, he doesn't stop me. My heart breaks apart.

Despite everything, I want to believe I could see through him, through his heart that I've known big, and prove that he wants me as much as I want him, that he loves me too much to let go of me once again, that all this is nothing but a momentary whim that he'd come to regret sooner or later.

But I know best when he's being serious. I've learned to see through his eyes at least and understand the sheer determination depicted in them at this particular moment. There's nothing I can say that can bend his will and absolutely nothing I can do to change his mind.

We've reached an impasse. He no longer wants me. Not anymore. I drown in tears as I take more steps back and away from him, my eyes fixed on his cold, unflinching form until I collide with the bed foot and plop down involuntarily onto the mattress.

I cry until I hear nothing but my sob, my erratic breath as my nose flare, and then silence. But he's still there, watching me. The heartless bastard is there, unblinking. I just wanna hate him.

"Fine," I finally say while faking sole confidence I don't really have. I lay my both palms under my eyes and sweep the tears away boldly. "I'll do as you say. I'll leave your house and go back to where I belong." I only stare at the floor, too afraid to veer up and meet his cruel eyes.

But the more I look down, the more tears I shed.

"Wise choice, Arabella." His mean response makes me swallow stiffly and gaze up at him as he stands there watching me without an ounce of consideration.

How could he be so ruthless?

"But you don't need to do a thing!" I tell him nastily without missing his eyes this time. He's still blank, though guilt lingers there. I just know it's there. "I'll arrange my transport from here and leave for Las Vegas on my own. You're relieved of any responsibility you felt you had toward me from this moment onward."

Because that's what I was to him. A responsibility that he failed to fulfill the moment I got shot, and now an impediment to his path.

A frown forms across his face. "Arabella—"

"You don't fucking get to decide for me ever again, Adrian Castle!" I bolt up but remain in the same lane. "You don't want me, I get it! Now fuck off and mind your own fucking business!"

I leave him standing and head to the dressing room. Persistent tears barrel down my face and I cry with hiccups as I grab my clothes. I'll never forgive him for this! And if he thinks he can break my heart and go unpunished, then he's sadly mistaken. I'll be his shadow. I'll remind him of me every single day.

-The End-

A/N: Thank you so much for joining me in this wild ride that had me on an emotional rollercoaster from the beginning to the end. I know the ending isn't what we all anticipated, but there's a reason for everything. I'm one of the women who experienced a very complicated relationship so whatever I write must carry a piece of me and that's the reality even if it sucks.

Should you wish to know what happens along the way... don't forget to add DESIRE AND DANGER to your reading list. (Coming soon)