Hey guys! They will also be some random Third person POV. Enjoy.
Anne stormed down the hallway like a thundercloud on two legs, her fists clenched so tightly her fingertips were white. Her eyes were glossed over, and she barely noticed the wrapped sweets in her hand until one of them nearly slipped through her fingers.
A nurse caught the moment and stepped toward her, concern softening her voice. "Miss, are you alright?"
Anne didn't look up. She stared at the candy like it had personally betrayed her. Her voice came out low and bitter.
"I don't even know what I'm doing here... with the both of them. They're two jerks."
She blinked fast and turned away before the nurse could ask more. She needed to breathe—needed to get away from Tyler, from everything. But most of all, from him.
"Fuck! I can't bare this" Logic reminded her that she couldn't leave Tyler alone, not with Mr. Han slithering his way over soon. Her feet moved before her brain caught up.
"I just need sometimes to myself," she muttered, steeling herself.
But in her storm of emotions, Anne didn't realize what door she'd pushed open—until the urinal in the corner gave it away.
Her eyes went wide. "Shit—"
"Hey, redhead."
The voice stopped her cold. A man was washing his hands at the sink, his eyes crawling over her like bugs.
He tilted his head with a grin. "What are you doing in the men's room? Looking to catch some guys with their pants down? That it?"
Another man stepped out of a stall, smirking when he saw her. "Well, well. Brave little princess."
Anne backed toward the door, heart pounding. "I didn't mean to—I'm just—"
"No one can hear you, princess," the first one sneered, stepping closer.
Before either of them could make a move, something whistled through the air—a bottle crashing into the wall behind them.
Eric stepped out from the shadows of the last stall, face stone cold.
"If either of you touch her," he said, voice low and lethal, "you're leaving here in a body bag."
He didn't give them a chance to blink. In seconds, the men were on the floor, groaning and bleeding, scrambling like cockroaches to escape. The door slammed shut behind them.
Anne was still frozen, eyes wide. Eric turned on her, eyes burning.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, grabbing her arm and shoving her against the cold tile wall—not rough, but firm enough to jolt her.
She gasped, not out of fear, but shock. His face was inches from hers.
"Why don't you ever stay away from trouble?" he growled. "Why do you like being such a brat? First you run your mouth, then you waltz into the men's bathroom like you're bulletproof! What were you trying to do? Catch a glimpse? Are you that desperate?"
Anne's eyes flared. "Don't you dare."
"What if I haven't found you? What if those creeps did more than talk, huh?"
"Why do you even care?" she shouted back, her fists bunching in his shirt. "Oh right, I forgot—you're the one who called me homeless! Guess that's just part of your charming personality!"
His jaw clenched. His hands pressed into the wall on either side of her head.
"Oh, I meant it," he said darkly. "Because maybe if I called you something nice, you'd explode. You're chaos, Anne. You're fire."
She scoffed, breath ragged. "Then stop touching the flames if you can't handle the heat."
Their chests were rising and falling hard now. His body caged hers in, their faces just breaths apart. And then...
Silence.
His eyes dropped—so did hers.
To lips.
One beat.
Two.
Neither moved.
Not a word.
Just rage. And electricity. And the kind of tension that makes readers throw their phones.
And then, Eric stepped back. Barely.
Anne's eyes flashed, breath catching. "You done?"
He smirked, the most annoying, cocky curve of a mouth she'd ever seen. "For now."
And with that, he walked out.
Anne stared after him, fuming.
She hated him.
God, she hated him.
So why the hell did her heart feel like it was trying to break out of her ribs?
Anne stormed out of the restroom, cheeks flushed and fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms. Her heart was still thudding in her chest from the confrontation—from him. She needed air, needed—
"Anne!" Eric's voice cut through the hall like a whip as he ran up behind her, breathless. "Fuck, Anne—he just left Tyler's room."
She froze. "Wait. Who?"
Eric's face was pale with fury. "Han. That bastard's already been to him."
Anne's blood ran cold.
"Shit." She didn't think. Her legs were already moving.
They sprinted through the hallway, nurses shouting at them to slow down. But nothing else mattered—not now. Not if Han had gotten to Tyler. Not after everything.
Eric reached the door first, yanked it open without knocking.
And then the world stopped.
Tyler sat on the hospital bed, hunched over, fists knotted in his hair like he was trying to rip it out. The papers—the contract—were scattered around him, stained with tears. His breathing was shallow, broken, like each inhale was a war and every exhale a surrender.
"Tyler—" Anne started, her voice soft, shaking.
He didn't look up.
"I signed it," he choked, laughing and sobbing at the same time. "God, I signed it like some dumb fucking dog. Like I wanted this."
Eric took a slow step forward, eyes narrowed, fists twitching at his sides. "What did he say to you?"
Tyler finally looked up. His eyes were glassy, red. "He didn't have to say much. Just reminded me who owns me now."
Silence stretched thick and painful.
Anne stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "Ty…"
He laughed again, bitter and raw. "Welcome to hell, huh?"
And then his shoulders slumped like the fight had been drained out of him completely.
He was still breathing, but he wasn't really there.
Not anymore.