Page 145 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

We're here, breathing, for now, but at what cost?

Chapter 45

LONDYN

MY BREATHING IS A MESS—ragged gasps that catch on sobs. My body still trembles with the aftershocks of terror and the cold certainty of that man's voice. But beneath it, a different tremor runs, a relief so profound it leaves me weak.

Sean is alive. I'm alive. We're together.

He holds me tighter, his hand stroking my back in slow, calming circles. He doesn't speak, doesn't try to fix anything. He just holds me while the storm breaks, letting me shatter against him.

A fresh wave of nausea washes over me. I don't fully understand who that evil man was or how he knows me or why we're in this situation, except that The Director somehow got me into this. I know Sean will explain everything later, so for now I'm just stuck on Mike.

"Mike," I whisper against Sean's shirt. "He's… That man…"

Sean's arms tighten around me. "He's alive. That's what matters. We'll get him back."

The certainty in his voice is something to cling to, but I fear how Mike will be treated until Sean fulfills his bargain. And what if that evil man is lying and just kills Mike anyway?

"This is my fault," I choke out. "If I hadn't hired you, if I hadn't pulled you both into this…"

Sean moves back just enough to cup my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes—those deep, steady brown eyes, rimmed now with exhaustion but blazing with an intensity that soothes me to my core—hold no trace of blame. Only a fierce protectiveness.

"No. This is not your fault. None of it. Not Miller, not Victor, not Mike. Do you hear me?"

I don't fully understand who that evil man is or how he knows me or why we're in this situation, except that The Director somehow got me into this. I know Sean will explain everything later, so for now I'm just stuck on Mike.

Victor? Is that the evil man's name? I nod, though the guilt clings like a second skin.

"This is on them," he continues, thumb brushing away a tear. "This is because of the fucking men who choose to hurt andcontrol. You didn't invite this. You didn't cause this. You survived. And you're going to keep surviving. And I'm going to be right here with you."

I nod again, trying to let his words take root, though they have a lot of hard clay to get through.

We stay huddled on the floor of my bedroom, just holding each other, for a long time.

Eventually, the adrenaline fades completely, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and a dull throb in my head. But there's no time to rest.

We help each other off the floor and cancel the tickets to Australia and sort through the chaos to prepare for a new destination.

In the silence between our breaths, I know this isn't over; it's merely an intermission before the next act of horror begins. Men like Victor don't make bargains they can't enforce.

***

I'M BACK IN A PLACE I never thought I'd see again: California.

The sweaty odor of the airplane clings to my skin as we finally exit into San Francisco International Airport. Sean's hand is wrapped so tight around mine that my fingers ache. I'm grateful, though; he's the only solid thing left in the world.

We navigate through the terminal and each step is heavy as if gravity works differently here. Maybe it does. This state holds too many memories for me. The flood of people moves around us and I tuck myself behind Sean, letting him guide me as I duck my head. Despite my oversized glasses and loose hair, I can't shake the feeling that someone will recognize me, remembering Elle's tragic downfall.

My stomach gurgles, and my free hand presses into my belly button. I've been feeling off since we boarded the plane in New York. At first, I blamed it on anxiety, but this feels different. My chest is tight, my throat burns with acid, and there's a persistent ache low in my stomach. I hope I didn't catch some bug.

Sean glances at me, noticing my sour expression. The browns of his eyes are dull and the skin beneath them is purple. He needs sleep. He's been running on pure adrenaline since that night in my apartment, since that moment, two days ago, when we stared death in his empty eyes and somehow walked away.

I try to give Sean a smile, but I'm sure it looks sad. His gaze leaves me and scans everything, everyone. He's always looking for anything suspicious, and I love that about him, but I also know his mind needs a break.

The pressure of why we're here has transformed him and it makes me want to cry. The playful, sarcastic bodyguard who teased me about books and made love to me with a tenderness I've never known has been replaced by someone harder and distant. I know he's still in there—my Sean—but he's buried beneath layers of hypervigilance and worry.

Maybe this is how I looked to him when we first met. Maybe this is what trauma does: turns us inside out until our worst fears become our skin.

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