“Alax!” I screamed as the masked man slammed a baseball bat into his left arm with brutal force.

  He staggered, barely keeping his balance, and before he could recover, another strike hit his leg, sending him crashing down.

  I tried to run to him, but rough hands grabbed me from behind, three of them, men in black, dragging me toward a waiting car. I kicked, screamed, and struggled with every ounce of strength I had. But their grip only tightened.

  Even as he bled, Alax kept trying to protect me. Crawling, gasping, eyes wild with pain.

  “Let me go!” I yelled, tears burning in my eyes. “Alax!”

  They shoved me toward the car. My heart pounded wildly. I looked back and saw him fall limp onto the asphalt, unmoving.

  Then, like shadows rising from nowhere, four tall men charged in, strong, fast, and relentless. They tackled the attackers, giving me the second I needed to break free.

  I ran. I ran straight to Alax.

  He was unconscious. Blood stained his temple. His arm hung limp. I cradled his head in my lap, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Alax, please… Open your eyes.”

  The fight behind me blurred. Sirens hadn’t arrived. The attackers, beaten but not caught, scrambled into their car and vanished.

  The four men helped me lift Alax into a car, and we drove straight to the hospital.

  I don’t remember much of the ride, only the color of blood on my white dress.

  All the way to the hospital, his head rested on my lap. I was holding his hand, whispering his name, begging him to open his eyes… but he didn’t.

  There was blood, so much blood, trickling from his forehead and staining his sleeve. I tore off my headscarf and pressed it to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but my hands were shaking too much.

  “Please… please be okay,” I kept saying, my voice breaking every few seconds.

  I couldn’t stop crying. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t even breathing properly.

  I was just scared—terrified beyond words.

  What if he never opened his eyes again?

  What if this was it?

  What if I lost him before I even got the chance to say…

  I didn’t want to finish the thought. I couldn’t.

  I held his hand tighter, as if somehow my grip could keep him here, keep him with me. But he remained still, too still.

  And that stillness was the loudest scream I’d ever heard.

Outside the hospital room, I sat alone, shaking.

  Doctors were working inside.

  I couldn’t stop crying.

  His blood was on my hands, on my clothes, on my heart.

  And then I saw him.

  My father.

  Flanked by guards, followed by his ever-present secretary and political advisor.

  He rushed to me, panic in his voice.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head. “No, I am not.”

  I pleaded with him, clutching his sleeve like a desperate child.

  “Dad, please… save him,” I choked out through my tears. “I can’t bear the thought of him getting hurt.”

  He sat beside me, trying to pull me away from the chaos.

  “Let’s go home. Mr. Smith will stay here.”

  “Home?” I snapped. “He’s in there because of me. Because of you. And you’re telling me to leave him here?”

  The attack hadn’t been random. Of course it wasn’t. He was running for president. Every step he took painted a bigger target on me.

  “Thanks, though,” I added bitterly. “If your guards hadn’t shown up, Alax might’ve died.”

  He stared at me with that careful, political concern.

  “You need to come home. You’re still in danger.”

  “Think about everyone else,” he whispered, his voice low and trembling. “You want Nora to be attacked next? Or David? How many people will get hurt just for being around you?”

  The words hit me like ice water.

  I froze.

  Something cracked inside me, a heavy, sinking realization that maybe he was right.

  I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.

  Not Nora. Not David.

  Not Alax.

  I swallowed hard, my voice barely audible.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll come.”

  Then I looked up, steadying my breath.

  “But not yet. I’m staying… until Alax is discharged.”

  As if on cue, the doctor stepped into the hallway.

  I jumped up. “Is he okay?”

  “Stable,” the doctor said. “Nothing life-threatening. Just rest and recover now.”

  The relief hit me like a wave, and I practically ran into the room.

  He lay there, so still, pale against the white sheets. Bandages around his head. A cast on his arm.

  I pulled a stool next to the bed and held his uninjured hand.

  And I cried again.........