"Get out, asshole!" I yelled throwing a pillow at Andrew who still stood at the doorway like a tree.

"You'll find me in the kitchen," he said, voice annoyingly casual, "I hope you've got something edible in this place." The door clicked shut behind him with a slow, deliberate finality that made my teeth grind.

I turned back to Belvina, who was still staring at the door like it held the key to her worst nightmare. Her expression was a mix of confusion and disbelief, as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"That's Andrew, my brother," I said finally getting her to look at me.

"Didn't anyone teach him how to knock?" she said, her tone flat, but I could hear the edge underneath. I watched her limp toward the closet, each step careful, measured—my fault, and I didn't regret it for a second. A rush of heat surged through me, but I pushed it aside.

"What the hell is he doing here?" she asked, voice sharp as she rifled through the clothes.

"I don't know, I will go down and find out," I stood up and picked up my sweatpants, I ignored my straining erection as I pulled up the cotton material to my waist. I could punch Andrew right now for his bad timing. I brushed my fingers through my hair as I walked up to Belvina who stood in front of the mirror trying to tame her curls that fell to her back.

"I'll get rid of him," I whispered into her ear, my lips grazing her skin as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. The warmth of her body was intoxicating, a quiet promise of something more. My kisses trailed down her neck, each one a little heavier than the last.

She smiled at me in the mirror, catching my gaze. "Get rid of that boner too while you're at it," she said, her voice a playful challenge, before pulling away and walking toward the bathroom.

Shaking my head, I left the room, my footsteps echoing through the hallway. In the kitchen, I found Andrew—of course—devouring the last of the beef enchiladas Belvina had made the night before. He ate like he hadn't seen food in a decade, shoveling the leftovers into his mouth like it was a life raft.

"Hey, bro," he greeted me with that smug grin of his, his mouth full. "This is so good. Did you cook it?" He moaned through the food like he was experiencing some kind of religious epiphany.

I folded my arms across my chest, leaning against the doorframe. My eyes narrowed. He was always showing up when things were least convenient. I waited, silent, my stare demanding some kind of explanation.

"Nice to see you too," he sighed, rolling his eyes as if we were old pals, though we both knew that wasn't the case. If we were on that level, I'd have hugged him—but there was no way in hell I was going to play the "happy family" act. Andrew was here for something, I could smell it. And I was willing to bet it wasn't just for the food. Money, maybe. Or trouble. Definitely trouble.

His hair was longer now, curling messily under a white Nike baseball cap. The last time I saw him, he'd shaved it all off and dyed it blue, more of a "rebellious phase" than anything else. His outfit was nothing special—a plain red t-shirt, black pants—but there was a weight to him now that hadn't been there before. He looked thinner, worn out, and those dark circles beneath his pale gray eyes? They made him look like he hadn't slept in days.

"You look like shit," I said bluntly.

He shrugged, unfazed, like my words didn't even register. Typical.

I leaned in a little closer, the words coming out more forcefully this time. "Why are you here, Andrew?"

I realized, with a quiet jolt, that I didn't recognize the man in front of me anymore. It had been eight years since I last saw him, and though we were closer than I was with any of my other siblings, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was now a stranger. I'd given him the keys to this place years ago, thinking it would be easier for him to drop by whenever. But how the hell did he know I was here?

"Adam wants to see you... us, I mean," he muttered, his voice dropping low as if the words were a weight he didn't want to carry. Then he mumbled something else, but it was too garbled for me to catch.

Taking the seat across him, "Why?" I asked, my voice low, too quiet for what was coming.

He didn't look up at me right away, just took a slow sip from his drink. When he did finally meet my eyes, that crooked grin of his was there, cold and satisfied. "Dying," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "You should be happy that motherfucker is getting what he deserved." His voice was dry, nonchalant.

I wasn't surprised by the bitterness. Not after everything. He'd loathed Adam for years, ever since Adam tried to stop him from traveling, and it only got worse when Adam tried to force me into quitting swimming. Adam always had some plan—one where Andrew would settle down, get a degree, and do something with that trust fund. Andrew had taken one look at all of that and walked away. Hell, I barely saw him after that. It was like he disappeared into the world, leaving behind nothing but the occasional postcard or cryptic message.

"Adam's sick?" I asked, the words tasting strange in my mouth.

"Yeah," Andrew answered, the words spilling from him like he was chewing on the bitter truth. "Cancer. Guess it's knocking some sense and empathy into him."

"Who told you?"

"Delilah," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "She's been spamming my phone, begging me to get the family together. It's his 'last wish,' blah blah blah." He made an exaggerated gagging sound at the end, the words bitter in his mouth. "She wants us to care now, after all this time."

I shifted in my seat, the tension growing between us. "Were you able to reach Abigail and Abrielle?"

Andrew snorted, a sharp, humorless sound that filled the silence. "Those two? Ghosts. I wouldn't be surprised if they were already dead, and no one bothered to tell us." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms like he was too tired for this conversation. "They didn't even show up for mom's funeral. What makes you think they'll show for Adam's?"

His words stung, but they were true. I couldn't even remember the last time I saw either of them. They'd always been the type to disappear into thin air when it mattered most.

I exhaled sharply, the weight of it all starting to press down. "At least have some decency, Andrew, and stop talking about his funeral when he's still alive."

He shrugged, unaffected. "Delilah said he could die any moment. Might happen before we even get there. I don't wanna hear his voice," he muttered, rubbing his eyes as if even the thought of Adam was exhausting.

I sat up straighter, the reality settling in. "We better get going then. If Adam's got something important to say, let's go before it's too late."

He looked at me, eyes narrowing. "You'll never change, will you?" His voice dropped, the sarcasm replaced by something like surprise. "I thought for sure you'd send me packing after hearing his name. After everything he did to you."

I didn't flinch. I couldn't. "He's family. And somehow, he managed to get you to come."

Andrew rolled his eyes, his lips curling into that half-grin of his. "I was taking a break from traveling anyway. Didn't mind."

I raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more he wasn't saying, but I didn't push. "Where were you when you got the message?"

"Egypt, they have the most beautiful women I have ever set my eyes on, best threesome of my life before I got on the plane."

"Eww," Belvina's voice rang out from the stairs, followed by the soft swish of her red sundress as she descended, her hair wrapped in a floral scarf. She looked like she stepped straight out of a summer dream, and for a split second, I almost forgot about the tension in the room.

Andrew, leaning against the counter with that smug grin of his, didn't miss a beat. "I'll need some bleach to scrub that image of you two out of my brain," he said, eyeing us with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

Belvina paused beside me, and without thinking, I pulled her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her as I kissed her bare arm. She smelled like fresh citrus and rain—a reminder that even in this mess, there was still something sweet. I kept my eyes on Andrew, who was watching us with an odd curiosity, his face a mask of casual detachment, though I could see the gears turning behind his pale gray eyes.

"Oh my God, you didn't tell him!" Belvina gasped, her eyes widening as she looked at me.

I shot her a confused glance, unsure of what she was panicking about. Her face, normally composed, was now painted with alarm, and that immediately made my heart skip a beat.

"There's rat poison in the beef enchiladas," she blurted out, her voice laced with too much sweetness. "A big rat was running around yesterday, and I made the enchiladas to kill the rat."

Andrew froze. His eyes went wide, his casual smirk faltering for the first time in the entire conversation. His mouth opened and closed as he processed the words, his face draining of color. Belvina shot me a wink, a playful signal to go along with her little game. I barely managed to stifle my laughter as Andrew's gaze dropped to the leftover food, his expression going from confusion to outright horror. The next thing I knew, he was bolting for the sink.

"Oh shit, I forgot," I said, keeping my tone just serious enough to sell the lie. "You okay, bro?"

"Call the freaking poison control!" Andrew's voice was tight with panic, each word cracking under the weight of his fear. He was practically shaking as he spat into the sink, the realization hitting him like a freight train.

Belvina and I couldn't hold it in anymore. We both burst out laughing, unable to keep up the act. I felt her small body shake with mirth as I kept my arms around her, enjoying the moment despite the chaos.

Andrew, now looking like he might pass out from sheer anxiety, staggered back to his seat, his face red and his eyes still wide with terror. "Not funny, guys," he muttered, clearly not ready to laugh it off. His glare was directed at Belvina, who met it with a calm smirk, raising her chin as if to say, I got you.

"Next time, try knocking," she said coolly, her voice dripping with playful menace. "And that was payback for eating my beef enchiladas."

Andrew blinked a few times, still processing the twisted game we'd just played on him. Then, as if to salvage some dignity, he extended his hand to Belvina with a rueful smile. "You're scary for a tiny, adorable person. A pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Andrew."

Belvina stared at his outstretched hand, her expression unreadable. She didn't even flinch, just looked at it like it was a dirty sock. For a moment, the tension between them could've been cut with a knife.

"I don't like you," Belvina said flatly, not even bothering to hide the irritation in her voice as she stared at Andrew. His hand, still extended in that awkward peace offering, slowly lowered, and he gave her a smile that was equal parts amused and calculating.

"I like her," Andrew said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as though he wasn't speaking to both of us. "She's not like those gold-diggers you always go for." He shrugged, his tone as casual as a compliment—only the hint of something darker behind it. "So, when's the wedding?"

Belvina didn't even glance at him as she answered. "Why is he here?" Her eyes never left me, the question aimed squarely at my chest as if Andrew wasn't even in the room.

Andrew flashed another smirk, clearly entertained by the tension in the air. "Come on, at least pretend you're happy to see me. If we're going to be in-laws, we have to get along, right?"

He received nothing but a dark, unamused stare from Belvina.

"I really like her, you know. You have my blessings," he added to me, his grin wide and almost too sincere.

"Why are you here?" Belvina asked, cutting through the facade with surgical precision. "Are you done exploring the whole earth?"

Andrew's face shifted just slightly, his tone going back to that deadpan nonchalance. "No, big bro's dying and wants to say goodbye," he said, like it was just another day in paradise.

Belvina's face tightened, her gaze flicking to me as she asked, "Adam?"

I nodded, my throat tight even though I'd known this moment was coming. Her expression softened in an instant, and she moved closer, slipping an arm around me. She whispered, "Sorry," but I could feel the weight of her words—sympathy, sure, but also concern.

"There's really nothing to feel sorry about," Andrew murmured. "Adrian should be relieved."

But honestly? I wasn't. I wanted to get to Adam before it was too late, to hear his voice one last time before he slipped away. But Andrew—he was too angry to care. 

Belvina was the one who spoke next, and her words struck me like a slap. "Can you at least have some respect or empathy? He's dying. As much as I want to punch him for what he did, I feel sorry for him. Try to make amends before it's too late. You'll regret it later."

The air shifted around us, the rawness of her voice hanging between us. I couldn't help but admire her for that. The fire in her words, the fierce compassion that poured out of her despite everything, made me feel like the luckiest bastard alive.

Andrew's eyes flickered to her, then back to his plate. For a moment, the bravado slipped away, and he sat in silence, chewing over the words like they were a bitter pill.

"Whatever," he muttered eventually, the facade quickly slamming back into place.

"We have to leave," I said abruptly, standing up before the moment could stretch out any longer.

"Now?" Belvina asked, the bottle of lemonade she'd pulled from the fridge still gripped in her hand, her brow furrowed.

"Yeah, Adam doesn't have much time left."

"I can come with you," she said softly, the offer sincere but with an edge of hesitation. "To provide a little comfort, if it gets hard."

I could hear Andrew from across the room, his voice light and teasing. "Aww."

I shot him a glare so sharp, it was almost a physical thing. He immediately raised his hands, an exaggerated gesture of innocence, but I could see the amusement still dancing in his eyes. He loved to push buttons—especially when things were tense.

I turned back to Belvina, finding her eyes already locked onto mine, her gaze softer than before but still heavy with unspoken words. I could feel the weight of the moment between us, the tension of saying goodbye hanging thick in the air. I softened my voice, trying to ease her concern, though my own heart felt unsettled. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but you still need to show up at work."

Her eyes flickered with something close to worry, but she quickly masked it with a small smile. "Give me a call if you need to talk... about anything. Doesn't matter what it is, I'll pick up, even if I have to sneak into the restroom. I'm serious, Parker."

"Parker," Andrew mimicked, his voice dripping with mockery. He let out a loud laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I shot him a glare, trying to block him out. "Is he always this annoying?" Belvina hissed, her voice tight with frustration.

Andrew just winked at her, his grin boyish and infuriating. "Worse," I sighed, shaking my head. I could practically hear his smug little chuckle in my mind.

He placed his hand dramatically over his chest, feigning hurt. "Ouch, man. That really stings," he said, looking at me like I had just stabbed him in the heart.

"I'll call, I promise," I said with a smile, trying to focus on her instead of the circus of my brother.

Andrew's voice cut through the air again, low and teasing. "I see you two are making sex phone call plans, huh?" The words hung in the air like a taunt, and it took everything in me not to grab him and toss him into the pool.

"As much as I'm rooting for you two, we need to go," Andrew said, standing up like he was wrapping up a long overdue show. He stretched, then flashed Belvina another grin. "I'm looking forward to seeing you when I get back. You never told me your name."

Belvina didn't even flinch, just shot him a venomous look. "I hope you get lost on your way back."

I tried to apologize, though the words felt heavier than I expected. "Sorry our weekend getaway was cut short. I'll make it up to you. Try to have some fun while I'm gone, alright? You'll be okay on your own here?"

She didn't answer me right away, just rolled her eyes as she closed the fridge and grabbed a glass cup from the counter. It was the kind of eye-roll that felt like she had everything under control and wasn't about to let me baby her.

"I will miss you, Vixen."

"Vixen? That's what your parents named you? Wow! The world fascinates me every day," Andrew said and walked away when I turned to look at him.

"I hate how much you both look alike," she said and I laughed softly as I stepped closer.

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own here?" I asked again, my voice thick with worry that I couldn't shake. I knew she could handle it, but something in me still didn't want to leave her behind.

She gave me that same smirk, the one that made me crazy in all the best ways. "What am I? Three? I can take care of myself. And there's no way I'm leaving this paradise when I've got one more day left. Besides, I've got everything I need right here."

I could hear the unspoken promise in her words, but my stomach was still in knots. It didn't matter how tough she was, I hated walking away from her.

"Okay, but call me if you need anything," I whispered, leaning in a little closer, not sure if I was trying to reassure her or myself. My nose brushed against hers as I did, and her smile softened, her eyes flickering to my lips before she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, meeting me halfway.

Her kiss was fierce—more than I expected, like she was imprinting herself onto me before I had a chance to go. I almost groaned into it, the heat between us igniting something that made it hard to remember why I needed to leave. But I had to go.

I forced myself to pull away, and I could see the frustration flash across her face, those hazel eyes darker now, her breath quickening as her cheeks flushed with color. She was just as caught up in it as I was, but I knew I had no choice.

I brushed a stray curl away from her face, caressing her cheek like I was trying to memorize every feature. Like I could never be far from her for too long without losing part of myself.

"I'll call you when we land in Minnesota," I rasped, my voice hoarse from the kiss, from the wanting.

"Okay," she whispered, her lips barely moving, like she was trying to hold onto the words she didn't want to say. "I hate goodbyes, so I won't say it."

"Take care, Vixen," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, one last mark of ownership before I left. My lips lingered on her skin a second too long, but I forced myself to step away, leaving her standing there, the world between us now growing larger with every inch.

"That was quick for a quickie," Andrew said as I stepped outside slipping on a white long-sleeve shirt. I planned on taking a shower in the private jet. I stared at the yellow Ferrari in the driveway.

"I rented it this morning do you like it?" he asked walking to the passenger's seat. " And you're driving, my arms feel so sore, " he said throwing me the key.

"You've not even been around for 24hrs and you rented a Ferrari?"

"Gotta show up in style, bro," he gave me a smug grin. I shook my head and took the seat behind the wheels. I looked back at the glasshouse and found Belvina staring at me. I waved at her and drove off, I saw her wave back from the rearview mirror and smiled.

"So how did you meet that hot-head? Not your usual type," Andrew asked leaning back in the seat as if he was about to sleep.

I ignored him and picked up my phone to call Tristan and explain everything to him.

###

I stared out the window as the chauffeur drove us down the familiar street, my eyes tracing the outline of the tall buildings that flanked both sides of the road. The city had changed, but not in the way I'd hoped. The once-bustling neighborhood now felt quieter, more distant—like a place where time had slowed down without asking permission. Andrew sat next to me, humming along to some song on the radio, completely oblivious to the fact that I wasn't listening. I wasn't really present either, though. My thoughts were stuck somewhere between the past and now, watching the world unfold in muted colors.

The bus stop I used to wait at every morning, freezing my ass off waiting for a ride to school. Some of the houses, the ones I used to know, stood abandoned now, windows boarded up like hollow eyes staring back at me.

We pulled closer to the house—our house, or what had once been a home to me—and my heart gave an involuntary jolt. It was still standing, tall and stubborn. The three-story townhouse with its pristine white walls, expansive outdoor space, and wide windows that had once been my escape. I could almost feel the old habit of sneaking out through that window at night to train for swimming, my body pushing through the cold air as my heart raced.

"Let's get this over with," Andrew said, his voice dripping with annoyance. He was already stepping out of the car, his jacket swinging carelessly at his sides. I could've slapped him for how little he seemed to care. He's dying, I wanted to say, but I didn't.

I thanked the chauffeur, my words stiff and automatic, before stepping out of the car. The cold hit me like a slap in the face, and I adjusted my jacket as if it could shield me from the sudden heaviness that weighed down on my chest.

Andrew didn't wait for me. He sauntered up to the door, pressing the doorbell like he was ringing a damn doorbell at a party. I followed, more out of habit than anything else, and stepped onto the familiar patio.

The door creaked open. And there she was. Delilah. She looked so much older now, her face framed by the same ash-blonde hair I remembered, but her eyes—her eyes had the weight of years, and something more. They were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying for hours, and there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered, almost too quietly. It felt like she was trying to hold it together, but failing. Her gaze flickered between me and Andrew, before settling on the floor like it was safer there.

She looked like she was about to break. I could see it in the way her hands shook as she stepped aside to let us in. The house smelled different, though I couldn't place what it was. The familiar scents of home—of warm dinners and family gatherings—had long since been replaced by something colder. 

"Everyone's upstairs," Delilah said, her voice cracking as she led us further into the house. Her eyes were still on the floor, her hands clutching her elbows like she might fall apart if she let go.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I reached out, pulling her into a hug before she could step away. She stiffened for a second, and then broke. She crumbled into me, tears soaking into my shirt as she gripped me tighter than I thought she had the strength for.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. Her sobs spoke for her, for all the pain that had been building up inside of her. It was raw, desperate.

"Adam's... body's shutting down," she managed between breaths, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled away just enough to meet my gaze. Her face was pale, but her eyes... her eyes held a truth that tore through me.

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb what she was saying, but the words felt like they were coming from somewhere far away. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure there was anything to say.

 Adam had always been there—complicated, twisted, but family, nonetheless.

She pulled away slowly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, but the smile she forced didn't quite reach her eyes. It was more of a reflex than anything else, a desperate attempt to put on a brave face when everything around her was falling apart. Without a word, she turned and led us upstairs. The smell hit me before the sight did—the harsh, chemical sting of disinfectant clinging to the air like a warning. I swallowed back the nausea, willing myself not to choke on it. I wasn't sure what was worse—the stench or the reality of the situation.

We reached the room, and as the door opened, every pair of eyes turned toward us. The scene in front of me was almost surreal, like I was watching a bad dream unfold. His family—three kids, his wife, and a nurse—stood huddled in the corners, their faces drawn and pale with grief. But it was Adam that stole my breath. He looked nothing like the man I remembered. His once broad frame was now thin and frail, swallowed by the hospital bed. His skin was sickly pale, his head bald, and a feeding tube ran into his nose. The sight of him nearly crushed me. He could barely keep his eyes open, but when they landed on us, they flickered with recognition.

I didn't look at Andrew, but I felt the tension rolling off him in waves. He was stiff, barely able to mask the anger in his posture. His jaw was clenched so tight I wondered if he was grinding his teeth to dust. I leaned in close to him, whispering.

"Don't say anything rash, please," I pleaded, but my voice caught in my throat. I knew how Andrew could be. How angry he could get. How quickly the words would slip out before he had time to think.

Andrew didn't respond, but I saw the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side. He wasn't ready for this. Neither of us were.

"Adri... an," Adam rasped, trying to force a smile, but it only seemed to make him wince. Every movement looked like it pained him. This was Adam, the man who had tried to destroy everything good in our lives, reduced to a shadow of himself. His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, but I could still hear the regret in it.

"I'm here," I whispered, taking his cold, clammy hand in mine. 

"An... drew," Adam's voice was even weaker now, barely a breath of sound, but his eyes flickered toward Andrew. I could feel the whole room holding its breath as they waited for him to say something, anything. But Andrew just stood there, staring at Adam without a word, his face set in stone. His eyes never left him, but his mouth stayed shut.

"Where is... Abby and Brielle?" Adam wheezed, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. He had to pause to catch his breath, every word like a struggle.

"There was a delay in their flight," Andrew lied, his voice flat and emotionless. The lie hung in the air, but no one questioned it. 

Adam nodded, though the effort seemed to drain whatever little strength he had left. "Thank you... for... for coming," he managed, each word costing him more than the last. "I wanted to apologize for everything."

I squeezed his hand, offering him the most sincere smile I could muster. "It's okay, I forgave you a long time ago. I don't blame you for anything." The words felt hollow, like I was trying to convince myself more than him, but they were the truth.

Andrew said nothing. Not a word. And the silence stretched between us like a chasm. He just stood there, his eyes locked on Adam's face, and for a moment, I wondered if he even had the capacity to feel anything anymore. He wasn't ready to forgive, not even now.

We stayed with Adam until his last breath, the room heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I watched as his chest rose once more—shallow, uneven—and then it didn't rise again. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a brief moment, he looked almost peaceful. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and then he was gone, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

I stepped out of the room, unable to breathe. It was suffocating in there, the air thick with grief, regret, and something more painful than I could articulate. I needed to get away, if only for a minute.

I stepped outside, the cool night air biting into my skin as I sank down by the pool. The lights from the house flickered in the distance, and I could hear the faint sound of people crying inside, but I couldn't bring myself to join them. 

I reached for my phone, and despite the lump in my throat, I dialed Belvina's number. I needed her, needed to hear her voice, something to soothe the emptiness gnawing at my chest. The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail. She didn't answer. She was probably asleep, it was late there—close to ten, I guessed.

I sat there for a while, staring into the dark water, watching the ripples of light from the house flicker and fade. It was the first moment of stillness I had all day. The world was moving around me, but I felt like I was stuck in this strange, suspended reality.

Eventually, I went back inside. The house was quieter now, but the weight of what had just happened still hung in the air like a thick fog. Andrew insisted we crash at a hotel, but Mrs. Parker—Adam's wife—begged us to stay in the guest room downstairs. It was the least we could do, she said. So, we stayed.

Dinner was painfully awkward, the silence stretching long between us. No one had much of an appetite. No one was in the mood to eat, but we sat there anyway. 

The clock on the wall flickered past midnight as we finally made it back to the room after speaking with Delilah and her mother. The house had grown quiet, the echoes of grief still hanging in the air. Andrew was already slouched in bed, half-dressed in just his boxers, as if nothing had changed. His usual careless posture hadn't shifted since we were teenagers—sprawled out, unaffected by anything. I, on the other hand, felt the weight of the day pressing on me, even as I stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower.

I dressed quickly and was just about to sink into the silence when my phone blared. The ringtone shattered the quiet like a warning shot, and I felt a jolt of tension race through my chest. Andrew groaned from the bed, clearly irritated, but I didn't care. I had to take this call.

I stepped out through the backdoor, the cold air biting into my skin, but I barely registered the chill. My mind was already elsewhere—focused on the soft, familiar sound of Belvina's voice.

"You should be sleeping, Vixen," I said, forcing a half-smile despite the anxiety already twisting in my stomach. "Isn't it like 2 a.m. over there?"

There was a long pause, and then her voice—so weak it barely reached me through the phone—spoke my name.

"Adrian..." she whispered, but it was barely audible, almost like she was speaking from a great distance.

"Vixen?" I called out, alarm flooding my veins. Her voice wasn't right—there was something wrong, something off.

There was only silence for a moment before I heard the soft sound of someone moving, then a whimper. My heart skipped a beat. Every instinct I had told me something was horribly wrong.

"Vixen?" I repeated, my voice more frantic this time. My mind raced, my pulse hammering in my ears. She sniffled on the other end, her breathing shallow and unsteady.

"There's so much blood," she whispered between sobs. "I tried to fight him... I really did... but he was too big... too angry."

I felt my stomach churn. I couldn't breathe. My mind was spiraling, thoughts crashing into one another like waves, but all I could do was listen to her ragged breaths.

"My head hurts so bad... everywhere hurts. I can't move." Her voice cracked on the last part, and I felt the words rip through me like a blade. I could hear the pain in her voice, the way she struggled to speak through the agony.

"I...I love you..." she managed, barely a whisper, and then I heard the phone fall. The line went silent.

"Vixen?" I said, panic starting to claw at my throat. I listened, but there was only her shallow, labored breathing.

"Belvina?!" I shouted into the phone, my voice desperate now. The minutes seemed to stretch, but all I could hear was her uneven breaths—broken, like a glass shattering in slow motion.

"Answer me, Goddamn it!" I yelled, the words slipping out in a choke of fear and frustration.

There was nothing. No sound. No response.

I slammed the phone against my palm in frustration. Her phone was still on, but she wasn't answering. I rushed back into the house, my mind racing as I dialed Tristan's number. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone steady.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Tristan's voice was groggy, irritated, but the words felt distant—drowned out by the rising panic in my chest.

"I think Belvina is in trouble," I said, my voice sharp, more urgent than I could ever remember. "Call a cop, or someone! Get to the beach house, check if everything's okay. Right now!"

I slammed the phone against my ear again, trying to reach her. Nothing. It went straight to voicemail. Again and again.

I wasn't even thinking as I grabbed my jacket and bolted down the stairs, my heart thumping like a war drum in my chest.

Delilah was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, eyes red from crying. She looked up, startled, when I burst in.

"Car key," I barked, and for a second, she hesitated.

She gave me a wary look, but the urgency in my voice must've registered, because she handed me the keys with shaking hands.

I didn't waste another second. I ran out the door, started the car, and slammed it into gear, the tires squealing as I sped down the street. The familiar roads blurred in the headlights, but all I could think about was Belvina—where she was, what had happened, if she was even okay.

My hands gripped the wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. The phone buzzed again, and I answered it without even looking at the screen. It was Tristan.

"I've got someone on the way," he said, his voice tight with concern. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, man," I said, my voice shaking. "I just—she was crying, telling me there was blood. Please, Tristan, just make sure someone checks the damn house."

I slammed the phone back into my pocket, glancing at the phone one last time as the airport came into view. My stomach twisted into knots, my mind spinning out of control, but I couldn't stop. I had to get there. Had to make sure she was okay.

I dialed her number again. Nothing. I slammed the phone into the dashboard in frustration. I needed to hear her voice. I needed to know she was still alive.

But all I got was silence.