She was pacing back and forth, chewing the corner of her thumbnail nervously. Max was sprawled out on the sofa with his legs stretched, playing a game on his phone. Chandler sat with his back leaned against the stair railing, one leg folded and the other stretched out, silently watching Greyson’s room door. 233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYDkslcGepL
Thomson and Carl, clearly too free for their own good, were watching Lena walk around in circles like she was tracing invisible patterns on the floor. Carl even let out a dramatic yawn, as if this was the most boring warzone he’d ever been assigned to.
Right at the top of the stairs, tall glass windows stretched across the wall, letting in soft daylight, and the couches had been pulled near them. According to Lena, Greyson needed emotional support, and that meant all his friends should be near his room—visible, present, and ready. Max, however, thought it was the doctors who needed support now. Chandler agreed with Max’s logic, but Lena’s one hard stare had been enough to glue them all in place.
Meanwhile, Carl and Thomson had their own theory. “It’s not courage we’ll need,” Carl had whispered earlier. “It’s patience. The guy’s going to be stuck at home for a few days. And you know how cranky he gets. Guess who he’ll vent on?” Everyone.
So here they were—some playing games, some pretending to nap, and all apparently "offering moral support" just outside Greyson's room.
“Yeahhhh! I win!” Max punched the air with full energy. The loud cheer startled Chandler out of the brink of sleep. He blinked at Max like he wanted to throw the phone out the window. Lena immediately snatched the phone out of Max’s hand and walked to Greyson’s door, pressing her ear against it like some stealthy agent trying to eavesdrop. Nothing. With a disappointed sigh, she walked back again, pacing.
Max stretched out his hand toward her with a look of fake politeness. “Kindly return my phone, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth.
Carl and Thomson were grinning wide, enjoying the scene as if watching a comedy show. Chandler, on the other hand, had already laid back down on the stairs with his hands on his chest like he’d accepted his fate.
Lena crossed her arms and looked down at Max. “I didn’t bring you here to play games. Sit down and wait for the doctor. This is not PlayStation hour.”
Max retracted his hand with a dramatic sigh, then looked at Carl and Thomson with a “future sister-in-law” expression and stayed quiet—for survival.
“But seriously,” Max continued, “Greyson didn’t want to go to the hospital, and now you’ve turned the whole living room into a waiting ward.”
Lena ignored him and sat down on the single-seater, bouncing her leg impatiently. Max, unable to sit still or stay silent for long, slid a little closer to her and whispered, “Wanna know something wild? That guy—Greyson—he once took three bullets in the leg and two in the gut... and still lived.”
Lena flinched. “So what?”
“So,” Max said, matter-of-factly, “if a guy that stubborn can survive five bullets, then this little thing? Pfft. He’ll be up and annoying us in no time.”
“I don’t care how tough he is,” Lena replied. “The way I saw him earlier… he wasn’t okay.” She stood up and added, “I’ll go make him some soup. If the doctor comes out, let me know.”
She tossed a worried glance at the door one last time before heading down the stairs. Chandler, still napping at the very first step, didn’t even twitch when she stepped right over him.
Max watched him and shook his head. “This man’s living like a nomad, I swear.”
Thomson and Carl scooted closer to Max with their eyes sparkling. “Hey, tell us,” Carl whispered, “does Miss Lena like the Director?”
Max’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh, absolutely. And your Director? He’s drowning head over heels for Miss Lena.”
Carl gasped. “Finally! Someone’s getting married!”
Then he turned to Thomson. “Too bad you didn’t make it in time.”
Thomson gave Carl a punch to the shoulder from behind, just as Max turned around, pretending to be shocked.
“What happened?” Max asked.
Carl smirked, loving the chance to tease. “Well, our boy here was shyer than the girl. She tolerated it for a while thinking, 'New relationship, it’ll pass.' But this poor soul just kept blushing and stammering until someone else—way less shy—came and stole her.”
Max broke into a laughing fit, practically rolling on the floor, while Thomson sat there red-faced, glaring daggers at Carl. Carl was laughing so hard he was shaking.
“Don’t worry, though,” Carl added between gasps, “His ex? She has a baby now. Cutest little thing ever.”
That was it. Max and Carl were done. They collapsed on the floor, howling with laughter. Thomson looked at them like he was planning their funerals with just his eyes.
Eventually, Max and Carl pulled themselves back up, holding their stomachs.
Max clapped a hand on Thomson’s shoulder like a mourning friend. “Don’t worry, bro. You’ll find someone. And next time, take tips from me.”
Suddenly, the door to Greyson’s room opened. Two doctors and a nurse stepped out with their gear.
All the boys straightened up.
“He lost a lot of blood,” one doctor explained. “We’ve given him a transfusion. He’ll be weak for a while. The leg wound wasn’t deep, but the shoulder’s a concern—it’ll take time. The third bullet just grazed the arm, nothing serious. He’s resting now under sedatives. Light meals, regular meds, and strict bedrest for at least two days.”
The doctors turned to leave but paused when they saw Chandler still lying on the stairs like a sacrificial lamb. Thomson quickly stepped forward and nudged him with his foot.
Chandler blinked and shifted over, just enough for the doctors to pass. One of them raised an eyebrow at Thomson for kicking a sleeping man, but Thomson just bowed politely and said, “Please, this way, doctors.”
After they left, the boys tiptoed to the door and peeked in.
Greyson was fast asleep, the blanket pulled to his chest, peaceful for once.
They all sighed in relief and stepped back.
233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYDFBmBKCZ2
The entire room was veiled in a haze of cigar smoke. But Damien, detached from everything around him, sat on the floor with his back against the bed, staring at the screen of his phone. His father’s picture was open. In the dimly lit room, the only source of light was the faint glow from his phone screen, casting a soft light across his face, but even that wasn’t enough to make his expressions clearly visible.
Whenever he was hurt… truly hurt, he’d hide away like this—in the dark. Maybe so even he wouldn’t have to see the pain on his own face. He was the kind of man who’d grown used to hiding his suffering… even from himself.
He took a slow drag from the cigar, exhaled a soft ring of smoke, then brought the phone closer to his face. The screen’s light touched his cheekbones, revealing just enough to show he was hurting.
And then softly, almost brokenly, he spoke.
“…Why? Why did you do it?”233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpL7JAwTivR
His voice was heavy, confused. Lost.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiRsxaP4GMq
He paused, swallowing the rising emotion, then whispered again,233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz0CTmD7iZq
“She was just a child, innocent… Lena didn’t deserve it. Why her?”
In the photograph, Lucian West stood young, confident, smiling in his olive-green polo shirt and black slacks—a memory frozen in time.
Damien looked at it as if trying to speak to a ghost.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIWQbbwe9CM
He rose to his knees, the cigar still burning between his fingers, and with a trembling breath asked again—this time with fury flickering in his eyes.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrk1Fxsfg6g
“You knew. You knew what she meant to me. She was the only friend I had… the only one. So why… why the hell did you do it!?”
His voice cracked into a yell, pain and rage swirling as one. He dropped to his knees again, bending forward until his elbows rested on the ground, his phone still lying in front of him.
The room was silent now—completely still—except for the sound of his breathing, deep and shaken.
Then suddenly, he balled his fist and slammed it into the floor.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUTCcEWodt9
Once.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCU5dAXO8Wu
Twice.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoeFh0AAs4o
Again.
His hand turned red, but he didn’t stop. Physical pain couldn’t even reach him now. Not when his soul felt like it was being torn apart.
“I came here to destroy her… to make her pay,” he choked out. “All this time, I blamed her. I accused her for everything. I thought she was the reason…”
He slammed his hand down again.
“…But it was you. It was always you.”
And with that last realization, his cry—loud and guttural—echoed through the mansion. A roar of grief, betrayal, and unbearable shame.
Damien had always known that Lucian West was the one who orchestrated the fatal ‘accident’ that took Lena’s parents. But never—not in the darkest corner of his mind—had he imagined that his father had also tried to harm Lena in ways that shattered more than bones. He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t.
Lena had been innocent. A child. And Lucian… Lucian had marked her with the same cruelty he claimed was vengeance.
Damien was a man who came seeking revenge. Who thought the person responsible for his father’s death was Lena. After all, what else made sense? His grandfather, Augustus West, had ordered the execution of his own son. And the only connection… was Lena.
It haunted him—day and night—how a man could choose to kill his own son. And Damien believed the answer was always her. It had to be.
But somewhere deep inside, he’d always felt something was missing. A piece of the puzzle that never fit. A truth just out of reach. But every time the doubt crept in, his rage would silence it.
Now there was no silence left. No excuses. Just truth.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdcZX5Ccvdu
Lucian West—his own father—had kept Damien in the dark his whole life. So deep in darkness, he never saw how black his father truly was.
And now it was too late. He could ask as many questions as he wanted, scream into the void, hit the ground until his hands bled—233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqa0CVs4Srj
But the man who held the answers was long gone.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZZ6IcdN5tC
Dead.
“What did the doctor say?” Lena asked as she came up the stairs, her steps quick with worry.
The four of them were lounging on the sofas like they were waiting for a cricket match to start. Max, with exaggerated sorrow on his face, first looked at Thomson… then at Carl… building unnecessary suspense.
“Will someone please talk?” Lena’s brows furrowed as she looked at Max’s pitiful expression.
Max, always the drama king, slowly shook his head, then glanced at Chandler, stood up like he was about to deliver a funeral speech, and with a sigh that held all the sadness in the world, said,
“The doctor said... he needs two days of complete bed rest.”
And all four of them… in perfect comic timing… wiped away invisible tears like they’d just been personally attacked by fate itself.
Lena’s eyes narrowed. Her face flushed with silent rage.
Max, Chandler, Carl, and Thomson paused mid-wipe and glanced at her blazing expression. A long, heavy silence fell. It was in that silence they realized—
Wrong time for a joke.
And just like that, the air changed. All four of them gulped and gave nervous smiles.
Carl was the first to stand. Thomson followed like a soldier. Then Chandler.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYucL5fNMMb
“Well, now that our beloved Director is injured…” Carl said with faux dedication, “…we must each return to our solemn duties.”233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkbHOLyJp4n
“Absolutely. For OTF,” Chandler added with a salute as the two of them practically fled down the stairs.
Thomson didn’t waste a second either—he darted upstairs in the opposite direction, escaping like a man running from fire.
Which left Max standing awkwardly alone.
“…Hey, wait—guys!” Max called out after them, betrayed.
He took a few cautious steps backward, tripped over the sofa, and collapsed onto it with a grunt. Lena just stared at him in silence.
She was too worried to argue, and he was too clueless to help.
When she didn’t say anything, she let her glare do the talking. Then without a word, she turned, opened the door to Greyson’s room, and walked inside—leaving it open behind her.
Max clutched his chest dramatically.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuioNZlyO1O
“The way she looked at me, I swear she was about to eat me alive. Now I really understand why Greyson fell for her…” he muttered to himself, shivering for effect.
Inside the room, Lena let out a quiet breath when she saw Greyson sleeping peacefully.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfUXFYx6qp1
She walked over to the side table and picked up the instruction sheet the doctor had left. One by one, she inspected the medicines.
After placing them back, she closed the curtains, dimming the room, and gently pulled the blanket over Greyson’s chest.
But then her hand froze.
Her eyes caught sight of the stitches near his shoulder—scars she hadn’t noticed before.
But now in the quiet, she could see the damage. Not just from this injury—but older ones too.
Her eyes softened. Her hand paused.
She remembered something.
Greyson’s palm—the cut she had seen earlier.
Carefully, she pulled his hand out from under the blanket, laid it in her lap, and gently applied ointment with her delicate fingers. Then she wrapped it in gauze with a softness that only worry could bring.
After tucking his hand back under the blanket, she turned off the lights, closed the door behind her, and stepped outside.
Max, who had been sneakily trying to peek inside from the hallway, immediately straightened and started looking away like he’d been observing international politics out the window. He pressed one hand dramatically against the glass, sighing like a man pondering the weight of the world.
Lena gave him a blank stare and walked past him.
“I’m going to rest for a while. Keep an eye on Greyson, okay? If he wakes up, let me know immediately,” she said without slowing down.
Max spun around, arms in the air.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgRUJsG4NZv
“And me?! What about my rest?! Don’t I need sleep too?!”
Lena, already at her door, ignored him like a Greyson's female version and disappeared into her room, locking the door with regal indifference.
Max stood there in shock. He looked at Greyson’s door. Then at Lena’s. Then back.
“You people are oppressing this poor, innocent soul,” he yelled dramatically to the heavens.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK5N8hRw61s
“Shame! Shame on this cruelty!”
No one answered. No one cared.
Sighing in defeat, Max dragged himself toward Greyson’s room.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlCgckyJRUN
“Fine, I’ll be the responsible one… as always.”
And with that, he disappeared inside.
"Greyson, please… help me… Greyson…"233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx7R3cuxBRg
Her voice echoed down the long, shadowed hallway—haunting, desperate.
Greyson stood frozen in the dark corridor, his breaths ragged, the scream from his mother ringing in his ears. And then he ran—towards her, toward the voice.
But the moment he reached the body—lying limp and soaked in blood—flames erupted from her corpse. His eyes widened in horror as he stumbled back, helpless, trembling.
He woke up with a violent jolt.
Soaked in sweat, gasping for air, Greyson clutched his chest. The pain in his injured arm forced a groan from his throat. He looked around, disoriented. The room was dim—only a faint lamp lit the space. Across from him, Max was fast asleep on the floor.
Greyson felt suffocated.
He placed a hand over his heart, massaging the tightness in his chest. Bandages covered his shoulder, arm, and leg. His shirt was missing, and though the room was cold, his body was drenched in sweat.
Wincing, he reached to pull off the IV canola from his hand and slowly placed his feet on the ground. The moment he put weight on his leg, a wave of pain tore through him. But he didn’t stop. He needed air—needed to escape that stifling room.
Slipping into his slippers, limping heavily, Greyson made his way to the door.
His stitches burned with every step, but he didn’t care. His thoughts were louder than his pain.
Just as he opened the door and stepped out, someone slammed into him from the darkness.
Hard.
He instinctively grabbed the figure by the waist before they could fall.
A small gasp escaped her lips.
It was Lena.
She had been rushing down the stairs in the dark, startled from another nightmare, her heart pounding in her chest. She thought she’d collided with a wall—until his hands steadied her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The dim light from the lower hallway barely touched their faces, but they could feel each other’s heat… and panic.
"Are you okay?" Greyson asked
Lena was trembling, trying to catch her breath. She nodded, clutching the stair rail tightly with one hand while the other hovered mid-air.
"Y-Yeah… I’m fine," she whispered, trying to calm herself.
Greyson was still holding her gently. Lena placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself—and instantly froze.
His skin.
Bandages.
He was shirtless… and clearly not in any state to be walking around.
She quickly composed herself, brushing her hair back behind her ear.
"You’re out here… like this?" Greyson asked, his voice low and worried.
"I—I had another nightmare," she explained quietly, almost embarrassed, eyes avoiding his.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoablnu76Np
"So I was heading outside… for some air."
She was grateful he couldn’t see her expression clearly in the dark. And he—thankfully—couldn’t see the redness in her cheeks.
"You shouldn’t be up," she said softly.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL5nSsbOA2O
"Your wounds are fresh. Getting out of bed, climbing stairs… it’s not good for you."
There was genuine concern in her tone.
Greyson exhaled deeply, giving a faint smile she couldn’t see but could hear.
"I’m fine. Don’t worry so much about me."
Lena heard the calmness in his voice—and she hated how much it comforted her.
"Where were you even going at this hour?" she asked, gently.
"Just needed some air. I couldn’t breathe in that room."233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXFoxS9rGcT
His words were honest, raw.
He leaned a little on the stair railing, shifting his weight to the other leg, and began descending the stairs—slowly, carefully. Lena followed him quietly.
Now they stood in the open lawn under the stars.
Lena, barefoot, arms wrapped around herself, stood in the grass—her loose nightdress barely reaching her knees, her light brown ankles chilled by the night breeze.
Her eyes were fixed on the sky—silent, tired, sad.
Greyson couldn’t sit on the ground, not with his leg injury, so he rested on the wooden bench. One leg hung loosely while the injured one lay across the seat, propped and careful.
He leaned back, looking up at the stars… then glanced sideways at her.
She looked lost.
She looked exhausted.
He didn’t say anything, but he could see it—her soul was drained, haunted by something deeper than just nightmares.
He opened his mouth to say something... but stopped. Thought better of it.
Silence stretched between them.
And then, at last, Greyson spoke softly—his voice barely louder than a whisper.
"A girl who stares at the stars for hours... must have lost something precious down here."
Lena's gaze snapped to him. Greyson was still looking up, as if speaking more to the sky than her. But then he turned, eyes glinting with faint amusement and sadness, and added with a faint smile:
"Heard it somewhere… Someone used to say it a lot."
A quiet, melancholic smile curved his lips. Lena, still watching him, remained silent.
Greyson glanced at her then—the girl with soft brown hair cascading down her back, her quiet eyes swimming with unshed sorrow. And this time, he asked directly, his voice gentle:
"So tell me... what have you lost down here?"
Lena's lips parted slightly. Her voice came out in a trance-like murmur.
"A lot."
Greyson leaned forward slightly.
"Like what?"
She paused.
"I lost my parents when I was six. A friend... someone who meant a lot to me drifted away. My grandpa… was taken from me. And in childhood..."
Her voice broke.
She couldn’t finish. Something was lodged in her throat now, a sharp tangle of unshed tears. Her hands gripped her arms. The silence that followed was deafening.
Greyson didn’t speak. He just watched her—watched her try to hold herself together. In the distant light, her honey-brown eyes shimmered with a quiet storm. He slowly turned his gaze away… toward the stars.
Because no matter how much he tried not to see her cry… somehow, she always looked most vulnerable when she did.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
And then Lena asked gently:
"What about you? What have you lost?"
Greyson was still looking at the sky. His expression didn’t change… but his breath did. It hitched, subtly. Slowly, he looked at her. Her question was soft—but her eyes were searching his, waiting.
His voice came out low, controlled.
"Just because I’m looking at the stars, doesn’t mean I’ve lost anything."
Lena shook her head lightly.
"Everyone loses something… And where you are now—you don’t reach that place without giving up a part of yourself. So tell me... what did you lose?"
He stared at her for a moment—motionless.
Then let out a faint smile.
"You know… sometimes you surprise me."
She didn’t smile back. She asked again—softer this time:
"Was what you lost... very precious to you?"
Greyson’s smile faded.
He looked away again. This time, not at the stars… but toward the balcony of his room, barely visible from where they sat.
"Yeah," he murmured.
Lena waited, her heart aching.
Greyson added quietly, more to himself than her:
"Very... very precious."
From behind them, the lights flicked on upstairs—Max was finally stirring. Likely wondering where his wounded friend had vanished to. But Greyson’s eyes remained locked on the balcony as he whispered:
"My parents… Mom… Dad."
The quiet cracked through the night like thunder in her heart.
Meanwhile, Max stumbled out to the balcony, his messy hair and confused expression matching his half-conscious state. He flopped on the couch with a groan, tossed his legs on the railing, and shut his eyes again.
Down in the yard, Lena hadn’t moved. And when Greyson noticed her silence, he turned to look at her.
She was still watching him—her expression unreadable.
So he continued.
"Dad was heading out of town for a meeting—with another agency. Mom insisted on going along. We didn’t know… their enemies had gotten word of the meeting. The other agency’s security was weak, and somehow the location leaked."
He took a deep breath, his hand absently rubbing at his chest, as though something was pressing against it.
"The building where the meeting was held… was bombed."
He smiled again, this time bitterly.
"Mom wasn’t even supposed to be there. She got the news and rushed to the scene with her guards. But they were intercepted… and she was murdered too. Burned… with the cars."
Greyson looked down, shoulders tense.
"I never got to see their bodies. I couldn’t even bury them properly."
Lena pressed both hands to her mouth, tears quietly falling down her cheeks. She’d always believed she was the one who’d suffered the most. That life had punished her unfairly.
But hearing this… seeing him say it with such calm devastation—it broke her.
He had smiled while saying all that.
That hurt more.
This man had lost everything too.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD10i1EpsYn
He had just learned to live without showing the wounds.
Without thinking, Lena stood up and walked over to him. Greyson tilted his head up to look at her. She said nothing—only stared into his eyes.
"What?" he asked, gently.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached forward and slowly ran her fingers through his black hair.
Greyson froze.
His smile disappeared, replaced by something softer… more human. His gaze locked onto hers as she whispered:
"You went through all of that… all alone."
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t sympathy. It was grief—for him.
He didn’t reply.
He just kept watching her.
Lena spoke again, her voice barely above a breath:
"I know you’re hurting… deep inside. You hide it well. But sometimes… keeping pain locked inside doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you heavier."
Her words came in waves.
"You’re strong, I know that. But… my grandpa used to say—don’t be too strong. Because sometimes, even the toughest branch snaps when the weight gets too much."
Greyson said nothing.
He just kept looking at her. Quiet. Still.
That was when she noticed it—his trouser leg, near the stitches on his thigh. It was soaked in blood.
"Wait… no, no—what is this?" she gasped, kneeling by his leg in alarm.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBqdJT9g7Fw
"You’re bleeding again—why didn’t you say anything!?"
Greyson simply stared at her worried face.
She reached out instinctively to touch the wound, then stopped herself, afraid it might hurt him.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice beginning to tremble.
Greyson, still calm, slowly shook his head.
No.
But his silence… his pain… his eyes—they said everything else.
"Come on. Get up. Let’s go to your room."
Lena suddenly stood and looked down at Greyson. Her voice was calm but firm.
Without protest, Greyson rose and limped toward the stairs. Just as he reached the bottom step, Lena dragged a chair next to him and placed it down.
Greyson paused, eyeing her questioningly.
"Sit here first," she said.
He lowered himself into the chair without a word.
Then, Lena went upstairs.
A few minutes later, she returned—with a groggy, half-asleep Max in tow, followed by Chandler and Thomson, still in their half-worn pajama party attire. Carl popped his head in too, curious to see what was going on.
Greyson watched them all as they arrived one by one. Max yawned so loudly, it echoed. Thomson looked like he had just seen war, while Chandler was dragging his slippers behind him with the face of a man betrayed by sleep.
Then Lena spoke:
"Greyson’s leg is bleeding again. It’s a lot of blood—he can’t walk up alone. I need you guys to help him upstairs."
Greyson immediately shifted and frowned, annoyed.
"I’m fine. I can walk on my own. I don’t need—"
But he didn’t get to finish.
"Why do you always act like you have to prove you’re made of stone?"
Lena cut in, her voice sharp now. "We all know you can walk. We know you’re strong. But these people here? They’re your teammates. Your friends. Letting someone help you doesn’t make you weak."
Her words struck harder than any wound.
Greyson fell silent. His jaw clenched as he stared at her—but didn’t argue.
He might’ve forgotten in that moment that they weren’t alone.
Because Chandler, Carl, and Thomson were all standing just a few feet away… watching in absolute awe as their deadly, towering, no-nonsense boss got lectured—by a 5-foot girl.
Thomson’s mouth hung open. Chandler looked ready to faint. Carl leaned against the wall, speechless.
Only Max was unfazed.
In fact… Max was smiling.
He walked up to Greyson, sleeves rolled, and crouched beside him.
"Let’s go, big guy," he whispered with a teasing smirk.
Greyson glared at him.
Max’s grin widened. His eyes practically sparkled, screaming:233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTQaW8SnMje
“Where’s all that scary boss energy now, hmm?”
Greyson sighed, draped an arm around Max’s shoulders, and stood.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRcz0DbHUFk
Chandler and Thomson, now mentally recovered, stepped in to help.
Chandler offered his shoulder. Greyson reluctantly accepted.
As they started climbing the stairs, Carl and Thomson trailed behind, stifling laughter behind their hands, throwing glances at Lena who was standing with arms folded, watching silently.
When she turned to look at them, both men snapped upright like guilty students.
"One of you, call the doctor. Now."
The strict tone was gone, replaced with her usual softness.
They nodded like obedient schoolboys, pulling their phones out of their pajama pockets. Their fancy party clothes long forgotten.
Lena then turned and headed toward the kitchen.
A while later…
Lena entered Greyson’s room carrying a tray with a bowl of soup.
Greyson was now bandaged up. The doctor had come, cleaned the wound, and restitched his leg.
Max sat across from him on a chair, elbow propped on the armrest, cheek resting on his fist, eyes locked on Greyson with a playful grin that was beginning to annoy him.
Greyson clenched his jaw.
Max’s gaze was loud and clear:233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwTl0ho2iyL
“Admit it. I am the best nurse ever.”
Lena placed the tray on her lap, sitting beside Greyson.
She looked at him calmly.
"Drink it."
Greyson turned his head away, expression stiff.
"I don’t want it. Take it away."
At the door, Chandler, Thomson, and Carl peeked in again, barely containing their curiosity.
Lena leaned in a little closer and said gently:
"Please… just drink a little. You have to take your medicine too."
Greyson’s lips thinned. He glanced at the spoon, then at Max—who was now covering his mouth to hide a chuckle.
He turned toward the door.
But the three heads that were there a second ago had vanished like ghosts.
Defeated, Greyson sighed.
He picked up the spoon, stirred the soup slowly, then looked back at Lena—who was quietly watching him. After a long moment… he began drinking.
Max leaned back, victorious.
Once the soup was finished, Lena handed Greyson his medication.
Max, of course, couldn’t resist.
"You do realize, right?" he said, turning to Lena.233Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvVP0k931pk
"That you've just completely shattered Greyson’s image in front of his own team? His terrifying, no-nonsense, untouchable image?"
Greyson shot him a look that could kill.
Max smiled even wider.
"If she wasn’t here, you’d be crawling on your knees by now," Greyson thought bitterly.
Lena, confused, looked at Max—then Greyson.
Max was grinning like an idiot.
Greyson… was staring at Max like he was deciding where to hide the body.
Lena frowned softly, muttered, "I really don’t know what you’re always rambling about," picked up the tray, and left the room.
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and then Add to home screen.