Mihai
MIHAI
F irst week back at Willow Bridge, and I can’t think straight.
I feel like I’m being pulled in every possible direction, each more twisted than the last. The weight of it presses down on me—the choices I have to make, the people counting on me. The second I step onto the grounds it’s like my brain refuses to shut off.
It feels like I’m losing control and I don’t know what to do with that.
I rub my hands over my face, trying to focus, but it’s impossible. All I see is Sofia’s tear-streaked face from last night. The anger, the pain in her eyes, and the way she looked at me like I was the enemy.
But then there’s Madison—quiet, withdrawn, with those big brown eyes that scream a thousand things she’ll never say.
She’s just here because it’s safer. That’s what I keep telling myself. She’s not attending Willow Bridge like the rest of us; no one is supposed to know she’s here. But that doesn’t stop the tension from coiling inside me.
I walk across the campus toward my SUV, while the other students are going about their usual business—laughing, talking, completely unaware of the storm that’s brewing just beneath the surface.
They don’t know what it’s like to carry this weight, this constant pull between loyalty and duty.
Sofia’s face flashes in my mind again. She’s been grieving, broken in a way that’s hard to watch. But her temper— God, her temper —flared when she saw Madison, as though all the rage she’d been holding back finally found a target.
I can’t blame her. She lost her father, and now I’m the one protecting the only witness, the girl who might hold the key to everything.
But the thing is, I don’t even know if Madison can talk. I haven’t heard her speak a single word since the first day we met. And every time I see her, there’s this heaviness, this quiet desperation in her eyes.
It’s like she’s trapped inside herself, and I don’t know how to reach her—or if I even should.
I reach the suites later than I expected, the place we all call home, but even that sense of home is different now.
The security around the estate is tighter; every corner watched, every move scrutinized. Madison’s somewhere inside, tucked away in one of the rooms, and I know I should check on her and make sure she’s okay. But I can’t bring myself to go there just yet.
Instead, I head to my suite, throwing open the door and collapsing into the nearest armchair. My head’s pounding, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is all spiraling out of control. I’m supposed to protect Madison, to make sure she stays alive long enough to talk.
But Sofia… she’s the one who haunts me.
I lean back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out how the hell I ended up in this mess. My father trusted me to do this and, by extension, protect the family. But it feels like I’m betraying Sofia with every decision I make. She looked at me like I chose the wrong side; like I’ve let her down. And perhaps I have.
The door swings open and I look up to see Nikolai striding in, his usual smirk absent.
“You look like shit,” he says, settling into the chair across from me, slouching.
“Feel like it, too,” I mutter, rubbing my temples.
“First week back getting to you?” he asks as he leans back, crossing his arms. “Or is it Sofia?”
I shoot him a glare, my tone sharp. “Don’t start.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, just calling it like I see it. You’ve been on edge since the jet landed. It’s not like you.”
I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “There’s a lot going on, Nikolai. This isn’t like the usual bullshit we deal with.”
He nods, his expression serious now. “Yeah, I get it. We’ve never had someone from the outside in the suites, and Madison being here changes things.”
“It changes everything,” I say, my voice heavy. “And I don’t even know if it’s worth it. She hasn’t said a word, and I don’t know if she ever will.”
“Give her time,” Nikolai replies, his tone more thoughtful than usual. “Trauma doesn’t just disappear, you know.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I know. But I’ve got Sofia breathing down my neck, waiting for answers. She’s hurt, man. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
Nikolai leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going to fix it, —not like that. Sofia’s pissed because she’s grieving, and she’s looking for someone to blame. Right now, that’s you for protecting Madison. But deep down, she knows this isn’t on you. She’s just… lost.”
“I can’t just ignore her, Nikolai,” I say, my voice hardening. “She’s family. And then there’s Madison caught in the middle of all of this, and I don’t know how to help her either.”
Nikolai is silent for a moment, then shrugs. “Maybe it’s not about choosing. Maybe you just need to do what you always do—survive.”
I let out a frustrated breath, standing up and pacing across the room. “Survival isn’t enough anymore. Not with this. This is bigger than all of us.”
He watches me for a moment, then stands up too, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re overthinking it. Focus on what’s in front of you. Right now, that’s Madison Graves. Keep her safe, and everything else will fall into place. Sofia will come around. She always does.”
I don’t respond, my mind still racing. I know what he’s saying makes sense, but it doesn’t make the choice any easier. My loyalty to Sofia and my responsibility to Madison—they’re like two weights pulling me in opposite directions.
“I’ll leave you to brood,” Nikolai says, heading toward the door. “But seriously, get out of your head. We’ve got bigger things coming and The Blood Trials to plan.”
I nod absently, watching as he walks out, the door closing softly behind him. But the silence that follows is deafening.
I run a hand through my hair, letting out a heavy sigh. None of this is fair, but I can’t change what’s happened. All I can do is make sure Madison survives, even if it means putting myself at odds with the people I care about.
I fucking suck at this bodyguard thing.
I leave my suite and head down the hall, each step feeling like a weight I can’t shake off. Madison’s been through hell in the last few days, one nightmare after another, and something gnaws at me, telling me I should check on her.
She’s been at the center of back-to-back shootouts, and somehow, I let myself think she’d be okay after all of that. I reach her door, my hand hesitating over the wood. She might want her space, but damn it, I have to know she’s alright.
I knock softly, listening for any movement inside. Nothing. I wait a few seconds, then knock again, a little louder this time. But all I hear is silence.
Just as I’m about to walk away, I catch a faint sound that twists my gut with an instinctive worry. A small, choked whimper.
Without another second of hesitation, I push the door open, ignoring the voice in the back of my head telling me to wait. I step inside, scanning the room quickly, and that’s when I see her.
She’s sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and her breathing— fuck.
She’s in full-blown panic, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps, her eyes wide but unfocused. Her whole body’s shaking like she’s trying to hold herself together but can’t.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut: I should have known this was coming. After everything—the tension, the danger—this was inevitable, and I just left her to deal with it on her own.
“Madison,” I say softly, crossing the room in a few strides, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. She’s lost in it, trapped somewhere in her own head.
I sink down in front of her, reaching out slowly. “Hey, look at me,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.“Madison, you’re safe. It’s just me. .”
Her eyes flicker with a hint of recognition, but she’s still struggling, her breaths coming in shallow bursts. I hesitate for a second, then pull her gently into my lap, her body stiff against mine. I hold her close, wrapping my arms around her and the scent of strawberries hits me.
“It’s okay. Breathe with me. You’re fine, Madison. Just breathe.”
I can feel the tension radiating from her, her heart racing against my chest. I run a hand through her soft blond hair, cradling her head as I rock us back and forth, my voice a soft murmur in Romanian.
“E?ti ?n siguran??, Madison. Sunt aici. Doar eu ?i tu.”
You’re safe, Madison. I’m here. It’s just me and you.
Her breathing starts to slow, just a fraction, but it’s enough. I keep whispering to her, steady and calm, like I’m willing her heartbeat to slow down, to let her know she’s not alone.
“Follow me,” I say softly. “Just breathe with me. In, out. In, out.”
She presses closer, her hands clutching the fabric of my shirt as if it’s the only thing anchoring her. I feel the shivers starting to ease, her breathing becoming steadier now, less frantic. I stay still, holding her, letting her ride out the panic until it finally starts to fade.
After a few minutes, her breaths are even and soft against my neck. I don’t move, afraid that if I shift even an inch, she’ll slip back into that dark place.
Then, as the room settles into silence, I finally notice what she’s wearing. My breath catches as I take it all in.
Holy fucking shit.
She’s in a simple white tank top and a pair of shorts that reveal more than I’ve ever seen of her. But it’s not just her clothes—no, it’s what I hadn’t realized was underneath them.
Her arms are covered in tattoos with intricate designs that snake down from her shoulders to her wrists. There’s even a chest piece—a deer with its antlers stretching across her collarbone, and on her thigh is a huge, vibrant peacock tattoo, its feathers spiraling down her leg.
Jesus fucking Christ. Is this what she’s been hiding underneath all those layers?
I don’t know why it shocks me so much, but it does. It’s like I’ve been looking at her through a fog this whole time, thinking I had her figured out, only to realize I’ve barely scratched the surface.
She’s curvy, softer than Sofia in a way that draws my attention more than I’d like. Her white tank is stretched tight over her chest and I can just make out her lacy black bra. My mind starts wandering places it shouldn’t, and I force myself to stop, clenching my jaw.
This isn’t the fucking time, .
I swallow, forcing my gaze away, focusing back on her face. Her eyes are closed, her expression peaceful now, but I’m still holding her close, still feeling the remnants of that panic attack in the way she clings to me.
But damn if she isn’t beautiful. Not in a way that’s polished or perfect, but real. Raw. Like there’s an untamed side to her that she’s kept locked away, one that’s only now peeking through.
Madison stirs slightly, looking up at me, her brown eyes still a little glassy but focused. She blinks like she’s just now realizing she’s sitting on my lap, wrapped in my arms.
I give her a small, reassuring smile. “You okay?”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the situation, her gaze flicking down to where she’s settled in my lap. I can practically see the horror dawning on her face as the reality of it sinks in.
In an instant, she scrambles off me, nearly tripping over her own feet as she backs away, her face flushed with embarrassment. She wraps her arms around herself, a nervous expression crossing her face as I get to my feet.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, lifting my hands, palms up, to show her there’s no need to freak out. “You just… had a moment. Happens to everyone.”
She stops retreating, standing there in the middle of the room, still hugging herself and her cheeks a fiery red. She looks down, her breath shaky, and I can tell she’s still embarrassed. But she’s calmer now, her breathing even, her shoulders relaxing as she processes my words.
My gaze sweeps over her, taking in the intricate ink that winds along her skin, the strength and softness that she somehow carries so effortlessly.
Gorgeous as fuck.
The thought slips through before I can stop it, and my mind wanders, just for a second, down paths I shouldn’t be going.
My eyes return to her tattoos, studying the art and the stories they might tell. I can’t help but notice the way the designs follow the curves of her arms, the way they move with her. Each piece feels deliberate, carefully chosen, and I realize just how much I don’t know about her.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, nodding toward her tattoos. “All of them.”
She looks down at her arms, then back at me, her face softening a little, though she still seems a bit unsure. There’s a vulnerability in her expression, like she’s not used to being seen like this, with so much of herself exposed.
She doesn’t respond—of course, she doesn’t. She just tilts her head to the side, watching me, waiting, like she’s still trying to figure out why I’m here.
And, fuck me, she looks cute as hell.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus.
“I just came to check up on you,” I say, trying to ignore the fact that I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close we are.
She just blinks at me, those brown eyes watching me carefully, but still not giving me much to work with. Then, without a word, she turns and walks over to her bed.
As I watch her move, I try not to let my eyes wander, but they do anyway, taking in her tattoos, her thighs, and the curve of her supple?—
Fuck no. Focus, asshole.
I nearly lose my fucking mind when she bends over and reaches under her pillow, but then I catch a glimpse of something—a cellphone.
For a second, I’m on full alert. Where the hell did she get a phone? No one’s supposed to have direct contact with her, and I know I didn’t give her one.
My instincts kick in, my body tensing as I take a step forward, my tone harder than I intended. “Where’d you get that?”
She types quickly on the screen, then walks over to me, holding the phone out. I take it, my mind still racing with suspicion, but when I read what she’s typed, my chest loosens a little.
Cat gave it to me.
I blink, surprised. Cat? I didn’t even think about giving her a phone, but of course Cat would. She’s soft-hearted like that, always thinking of others. Still, it catches me off guard, and I’m a little pissed at myself for not handling it first. I should’ve thought of that.
“Cat, huh?” I say, and she nods. I let out a breath of relief, running a hand through my hair. “Well, shit. Should’ve thought of that.”
I’m pissed at myself for not thinking about it sooner. Of course Madison needed some way to communicate, and of course, Cat was the one to recognize that need. She’s a sweetheart like that.
I input my own number into it and finally hand it back to her.
“Here,” I say. “Now you’ve got my number. If you need anything—and I mean anything—text me. No matter what it is, alright?”
She takes the phone from me, her fingers brushing against mine for a split second, and I try not to focus on how warm her skin feels. She looks down at the phone, then back up at me, giving the smallest of nods in acknowledgment.
I should leave. I know I should. But I feel rooted to the spot, watching her as she stands there, her tattoos exposed, her presence both softer and stronger than I expected. There’s something about Madison that pulls at me, something I can’t quite place.
But I can’t let myself get distracted—not by her, not by anything.
“Text me,” I repeat, more firmly this time, before turning toward the door.
And just like that, I’m gone, leaving her in the silence once again.
But even as I walk away, my mind is spinning with thoughts I can’t quite shake—thoughts attached to the scent of strawberries.