Elara hated the night shift..

She hadn't even been in Chicago for more than two weeks, and already her new coworkers had made sure she got the worsts shifts. The other nurses laughed about it behind her back, sometimes right in front of her.

The city pulsed with restless energy. Neon lights flickered against damp sidewalks, car horns echoed through narrow streets, and for Dr. Elara, it was just another exhausting night on call. She leaned against the cool wall of the clinic she now called home, tucking stray strands of hair under her messy bun. Moving here had supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to disappear into routine, treat patients and leave comfortably but here she was, alone in the flickering lights of the clinic and the only guard half dozing at the entrance, Elara swallowed her anger. It wasn't worth it.

Checking her watch. Nearly 3AM. Dead quiet. The kind of quiet pressed on her ears and made her wish she had gone back to her tiny rented apartment instead.

Then came the knock

Loud. Urgent. The kind of knock that made her blood run cold. The guard stirred, but before he could react, the door burst open. Two men shoved inside. The smell of blood hit her instantly. The injured one's shirt was drenched in blood, his sharp suit ruined. his eyes wild but alert.

Elara froze. Her training told her to move, but her gut screamed to run. The man now placed on the bed was bleeding heavily, his shirt soaked through, but his eyes dark, sharp, terrifyingly alive, locked on hers. She cut through the fabric, revealing a deep wound across his side. A knife wound. Clean but dangerous. His gaze locked onto hers, cold and sharp despite the pain.

For a moment, she froze-there was something unnervingly powerful in those eyes, as though the city itself bowed to him.

"Stay still," she commanded, forcing her hands not to shake. "You'll bleed out if I don't close this." The man chuckled through gritted teeth. "This isn't a first."

The room thickened with silence, broken only by the sound of her instruments and his uneven breathing. She didn't ask questions-how he got injured, why was he armed, or why his bodyguard or whoever that is kept darting nervous glances at the door. She simply stitched, her focus unyielding.

"Scalpel. Thread. Gauze." she muttered the words like a prayer as she grabbed supplies. No one moved to help. The two men who'd carried him in just stood there, stone-faced, as if daring her to make the wrong move.

The wounded man never looked away. His dark gaze followed her every movements, steady even as his blood soaked the sheets. Who is he? she thought, forcing her hands to stop shaking as she stitched the torn flesh.

Minutes dragged. Sweat slid down her neck. When she tied the final knot and taped the bandage, relief almost buckled her knees. "You're done." she whispers, stepping back.

He sat up slowly, exuding an aura of control. this man didn't look hurt or even winced in pain. He reached for the pistol on the tray beside him, moving with the kind of calm that came from experience.

Elara's breath hitched. "You shouldn't-"

The door creaked.

Before she could finish, a figure appeared in the doorway. Another man. Armed. Watching.

In a blink, he raised the gun and fired. The sound split the clinic. The guard outside yelled. Blood sprayed the doorway. The man crumpled to the floor, dead before his body hit the tiles.

Elara froze. Her mind blanked, her head, whispering to herself "This can be real"

More footsteps thundered outside. Men rushed in, guns down.

He didn't flinch. He holstered his pistol and leaned casual against the bedframe, like this was nothing more than another Tuesday night-morning.

Elara found her voice, sharp with panic.

"You cant leave him here. Do you hear me? I am so not starting my life with a corpse on my floor!" She stood up from the floor, this wasn't her first time seeing a dead body, that alone gave her enough strength to et back on her feet.

The men hesitated, glancing and the man on the bed,

And for the first time that night, his lips curved into something dangerous. A smirk. "You heard the doctor. Take him"

Two men dragged the body out. The tiles smeared with red as they went.

Elara's stomach twisted, bile rising, Her chest heaved, heart racing so fast she thought it might burst. She couldn't believe this.

 And in the silence that followed, He looked at her with eyes that burned, before he left the room.

Elara crumbled back to the ground......

'

Elara’s hands were still trembling as the clinic doors slammed shut. The gunshot’s echo lingered in her ears, the smell of iron and smoke thick in the air. She could still see the man’s body on the floor, the lifeless eyes staring at nothing until he barked an order and his men dragged it away.

But it wasn’t the body that rattled her most—it was her own voice. “Don’t leave him here. Take him with you.”

She didn’t know where the authority came from, but he had paused, those obsidian eyes scanning her face before giving a small nod of approval. And just like that, his men obeyed.

Now, alone again, the silence pressed on her chest.

“Elara…” she whispered to herself, forcing her legs to move. She locked the clinic door with trembling fingers and turned—only to nearly scream.

The night guard was sprawled on the floor, motionless. Her heart dropped. She knelt beside him, fingers fumbling for a pulse. “God, no, no, no—”

The man snorted suddenly and rolled over. “…five more minutes.”

Elara froze. “What?”

His eyes half-cracked open, sleepy and clueless. “Why are you screaming? What’s wrong?”

Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “What’s wrong? There were men with guns in here! Someone got shot—”

The guard yawned and scratched his head. “Ah. Must’ve missed that.”

She stared at him, speechless. He’d been asleep through the entire thing. Asleep. She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand, more out of disbelief than anger. “You’re useless.”

He only chuckled drowsily, rolling back onto his side. “Told them not to put me on night shifts…”

Elara groaned, pressing her palms against her face. What am I even doing here? She’d been bullied into covering this shift. The nurses who were supposed to be here with her had slipped out hours ago, laughing at her gullibility. And here she was—alone, shaken, and now the keeper of a secret that could get her killed.

When the morning shift arrived, her coworkers didn’t need long to notice. Her face was pale, eyes ringed with exhaustion. She looked nothing like the woman who had walked into this clinic two weeks ago, clutching her transfer papers with a nervous smile.

“Elara, you’re scaring the patients,” one nurse sneered, though there was a flicker of unease in her tone. “Go home. Rest. You look… horrible.”

They didn’t know how right they were.

The head nurse gave her a pointed look. “Take the day off.”

Elara didn’t argue. Her body was drained, her mind too tangled to fight. She grabbed her bag and left, heart still pounding from the memories of dark eyes, gunfire, and the weight of secrets no one should ever carry.

*****************************************************

ACROSS THE CITY

His car purred low as it rolled into the DeLuca Estate, a fortress hidden behind acres of pine woods and private roads that only one family had the right to travel. The gates swung open at the recognition of his license plate, and the gravel crunched beneath the tires as the blacked-out SUV climbed toward the manor. It wasn’t just a house—it was a monument, built of pale stone, tall columns, and high-arched windows glowing faintly against the dusk.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy. He was silent, heading straight upstairs to his wing. His shirt was ruined, dirtied from the chaos earlier, and he couldn’t meet his father like this. In the privacy of his suite, he stripped it off and replaced it with a clean black one, buttoning it slowly, almost ritualistically. To him, it was nothing but routine. To Adrian,his older brother—it was deception.

Because Adrian was waiting.

Leaning against the banister, arms crossed, he eyed his older brother with razor-sharp suspicion. He had already informed their father that Raphael had come home bloodied. His men swore they saw it on him. But when he came down the staircase, neat and composed, there was nothing—no stain, no wound, not even a scratch.

Adrian’s jaw clenched.

“You cleaned up quick.” His tone dripped with venom.

He didn’t bother looking at him. “You must be mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” Adrian stepped forward, voice raising. “My boys don’t make mistakes. They saw the blood.”

The tension was thick enough to strangle. Their father, Matteo DeLuca, appeared in the hall just then, his cold eyes flicking from one son to the other. Adrian’s temper only worsened under his father’s silent scrutiny, but he, as always, remained unreadable.

Still, Adrian burned. If he had nothing to hide, why was everything always so perfectly… concealed?

But Adrian’s anger wasn’t done. Later, when his father dismissed them, Adrian pulled his closest men aside. His words were low, but sharp enough to cut.

“If he walks away clean, then someone else isn’t. The clinic worker. Find her.”

His men nodded, quick and eager.

Adrian’s eyes glinted in the low light.

And just like that, Elara’s fragile reprieve became a ticking clock.

The night air outside the DeLuca Estate was cool, but his thoughts were anything but. His father’s silence had been damning, his brother’s suspicion louder than words. He hated Adrian’s games—always circling, always trying to prove he wasn’t as flawless as he seemed.

So he left the estate. Alone.

He drove without a destination, his hand resting loosely on the wheel, eyes sharp on the empty road ahead. He told himself it was to clear his head, to breathe away the tension. But he knew better—there was a gnawing unease in his chest, something pulling him out of the safety of the family’s fortress.

***************************************************

She was walking along the sidewalk, cardigan pulled tight, her hair tied back carelessly. Her steps were slow, tired, like someone who had been on their feet all night.

Raphael’s SUV rolled past the street corner. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn his head. To him, it was nothing more than another body moving through the city.

And Elara, too lost in her own exhaustion, didn’t notice the black vehicle glide by.

Just a coincidence. Nothing more.

Are we enjoying this so far??

Elara shut the door behind her and leaned against it, listening to the faint traffic drifting up from the street. Her room smelled faintly of detergent and the instant noodles she'd left untouched that morning. She tugged her cardigan tighter, more out of habit than comfort, and stepped further inside.

Her apartment was small, barely enough space for the essentials: a single bed tucked against the wall, a desk with a lamp that flickered if she tapped it too hard, and shelves stacked with textbooks she hadn't opened in weeks. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

She set her bag on the desk and sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers absently tracing the hem of her sleeve. The night replayed itself in fragments—sirens in the distance, the sharp scent of antiseptic from the hospital, the strangers she had hurried past on the street. And then, that car.

She hadn't meant to look, but for a split second she did. A sleek, dark vehicle sliding past, the kind you didn't often see in this neighborhood. The headlights had caught her in their beam, quick and blinding, and then it was gone. She couldn't even see the driver's face. Still, something about it lingered with her.

Elara pressed her palms against her knees and exhaled. The image of blood—too much of it—flashed across her mind. The weight of a body she had dragged out of the street. The face she had tried not to remember.

She couldn't keep this to herself.

By the time she lay down, her mind was made up. Tomorrow, she would go to the police station. If nothing else, she needed to clear her conscience. Someone had to know what she had seen, what she had done.

Elara turned on her side, staring at the dark window. She didn't realize she was gripping the blanket so tightly until her knuckles hurt.

Tomorrow, she decided again. Tomorrow, she would tell them.

She was too tired to move.

************************************

The morning light was too bright, too clean for the shadows Elara carried in her head. She dressed in the first thing she found: a plain cream blouse tucked into dark trousers, her hair pulled into a low bun that couldn't quite tame the stray curls falling over her face. She slipped on her old sneakers, the soles worn thin, and grabbed her small brown satchel. She looked like any ordinary young doctor walking to work—except she wasn't. Not after last night.

The station smelled of smoke and stale coffee. Officers lounged at their desks, barely glancing up when she walked in. Elara forced her trembling voice into strength as she spoke to the man behind the counter.

"I need to report something. There was a shooting. A man was injured. I treated him."

The officer barely blinked. "Where?"

"My clinic."

"When?"

"Last night."

"And?"

Her nails dug into her palm. "He killed someone. In my clinic."

That got a chuckle from the officer, but when she continued, describing him—"Tall, dark hair, green eyes, a scar on his jaw—" the man's laughter stopped cold. His pen froze mid-scribble.

"Repeat that," he said, his tone sharp.

She hesitated. "He... he had these eyes. Green. Sharp. Like—"

He cut her off with a raised hand. "Wait here."

Elara sat for nearly fifteen minutes, her foot tapping nervously against the cracked linoleum. But no one came back to take her statement. Instead, when she finally gave up and walked out of the station, the sun already high, she noticed the black SUV parked across the street.

Two men in dark suits stepped out the moment she did. Their presence was too precise, too intentional. One of them opened the back door with a mock gesture of politeness.

"Miss Elara."

Her heart stopped. "How do you know my—"

"Our boss would like a word."

Her stomach dropped. They didn't even give her the choice to refuse.

And somewhere, not too far away, Raphael DeLuca was already aware she had tried to run to the police.