Lena slipped quietly into Easton's room, heart pounding in her chest. She found Easton sprawled across the bed, dead asleep, the sharp tang of whiskey heavy in the air.
“Easton?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper, testing if he’d stir.
Nothing. He didn’t move.
She hesitated by the bedside, nerves tying her in knots. Should she wake him? Should she even touch him?
She hated Natalia and the others for what they’d done, but she loved Easton. She knew her own life was ruined—her illness had seen to that—and she could never have a future with him. But a terrible thought twisted through her mind: if Easton became infected too, maybe they could be together, forever, in their own tragic way.
Conflicting voices warred in her head. One urged her to reach out, to drag him down with her, to destroy him so she’d no longer be alone in her misery.
She sucked in a shaky breath, edged closer, and called his name again, just a little louder. “Easton?” Her hand hovered over his shirt, trembling, ready to undo the buttons.
But as her fingers brushed his sleeve, she froze.
Tears pricked her eyes. In a rush, she jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned.
Easton wasn’t like the others. He was nothing like the spoiled heirs she’d met before. He was good—too good to deserve this fate.
She stood there for a long moment, then pulled the blanket up over him, tucking him in gently. Before slipping out, she let out a few shaky breaths, deliberately making just enough noise to be heard outside the door.
Natalia, waiting in the hallway, listened for a while. Satisfied by what she thought she’d heard, she finally turned and left, heading for the bathroom to shower.
Left alone, Easton opened his eyes the moment Lena left for the bathroom. His gaze was clear and calculating.
He’d been testing her, too.
Thank God she hadn’t lost herself completely.
He sat up, leaning against the headboard to wait for her return. When Lena came back and saw him awake, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Easton…”
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