Chapter 7

I woke with a stiff back and a throbbing arm. Liam was still asleep beside me, having refused to leave after we finished watching TV last night. A small smile tugged at my lips as I remembered his words—I take my job seriously, and I’m not leaving you alone tonight.

Carefully, I shifted him aside without waking him. The clock read eight, and I needed to make breakfast before he stirred.

After my morning routine, I headed downstairs, pausing outside the kitchen. How was I supposed to cook with one arm?

As I gathered ingredients for pancakes, yesterday’s events flooded my mind. It all felt surreal—like a nightmare I couldn’t shake. If not for the bandage on my shoulder and the sling cradling my arm, I might’ve convinced myself none of it happened.

Waking up in the hospital had been terrifying. The doctor and nurse had to calm me down, assuring me I was okay. The bullet had lodged in my shoulder, but miraculously, it hadn’t caused serious damage. A little lower, and it would’ve hit your heart, they’d said.

They’d removed the bullet, stitched me up, and sent me home with antibiotics and painkillers. Keep your arm elevated, they’d instructed.

Flipping pancakes, my thoughts drifted to the man who’d saved me. I needed to find him—to thank him. He’d been the only one who cared when my own family hadn’t.

A knock at the door snapped me from my thoughts. Who could it be? After yesterday, I wasn’t eager to see anyone.

I opened the door—and froze.

Standing on my doorstep was the man from the funeral. The first thing I noticed were his eyes—blue. The deepest, clearest blue I’d ever seen.

Yesterday, I’d been too shocked to notice, but now, I couldn’t look away. He was tall—at least six feet—with a strong jaw, tousled dark hair, and an effortless confidence that demanded attention.

"Hey," I croaked, my voice rough.

He smiled—God, that smile—and my stomach flipped. "Hey. Can I come in?"

"Uh—yeah. Sure." I stepped aside.

He entered, glancing around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," I mumbled. "I made pancakes. Want some?"

He nodded, and I led him to the kitchen. Before I could return to cooking, he stopped me, turning me to face him.

"We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Daniel." He took my hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention—the kind that made my pulse skip.

"I-I’m Sophia."

"I know, beautiful." He winked before taking a seat at the island.

I laughed awkwardly, unsure how to handle his charm. His presence was overwhelming—masculine, confident, and entirely focused on me.

"So, Daniel—no last name—what were you doing at my father’s funeral?" I set a cup of coffee in front of him, then a plate of pancakes.

He chuckled before taking a bite. "A threat was reported. Given your father’s death was tied to it, the chief wanted extra security in case the same people targeted the family."

"You’re a cop? I know most of the force, but I’ve never seen you."

"New transfer. Been buried in work since I got here a few months ago."

I smiled. "Well, consider me your first friend here. I was actually thinking about how to find you this morning."

"Oh?"

"To thank you. For saving my life. I don’t remember much, but I remember you putting pressure on the wound—yelling for help."

He smirked. "Just doing my job. Though, I won’t complain about having a beautiful woman in my arms—even if she fainted at the sight of blood."

I flushed, laughing to hide my embarrassment. He was a charmer, no doubt—but refreshing. Something I hadn’t had in a long time.

"And what brings you here? How’d you even find my address?"

"I’m a cop, remember? Easy enough. As for why—I wanted to make sure you were okay. Had to give a report yesterday, so I couldn’t stay. Came back to the hospital, but you’d already left. Didn’t think showing up at night was appropriate."

His words struck me. This stranger had shown more care than my own family ever had.

"Thank you," I said softly, emotion tightening my throat.

He studied me for a moment before I quickly changed the subject.

We talked and ate, the conversation flowing effortlessly. It was strange—I felt completely at ease with him, despite barely knowing him.

Forty minutes later, he left. We exchanged numbers, though I doubted he’d actually call. Men like him didn’t chase women like me.

I was washing dishes when another knock came. Liam was still asleep, and I wasn’t in a hurry to wake him.

"Did you forget something?" I asked, opening the door.

My stomach dropped.

It wasn’t Daniel.

It was Ethan.

Seeing him sent a rush of pain through me. The memory of him abandoning me for Isabella left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Yesterday had made one thing clear—I meant nothing to him.

I shoved the hurt down, locking it away with the love I’d once felt for him.

Ethan Blackwood was dead to me.

And I didn’t love dead men.