Chapter 3

Greer's POV

I snapped my eyes open to find myself in a bizarre hospital bed. Muffled voices drifted in from the hallway.

"Dr. Crane, you saw what she did at the birthday party. I'm incredibly worried about her." Soren's voice was laced with exhaustion and deep affection.

"Mr. Ashford, given Ms. Linden's recent extreme anomalies—agitation, paranoia, persecution delusions—I suspect she's experiencing a severe psychological break." A calm, authoritative male voice replied. "When she wakes, we need to run a full psychiatric evaluation. For her own good, and to prevent self-harm."

I ripped the IV out of my hand and pushed the door open.

Outside, Soren and a gray-haired doctor in a white coat turned to look at me.

Above Anselm Crane, the Head of Psychiatry, floated a [0%]. Next to him, Soren still bore that blood-red [100%].

"I don't need an evaluation," I snapped, fighting off the dizziness.

"Greer, calm down." Soren stepped forward, reaching for me.

I recoiled like I'd been burned, my eyes locked on the number above him. "Don't touch me!"

"Ms. Linden, your stress response is severe. Chronic insomnia can induce hallucinations..." Dr. Crane looked at me with pity, like I was a hopeless lunatic.

"I am perfectly lucid." I grabbed my coat. "Get out of my way before I sue you for unlawful imprisonment."

I shoved hard past Soren's shoulder and bolted for the elevator. Unexpectedly, he didn't stop me. He just watched me with dark, brooding eyes.

Bursting out of the Hartwell Wellness Center, the cold wind hit my face.

I needed to test something right now. Were these numbers real? If they were, they were my only chance at survival.

I power-walked down Seventh Avenue. Everyone I passed had a harmless [0%].

Approaching an intersection, the walk sign showed 8 seconds.

I stepped off the curb, but caught sight of a black pickup truck idling in the right lane. The driver, red-faced, was chugging from a brown paper bag.

I looked at his head.

[75%]!

My blood ran cold. I yanked myself backward, losing my balance and crashing hard onto the pavement.

A split-second later, the truck roared like a wild beast, blew past the line, tore through the crosswalk exactly where I had been standing, and smashed into a fire hydrant.

Screams erupted. Water shot into the air. Glass shattered everywhere. A fraction of a second later, and I would have been crushed under its wheels.

Terror washed over me like ice water. I scrambled up and sprinted into a narrow alley.

I pulled out my phone and powered it off to avoid being tracked. Zigzagging across four blocks and sticking to camera blind spots, I finally ducked into a rundown convenience store.

I leaned against an aisle, twisting the cap off a bottle of water.

The door chimes rang.

"You shouldn't drink cold water. It's bad for your stomach."

The scent of cedarwood closed in. A long, elegant hand snatched the bottle from my grip.

I jerked my head up, my heart stopping.

Soren stood right in front of me. Not a single wrinkle on his suit. His eyes trapped me like a net. The [100%] above his head was practically dripping blood.

"How did you find me?!" I retreated until my back hit the cold glass of the freezer doors.

"I'm your fiancé. Of course I know where you'd go." He sighed, draping a cashmere coat over my shivering shoulders. His voice was sickeningly gentle. "You almost caused a major accident out there. It's too dangerous. Come back with me."

"I'm not going! Get away from me!" I screamed.

The cashier leaned over the counter, looking wary.

Soren seamlessly shifted into the role of a heartbroken lover, giving the cashier an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. My fiancée stopped taking her psychiatric meds, and she's highly paranoid."

"I'm not sick! Call the cops! Help me!" I grabbed a bag of chips and threw it at him.

The cashier's eyes changed—now full of disgust and caution.

Soren easily pinned my wrists, his grip tight enough to crush bone, while keeping his perfect mask intact. "Let's go, darling. Dr. Crane is waiting."

I was half-dragged, half-carried into a black sedan. Fighting was useless, and the struggle drained what little strength I had left.

Twenty minutes later, I was locked back inside the VIP suite at Hartwell.

As the lock clicked shut, I closed my eyes in despair. But a second later, a very familiar smell hit my nose.

Faint lavender, mixed with an almost imperceptible, sickly-sweet chemical odor.

My eyes snapped to the nightstand.

There sat a black ultrasonic essential oil diffuser, spewing thick white mist. It was... the exact same diffuser I had on my nightstand at home.

Soren walked over with a glass of warm water, followed my gaze to the machine, and curled his lips into a chilling smile.

"That diffuser—you put that in my apartment yourself a week ago!" The realization hit me like a freight train.

"Yes. Your insomnia has been making you so unstable, the hallucinations are getting worse." He pressed the warm glass against my cheek, his eyes affectionate and utterly ruthless. "So I specifically had someone fetch your sleep-aid diffuser from your place. I wanted you to sleep well here, too."

I froze. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Looking at the white mist, and then back up to the crimson [100%] hovering above his head, the horrifying truth completely clicked into place.