Reba’s POV


    I woke up screaming, my throat raw and my body drenched in sweat. In my nightmare, Steve had transformedpletely, his human face elongating into a wolf’s muzzle, teeth bared as he chased me through endless corridors of Silver Collections. No matter how fast I ran, his hot breath was always on my neck, his ws just inches from my


    Shh, you’re safe. You’re safe now.” Dominic’s arms encircled me immediately, his voice a low, soothing rumble against my ear. His body tensed as he held me, as if physically preparing to defend me from invisible threats. “It was Rest a dream,”


    I couldn’t stop shaking, my fingers clutching desperately at his clothes, bunching the expensive fabric between my Ests. My heart hammered so hard I felt it might break through my ribcage. “He… he’s still in my head,” I whispered, my voice breaking. Tears streamed down my face unchecked. “I can still feel his hands… his ws… I can smell him.”


    That was just a nightmare,” Dominic murmured, his fingers gently stroking my hair. His touch was careful<b>, </b>avoiding the bandages on my shoulder and face. “He can never hurt you again. I promise you that.”


    Gradually, my breathing slowed, though I couldn’t bring myself to release my death grip on his shirt. The terror receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. “Don’t leave me,” I pleaded, hating how weak I sounded but unable to stop the words from tumbling out.


    Dominic’s arms tightened fractionally around me. His jaw clenched, a muscle working in his cheek. “I won’t.”


    Dr. Winters arrived mid–morning, her professional demeanor softened by genuine concern as she examined my face. “I need to change the dressings on your shoulder and face,” she exined gently. “It might be ufortable, but it’s necessary to prevent infection.”


    Dominic stood by the window, giving us space but remaining within my line of sight. His shoulders were rigid, hands sped behind his back so tightly his knuckles whitened. Each time anxiety bubbled up in my chest, I’d nce at him, drawingfort from his solid presence.


    “This is healing nicely,‘ Dr. Winters said as she carefully removed the bandage from my shoulder. “The stitches are holding well.”


    She helped me to the bathroom, positioning me in front of the mirror as she unwrapped the bandage on my face. I gasped, seeing the angry red lines for the first time–three distinct w marks running from my temple down my


    <b>cheek </b>


    “L. Tears welled up, spilling silently down my face. My stomach clenched, nausea rising. “I look…”


    Dominic was beside me in an instant, his reflection appearing behind mine in the mirror. His eyes held mine in the reflection, intense and unwavering. The wounds will heal,” he said firmly. “They won’t scar. Dr. Winters has specialized treatments for werewolf injuries<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    <b>12:10 </b>Mon, <b>Sep </b><b>22 </b>


    :


    <b>63 </b>


    Dr. Winters nodded, carefully applying a clear gel to my face. “This containspounds that elerate healing and minimize scarring. In a few weeks, these marks will be barely visible.”


    I stared at my reflection, at the stranger looking back at me. My skin was pale, eyes shadowed, and the angry red lines stood out starkly against my skin. I hardly recognized myself. The person in the mirror looked broken, frightened–someone I didn’t know.


    “I’d also rmend speaking with someone,” Dr. Winters added as she finished applying fresh bandages. “What you experienced was traumatic. Talking to a professional could help process those emotions.”


    I nodded numbly, unable to form words. My throat felt tight, constricted by emotions I couldn’t name.


    After Dr. Winters left, Dominic’s phone began vibrating repeatedly. He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the screen. I watched as his expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he read message after message. His shoulders tensed, fingers pressing harder against the screen.


    “What is it?” I asked, my voice small, uncertain.


    Dominic hesitated, his gaze moving between me and his phone. His eyes clouded with indecision<b>, </b>something <b>I </b>rarely saw in him. “There’s an… issue at thepany that needs my immediate attention.”


    “You… you need to go to the office, don’t you?” I asked, forcing a calmness I didn’t feel into my voice. Inside, panic began to build at the thought of being alone.


    He ran a hand through his hair. His normally perfect appearance momentarily disrupted. “There’s an emergency with the group. Yesterday’s situation still isn’t fully resolved, but I can stay <b>if </b>you need me to.”


    I managed a weak smile, even as my stomach twisted with anxiety at the thought of being alone. My hands trembled slightly, and I tucked them under my thighs to hide it. “Go. I’ll be fine… Diana will take care of me.”


    Dominic crossed the room, crouching before me where I sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes searched mine, missing nothing. “Are you sure?” The question was soft, almost tender.


    No, I wanted to scream. Please don’t leave me alone with the nightmares. But I nodded instead, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yourpany needs you. I understand.”


    He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. His lips lingered, warm against my skin. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if you need anything–anything at all.” His voice was rough with emotion he rarely disyed.


    “You need to eat something to regain your strength, Miss Brown,” Diana said, setting a tray on the small table in the sitting area <b>of </b>my room. The scent of soup and freshly baked bread wafted toward me, but my stomach turned at the thought of food.


    <b>12:10 </b><b>Mon</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>22 </b>


    “I’m not hungry,” I murmured, staring at the tray without moving. The mere sight of food made my insides <b>contract</b>.


    Diana sat beside me<b>, </b>her usually formal demeanor softening. “Mr. Sterling specifically asked me to make sure <b>you </b>eat. Your body needs nutrients to heal properly.”


    I pushed the tray away slightly. <b>The </b>movement sent a dull ache through my injured shoulder. “I really <b>can’t</b>…” The mere thought of swallowing anything made my throat close up. “Every time I think about food, I just remember<b>…</b><b>” </b>


    I wrapped myself in a thick nket and ventured to the garden. The sun was warm against <b>my </b><b>skin</b><b>, </b>a pleasant contrast to the chill I felt inside. My legs felt weak, unsteady as I settled onto a bench. Raymond stood at a respectful distance, watching over me while trying to appear as though he wasn’t. His eyes constantly scanned the perimeter, alert for threats.


    <b>I </b>scrolled through my phone, trying to distract myself with social media, news–anything to keep my mind <b>upied</b>. A local news headline caught my eye: [Silver Collections Announces New Manager.] The article featured a photo of Emma, looking professional but nervous as she shook hands with apany executive.


    My heart rate elerated. My head snapped up, and I found myself looking at Raymond. “Steve…” My voice trembled, barely audible. My fingers tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white. “Is he… <b>is </b>he dead?”


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