Always the Winner

W-what are you doing here?" I stuttered.

A yelp left my mouth, and I gasped. I stumbled back a step, my spine colliding with the heavy wooden door of the washroom.

POV: First Person.

"W-what are you doing here?" I stuttered helplessly as Evander’s stormy grey eyes pinned me the second I stepped out.

Evander crossed his arms over his broad chest. The fabric of his tailored shirt strained against his muscles. "Came to see if you survived." His thick Greek accent reverberated in the narrow hallway.

"I told you before," I forced my chin up, refusing to shrink under his intense stare. "You do not need to check on me. It is not your job to care what happens to me."

His jaw tightened. A muscle ticked just beneath his skin. "Someone has to step in when that so-called boyfriend of yours acts like a coward. He left you alone with a pack of drunk animals."

So he saw what happened outside. He knew about the men harassing me.

I narrowed my eyes, anger surging to mask my rising panic. "Excuse me? You are crossing a massive line right now. You do not get a say in how my boyfriend handles things. He is a peaceful man."

Evander scoffed. A harsh, mocking sound that echoed off the cold tile walls. "A peaceful man? A coward runs away and leaves his girl to fend for herself. Only a weak man walks away when his woman is targeted by filthy drunks."

"He did not leave me!" I shot back, defending Declan with a desperation that felt hollow even to my own ears. "He just went to take a phone call. And for your information, I am his girlfriend. We handle things our way."

Evander’s eyes darkened. The grey irises shifted into something feral and cold. His nostrils flared. He took a slow, deliberate step forward.

"Not for long."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked. My voice betrayed me, dropping into a shaky whisper.

He did not answer. He just took another step. I moved back, my shoulder blades hitting the cold, hard wall of the corridor. Evander followed, crowding into my personal space. His towering frame caged me in. He placed one large hand on the wall beside my head, trapping me. The heady, intoxicating scent of his exotic cologne flooded my senses—cedar, spice, and pure masculine heat. It wrapped around my throat, making it hard to draw breath.

"Step away," I managed to say. My heart hammered against my ribs, frantic like a trapped bird. "Evander, step back."

He ignored my demand. He lifted his other hand and brought it toward my face. I braced myself, but his touch was agonizingly slow. He brushed his knuckles against my flushed cheek.

That was when I saw it.

Across the back of his hand, a stark, dark purple bruise marred his skin. The skin over his knuckles was split and swollen, pulsing with fresh damage. Blood still crusted around the edges of the broken flesh.

My breath hitched. My eyes darted from the brutal injury on his hand to his hardened face. Before I could process the violence written on his knuckles, his rough thumb dropped to lightly trace the swell of my bottom lip.

The friction of his calloused skin against my mouth sent a sharp shock straight down my spine.

"You will not be his girlfriend for long," Evander whispered. The deep vibration of his voice scraped against my skin. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering mere inches from my ear. "Because you already belong to someone else."

The words slammed into my chest. Panic flared, hot and suffocating. Ghostly memories of my childhood assumptions—of believing I meant something to him, only to have my heart shredded—rose up from the depths of my mind. The raw, predatory possession in his eyes terrified me. I could not let him pull me back into that trap. I would not survive it a second time.

I forcefully shoved both of my hands hard against his solid chest, pushing him away. He let me push him back, though his feet barely shifted.

"Do not come this close to me ever again!" I lashed out. "And I do not belong to anyone! What kind of nonsense are you talking about?"

He stood there, unbothered by my outburst. His gaze remained locked on me, tracking every ragged breath I took.

Before he could speak, the booming voice of the announcer crackled over the loudspeakers in the main arena. The race results echoed through the hallways. The black horse had won.

I grabbed onto the distraction like a lifeline, desperately masking the violent inner turmoil threatening to break me apart.

"Looks like the race is over," I sneered, pointing toward the exit. I forced a harsh laugh. "My condolences on your horse's humiliating loss. Dalton really failed you out there. I guess all your money and power can't buy a winning ticket every time. You are the real loser today, Evander."

His expression did not change. He just stared at me, absorbing my sarcastic venom without a flinch.

"Sylvia? Are you done?"

Declan’s voice broke the heavy tension. He appeared around the corner, tucking his phone into his pocket. When he saw Evander standing near me, a brief look of confusion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a polite, oblivious smile.

"Hello, Mr. Vanguard," Declan greeted.

Evander turned his head slightly. He stared at Declan with a cold, unreadable deadness that made my stomach churn. The suffocating, heavy sexual tension practically dripping from the walls seemed to fly right over Declan’s head.

"We should go," I said quickly. I stepped away from the wall and eagerly linked my arm tightly through Declan's. I clung to him, making my escape. "Better luck next time, Evander," I tossed over my shoulder.

As Declan and I turned to walk briskly away down the corridor, I made the mistake of glancing back just once.

Evander had not moved. But a dark, secretive smirk tugged dangerously at the corner of his lips. It was a knowing look that sent a fresh wave of panic rushing through my veins.

Declan led me toward the main exit. "What was he doing back here?" he asked, his tone casual.

"I have no idea," I lied. My heart was still thrashing. "How do you even know him? You acted like you knew him before we were introduced."

Declan chuckled, shaking his head. "Everyone knows Evander Vanguard. He owns half the businesses in this city." He paused, looking at me sideways. "Is there some kind of problem between you two? You always get so tense whenever he is around."

"No problem," I said, keeping my voice flat. "We just never got along. Our families know each other, that is all."

I steered the conversation away, but as we rounded the corner where I had been cornered by the drunks earlier, my steps faltered.

A horrifying, smeared trail of fresh blood painted the white tiles of the floor.

I stopped, my eyes tracking the red streaks. Up ahead near the stairwell, I saw them. The exact same beaten drunkards who had harassed me moments ago.

They were being violently dragged out by heavily armed security guards. The largest man—the one who had leaned into my face and offered me cash—was groaning in agony. His face was a mangled mess. Blood poured freely from his shattered nose, dripping down his chin and staining his shirt. His eye was already swelling shut, purple and black. The other men limped alongside him, looking terrified.

A silent, horrified gasp left my parted lips.

The image of Evander’s split knuckles flashed behind my eyes. The dark purple bruising. The fresh blood on his skin.

It made perfect, terrifying sense. Evander had not just watched. He had hunted them down the second Declan walked away. He had battered those men with his bare hands to defend my honor. The sheer, unrestrained violence of his reaction made my blood run cold, yet a strange, unwanted heat pooled in my chest. He had protected me.

"Good riddance," Declan muttered, noticing the guards dragging the men away. "Looks like they picked a fight with the wrong crowd."

I did not say a word. I just let Declan pull me toward the stands, my mind reeling from the brutal truth of what Evander had done.

When we finally returned to our friends in the stands, the atmosphere was chaotic. My sister, Cami, sat with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the racing track below. A deep scowl ruined her makeup.

Rowan, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with joy. He poked Cami’s shoulder and grinned. "I told you! I told you Dalton was going to lose! Pay up, Cami. You owe me a thousand dollars."

"Shut up, Rowan!" Cami snapped, swatting his hand away. "You didn't even bet on the winning horse! You just bet against mine. It's not fair."

"Fair or not, I won the bet," Rowan laughed, holding his hand out for the cash.

Cami huffed and turned to Deacon, who was sitting next to her, looking amused by their bickering. "It is all Evander's fault!" she complained loudly. "Why didn't he tell me he was betting on Cage this time? If I knew he backed the black horse, I would have bet on it too!"

I froze. The noise of the stadium faded into a distant hum.

My eyes darted to Deacon. "Wait. What did you just say?"

Deacon looked at me and flashed a sheepish grin. "Evander bet his money on Cage. The black horse. He didn't back Dalton today."

"He... he won the race?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Of course he did," Deacon chuckled. "Evander never loses a bet. You should know that by now, Sylvia."

A deeply humiliating realization hit me like a freight train.

Evander had not lost the race at all. He had secretly bet his money on the winning black horse.

My face burned with intense heat. I had stood there in the hallway, dripping with sarcasm, offering him fake condolences. I had boldly called him a loser to his face. And all the while, he had known the truth. He had been silently, mockingly laughing at my sheer ignorance. That dark, secretive smirk on his lips suddenly made perfect sense. He let me make a fool of myself.

My chest tightened with embarrassment and anger. I slowly turned my head and looked up toward the VIP section behind the tinted glass overhead.

He was still there.

Even through the dark glass, I could feel the heavy, burning weight of his predatory gaze fixed immovably on me. He was watching me put the pieces together. He was watching the humiliation wash over my face. The sheer dominance radiating from that glass box made my knees feel weak.

I could not handle this. I could not process his violently protective reaction in the hallway, nor his mocking silence about the race. The terrifying reality of Evander Vanguard was too much to bear.

Desperate to escape, I deliberately hugged Declan’s arm closer to my chest. I buried my face against his shoulder, forcefully shutting down my spinning mind.

"I'm hungry," I said abruptly, cutting off Rowan and Cami's argument. "The race is over. Let's go eat somewhere. I want to leave."

Deacon nodded, sensing my sudden urgency. "Sylvia is right. Let's get out of here. Come on, Cami, I'll buy you a drink to cool you off."

As we turned around and filed out of the gallery, I kept my eyes glued to the concrete stairs. I did not look back at the VIP section. I refused to acknowledge the predator watching me from above. But even as we exited the arena, the phantom weight of his gaze burned into my spine.

***

That evening, the coastal air was cool as Declan walked me safely home to my doorstep. We had spent the rest of the day roaming the city with Rowan, Deacon, and Cami, eating dinner and trying to act normal. But my mind had been a million miles away, trapped in a dimly lit hallway with a man whose knuckles were bruised and whose voice promised possession.

The porch light cast long shadows over the wooden steps of my house. The wind whipped through the trees, rustling the leaves in the quiet neighborhood.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Declan asked softly. He stood on the bottom step, looking up at me with those earnest, kind brown eyes.

"I did," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Thank you for walking me home. I know I am tired."

Declan stepped closer. He tenderly cupped my face in his warm hands. His thumbs stroked my cheekbones. "I am just glad I got to spend the day with you, Sylvia. You mean a lot to me."

He leaned in slowly, closing the distance between us. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in to softly kiss me.

I stood there on the porch, my eyes closed, waiting for something to happen. A spark. A rush of adrenaline. A sudden fluttering in my stomach. Anything.

But my heart remained utterly, devastatingly dead.

There was absolutely no spark, no rush of adrenaline. It was just skin touching skin. The warm pressure of his mouth felt foreign and wrong. My body felt nothing for the good, safe man standing in front of me.

Instead, as Declan kissed me, the heady scent of exotic cologne filled my memory. The husky, possessive voice of the terrifying man from the washroom still lingered heavily in my mind, drowning out Declan's presence. *You already belong to someone else.* My pulse spiked, not for Declan, but for Evander.

The stifling, sickening guilt of knowing my traitorous heart still beat forcefully and solely for Evander hit me hard. It twisted my stomach into painful knots. I was craving a man who terrified me, while standing in the arms of a man who cared for me. I was a fraud.

I guiltily pulled away from the kiss, breaking the contact.

Declan opened his eyes. The quiet, confused hurt flashing in his expression cut me like a knife. He dropped his hands from my face, taking a small step back.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, wrapping my arms around my own torso. "I am just... so exhausted today. I can't."

Declan swallowed hard, pasting a tight, understanding smile on his face. "It's okay, Sylvia. Don't apologize. You had a long day. Get some rest. I will call you tomorrow."

He turned and walked down the driveway, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

I stood on the porch, watching his car pull away into the night. I felt utterly disgusted with myself for cruelly stringing along a genuinely good man just to hide from my inescapable, terrifying past. I was using Declan as a shield, and it was destroying him.

Desperately seeking solace and cold air, I unlocked the front door, bypassed the living room, and retreated to the dark, windy rooftop of my house.

The night sky was overcast. Heavy, dark clouds choked out the moonlight, leaving the roof bathed in shadows. The cold wind whipped my hair around my face, biting through my thin jacket, but I welcomed the freezing temperature. I needed the cold air to numb the agonizing guilt burning in my chest.

I walked to the edge of the roof and gripped the metal railing, staring out over the black, shifting waters of the ocean in the distance.

But I wasn't alone for long.

The soft creak of the roof access door sounded behind me. The distinct, familiar scent of sandalwood perfume drifted through the salty ocean breeze as my sister Cami quietly found me.

She walked across the tar paper roof and stopped a few feet away from me. We did not speak. The heavy, unbreathable air between us carried seven long years of toxic distance and unresolved, festering pain. For years, we had barely managed small talk, circling each other like strangers trapped in the same house.

She stepped closer, leaning her forearms against the cold metal railing beside me. She stared out at the dark horizon.

"You are still mad at me, aren't you?" Cami asked, her voice quiet, almost lost to the wind.

"I don't have the energy to be mad," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the ocean. "I just want to be left alone."

Cami let out a shaky breath. "Sylvia... please. Don't shut me out tonight. I know you hate me for what happened back then. But I am so tired of this distance between us."

I gripped the railing tighter, my knuckles turning white. "You made the distance, Cami. You created it."

She turned her head to look at me. Even in the gloom, I could see the tears welling in her eyes, catching the faint ambient light of the city. Her lip trembled.

"I know I did," Cami finally broke down, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "I acted like a jealous, horrible bitch that fateful night years ago. I was cruel to you, and I sincerely apologize. I never should have said those things to you. I never should have laughed at you."

The razor-sharp memory of her laughing at my naive, vulnerable teenage love still bled profusely in my chest. I remembered standing in her room, laying my fragile heart bare. I had confessed my overwhelming crush, my desperate teenage love for the boy who hung out with our family. And Cami had laughed. She had mocked my feelings, pointing out every reason why someone like him would never look twice at a girl like me. She had shattered my confidence.

"You knew how I felt," I whispered, the old pain rising up to choke me. "I told you everything. I trusted you with my biggest secret. And you tore me apart for fun."

Cami reached out, her hand hovering over mine on the railing before she let it drop. "I know. It was wrong. It was childish and cruel. But we have lost seven years, Sylvia. I miss my sister. I miss my best friend." A tear slipped down her cheek. "My wedding is coming up. It is the most important day of my life, and I cannot stand the thought of us still acting like strangers. I am desperately pleading with you. Can we please just forget that ugly past? Can we start over as sisters?"

She looked at me with such desperate pleading in her tearful face. She wanted a clean slate. She wanted a fresh start.

But the wound in my chest had never truly closed. The ghost of that teenage boy still haunted my adult life, ruining every relationship I tried to build, leaving me dead inside when a good man kissed me on my doorstep. I could not just wash it away.

I turned my head and looked directly into Cami's weeping face. Needing to understand exactly why she intentionally broke my heart after knowing absolutely everything about my feelings, I asked the one question that haunted me.

"Did you love him?"