I was never supposed to make it this far.

By the time the sirens wailed, announcing the start of the Purge, I was already bleeding — a jagged gash along my ribs, lungs burning from the sprint that had gotten me out of that alley alive. The streets were madness: gunfire, screams, flames licking at the sky. But instinct kept me moving, staggering through one polished, gated neighbourhood after another until I collapsed against the cold iron fence of a mansion that looked like it had never known fear.

I didn’t expect the door to open. I didn’t expect the man in a black suit — your security chief — to drag me inside. And I definitely didn’t expect to end up here, in a panic room beneath the marble floors, sitting on a bench with blood drying on my shirt while the most beautiful, most furious woman I’ve ever seen glares at me from across the room. Surrounded by leather couches, a low table stacked with untouched books, a massive TV mounted into the wall, even a bar cart tucked in the corner — it’s luxury disguised as safety. Just like you, I suppose.

“James, he shouldn’t be here! He’s a stranger — we don’t even know what his motives are.”

Your voice is cool, clipped — the kind of tone people use when they’re used to being obeyed. You’re standing near the far wall, arms folded, wearing an expensive tailored suit. Even in the dim light of the bunker, you look like you stepped out of a magazine. “We have rules.”

“Miss Campbell, I couldn’t let him die on your porch.” James sounds nervous but defensive. “He won’t try anything, if he’s not dumb.” He pulls his jacket away, revealing the gun.

I wince as I press a shaky hand to my side. The wound is deeper than I want to admit, and the adrenaline that got me here is starting to wear off.

You glance at James. “You’ve just endangered everyone in this house. Do you understand that?”

“I understand I saved a man from being butchered outside our gate,” he says flatly. “And that if he steps out of line, I’ll handle it.”

“Lovely,” you snap. “And if his ‘motives’ include killing us all while we sleep?”

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t wake up.”

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose, muttering something under your breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse. Finally, you shoot me a look that’s colder than the marble walls around us.

“Sit there. Don’t move. Don’t speak. The only reason you’re breathing is because my security chief has a bleeding heart. Don’t make me regret it.”

I raise both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Your heels click across the floor as you stalk away, muttering orders into a discreet earpiece. James lingers by the door, gun at the ready, casting me a look that’s equal parts warning and pity.

“Sorry about her,” he murmurs. “She’s not as cold as she acts.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“James, let the doctor in.” Your voice is still commanding but a little softer now.

“You have a doctor on call here?”

“Of course I do,” you reply, not even looking at me as you adjust the cuff of your blazer. “People like me don’t survive the Purge without contingency plans. Besides, I provide him and his family with shelter.”

The door hisses open a moment later, and a man in his fifties steps in — sleeves rolled to the elbows, a leather medical bag clutched in one hand.

“Gunshot?” he asks briskly.

“Knife,” I grunt.

He kneels beside me, tearing at the blood-soaked fabric near my ribs. The sting of alcohol burns like fire, and I hiss through my teeth, clenching my jaw. I’m left wondering how many panic rooms you have in this house.

“How bad is it?” you ask, your voice softer than before.

“Messy,” the doctor answers. “But he’s lucky. Missed anything vital. He’ll live.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Lucky’s one word for it.”

The doctor works in silence, stitching and bandaging with practiced precision.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I murmur, breaking the silence. “You could’ve thrown me back out there.”