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Chapter 3

My wounds pull as I force myself to leave the medical bay. The moment I step out, I see Ethan and Miranda walking toward me.

Miranda leads, her platinum gown catching the light with a cold gleam. Ethan follows close behind, his protective posture too natural—as if she's the woman he should be guarding.

"Lana, are you okay?" Ethan's voice is calm, as if the person who nearly died wasn't me.

"Still alive," I reply.

Miranda steps forward lightly, a soft smile on her face. "Lana, I'm so grateful to you. You protected Ethan and me that day. You're the reason we both survived."

I freeze.

Protected them?

Ethan shoved me toward enemy fire while he rushed to safety with his fiancée.

My hand instinctively touches the bullet pendant at my chest—the bullet from years ago when Ethan saved me. I turned it into a necklace, always wearing it.

Back then, I naively thought he saved me because he cared.

Miranda's gaze falls on the pendant, her smile freezing slightly, as if catching something that shouldn't exist.

She raises her hand, pointing at the necklace. "Is that a keepsake? Ethan, how come you never mentioned this? It makes me feel... insecure."

Her tone is gentle, yet sharp in its probing.

My chest tightens slightly.

Ethan's eyes fall on my necklace. His face shows no warmth, only cold calculation.

He suddenly turns his head. "Damien."

Damien appears almost instantly.

My body goes rigid. I instinctively step back. That feeling of being targeted by danger crawls up my spine.

Miranda's expression shifts to surprise, then a flicker of anticipation crosses her eyes.

Could it be...

Is Ethan going to make a move against me?

But in the next moment, he steps in front of Damien and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

I freeze.

He removes his top, revealing his left shoulder—there's a deep scar, left from taking a bullet for me years ago. Every time we've tangled in bed, I've kissed that mark.

It's the only real trace connecting us.

And now Ethan points at the scar, his voice flat. "Right here. Tattoo Miranda's name over it."

A roar fills my head.

He's going to cover the mark of our ten-year bond with another woman's name.

My fingers turn ice-cold. I can't even breathe properly.

Miranda covers her mouth, eyes glistening. "Ethan... you don't have to do this."

Ethan remains unmoved, simply commanding Damien: "Now."

The tattoo gun's electric hum fills the room, sharp and cruel.

Each stroke feels like it's piercing my own chest.

I watch the needle puncture that scar that once belonged to me, slowly drowning it.

Miranda holds Ethan's hand like a queen savoring submission.

And I can only stand outside the light, gripping the cold iron railing to keep from collapsing.

Finally, it's done.

The scar that represented the most absurdly proud mark of my life—completely covered.

"Ethan, I'm truly moved." Miranda chokes up.

"For you, everything is worth it." Ethan buttons his shirt, expression calm.

Then he suddenly looks up at me.

"Lana."

His tone carries the weight of command.

My throat is dry. "What?"

He speaks calmly. "Starting tomorrow, design a new handgun for Miranda. Same specs as mine—accuracy, recoil, weight, all identical. Make the exterior more refined, suited to her."

Miranda smiles gently at me. "Thank you, Lana. I'm looking forward to my first weapon."

I look up at Ethan. Every gun I've ever crafted for him flashes through my mind. Those weapons were our most intimate, most dangerous understanding—my way of knowing him, of getting close to him.

And now he wants me to hand that understanding... to another woman.

I hear myself say, coldly, "I won't do it."

The air freezes.

Ethan slowly turns his head, voice dangerously low. "Say that again."

"I said, I won't make some love token for you two."

I rise from the bedside. Despite the pain numbing my wounds, I force myself to stand straight, meeting his gaze head-on.

"If you want some special weapon, get someone else to do it."

Without another word, I turn and leave.

No looking back.

No stopping for even a second.