The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting soft shadows over the small room. Nicholas hadn't moved from the chair all night. His back ached, neck stiff, but he ignored it. Every few minutes he checked her breathing, his fingers brushing her wrist as if to confirm she was still there, still alive.
Ella stirred beneath the covers.
It started small—a twitch of her fingers, the flutter of her lashes. But then she let out a soft whimper, and Nicholas was on his feet in an instant.
"Ella," he murmured, bending over her. "It's okay. You're safe. I've got you."
She turned her face toward his voice, wincing at the pain.
"Where…?" Her voice cracked. "Where am I?"
"With me," he said gently. "You're safe now."
Her brows furrowed. "Ryan—"
"Gone," Nicholas said sharply, his jaw clenching. "He's not touching you again."
She blinked up at him, confused, disoriented. Her eyes were swollen, one still bruised where Ryan's fist had caught her.
