Chapter 2

I met Owen in a war-torn foreign country. Terrorists had stormed the hospital and strapped a bomb to my chest. Owen led the rescue team. Sweating, I clenched my teeth. He smiled, his eyes clear behind his tactical mask. "Scared? I won't let you die here."

For two hours, Owen knelt beside me, carefully disarming the explosive. I had never studied a man's face for so long. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can trace his features perfectly.

The bomb was removed, but five seconds later, it reactivated, counting down from ten. Owen's eyes sharpened. He grabbed my hand, dragging me as we sprinted out of the hospital. Just outside the doors, he pulled me into his arms and tackled us both to the ground. His body shielded me completely.

The explosion roared behind us, shattering the entire hospital and sending debris raining down on our backs. Owen winced from the force of the blast. I felt nothing but our heartbeats—deafening and frantic, drowning out the explosion.

After that day, Owen often visited my temporary medical tent. One day he would say, "Dr. Clara, an ant bit my thumb." The next, it was, "Dr. Clara, a thorn pricked me while I was picking flowers." Eventually, it became, "Dr. Clara, I've got a heart condition, and only you can fix it."

When I shooed him away in embarrassment, he would just grin triumphantly. He told me he had two missions now: fight terrorists, and protect me.

But one day, he stopped coming. He had been captured by the terrorist group. They had taken an American woman hostage and specifically demanded Owen. He went alone, trading his life for hers.

The group livestreamed his torture. They wanted him to build bombs for them, but Owen refused. He remained unyielding to the very end.

On the screen, Silas sat across from Owen, who was strung up by his wrists. Silas watched him coldly. The so-called hostage, Elena, sat on Silas's lap with her arms wrapped around him, laughing. "Silas, he's so dumb. He actually came to save me. Do you think he's into me?"

Silas kept an arm around her waist, not even glancing at Owen. "Viper, if he won't comply, cut off his fingers and slice out his tongue." He kissed Elena lightly on the lips. "Let's see how he disarms bombs then."

Elena smiled. "Leave two fingers on each hand. Watching him live in misery is much more fun, after all."

Viper's blade fell. Owen's severed fingers hit the ground, blood spraying everywhere. His screams echoed through the livestream.

As a doctor in a war zone, I had seen death. But I never knew a man could scream with such sheer agony. My heart felt like it was being carved by a thousand knives. Tears poured down my face, and I couldn't stop sobbing. Every time the blade left a wound on Owen, it felt like it was cutting into me, too.

Days later, Silas streamed Owen's condition again. He was barely conscious, the stumps of his severed fingers now black with dried blood. With his tongue gone, his mouth hung open, a mix of drool and blood dripping down his chin. Stripped of his dignity and unable to care for himself, he lay soiled and broken.

He stared at the camera, his eyes vacant, murmuring, "Clara, I'm okay."

My heart shattered into countless pieces, the pain nearly killing me. Reduced to this, and he was still trying to comfort me? How could this ever be called okay?