Unmasking the Heart

JOI'S POV

"Joi!" Adrian's voice echoed in my ears, pulling me from the suffocating depths of my panic.

I gasped, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My trembling hands clutched my hair as I whispered a desperate, "No…"

Cold water splashed against my face. I blinked, disoriented, and met Adrian's gaze. His brows furrowed, his expression tight with worry. His hand lingered near my temple, gently tucking strands of damp hair behind my ear.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft, almost tender—a tone I hadn't heard before.

My breaths slowed as I tried to ground myself. The remnants of my nightmare clung to me like cobwebs, refusing to fade. I knew what this was—another panic attack. I wasn't as far gone as others I'd seen, but the sensation of reliving my worst fears always left me shaken.

"I'm… I'm fine," I murmured, though the throbbing pain in my ankle told a different story.

Adrian's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he stood and left the room. The sudden quiet was both a relief and a weight. He returned shortly, holding a glass of milk and a small pill in his hand.

"Here." He handed me the milk first, then extended the pill toward me.

I hesitated, narrowing my eyes at the tablet. "Thank you for the milk, sir, but I don't do pills. I'm terrible with them. Unless you enjoy cleaning up puke, I'd suggest we skip this step."

To my surprise, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It's okay. Lay down."

He sat at the edge of the bed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The reality of the situation hit me again. I was lying in his bed. His bed. The same bed he likely shared with her. The same bed surrounded by her photos and belongings. It felt wrong, like I was intruding on something sacred.

I moved to get up, but Adrian's hand shot out, catching my wrist. Before I could react, he had me pinned back against the mattress. His face was close, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

My heart raced, not from fear but from the sudden proximity. I struggled to maintain composure.

"Sir… this isn't appropriate," I said firmly, refusing to waver under his intense gaze. "You love someone else. I can't—"

"Stop." His voice was low, a command wrapped in quiet authority. He straightened, letting go of my wrist. "I don't need your commentary. I'm going to massage your ankle. Lay still."

I froze, watching as he retrieved a small tube of ointment from the bedside table. He didn't speak again, his focus solely on my swollen ankle.

His touch was unexpectedly gentle at first, his fingers working the cream into my skin with practiced care. But as the massage progressed, the pressure intensified, sending sharp jolts of pain through my leg. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, but I gritted my teeth and bore it.

"Almost done," he said quietly, applying another layer of the ointment. The cooling sensation was a welcome relief after the pain, and I exhaled deeply.

Adrian stood and walked toward the door without another word. "Thank you," I said quickly, my voice soft but sincere.

He paused for a moment but didn't turn back.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I stared at the ceiling, exhaustion washing over me. The weight of everything—my injury, the nightmare, the tension in this room—was too much. My eyelids grew heavy despite my resolve to stay awake. The photos around the room haunted me, a constant reminder of my place here. But the pull of sleep was stronger.

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ADRIAN'S POV

When I first saw Joi in my room, anger surged through me. This was our room—Sophia's and mine. Seeing Joi holding Sophia's necklace was too much.

That necklace… I had designed it for her. It wasn't just jewelry; it was a piece of her, a memory I clung to. And now, it was broken, dangling uselessly in Joi's trembling hands.

The anger was blinding. I lashed out before I could stop myself, shoving her with more force than I intended. The sound of her landing hard against the floor barely registered.

I inspected the necklace, my fingers trembling as I traced the broken chain. My chest tightened, the familiar ache of Sophia's absence flooding back. I clutched the necklace for what felt like hours before placing it gently in the safe.

When I turned back to Joi, her tear-streaked face gave me pause. For a moment, I saw not her, but someone else—someone vulnerable and afraid. The resemblance unsettled me, and I shoved the thought away.

My anger flared again as I recalled the broken necklace. I stepped closer, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet my gaze. Her whispered apologies barely registered. All I could see was what she had destroyed.

But then I saw the blood on my hands—hers. Her face was flushed from crying, her jaw red from the force of my grip. The realization hit me like a blow. I stepped back, disgusted not with her, but with myself.

Without a word, I left the room. I needed to cool down.

When I returned and found her gone, my anger reignited. Does she think she can run from me?

I stormed outside, my eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings. She wasn't far. Her stumbling gait betrayed her injury, and it didn't take long to catch up.

When I found her sitting on the side of the road, her head bowed in defeat, I hesitated. She looked so… small. Broken. A flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in my chest—was it guilt?

I carried her back to the car, her body tense and unyielding against me. She kept murmuring about the necklace, insisting she hadn't broken it but was trying to fix it. I didn't respond. I couldn't.

The drive back was silent, save for the occasional hitch in her breathing. My mind raced. If she hadn't broken the necklace, then who had?

I pulled into the driveway and stopped abruptly, hearing the slight thud as Joi hit the dashboard. She hissed in pain, but I didn't look back. I couldn't bear to face her just yet.