EPISODE 5

TESSA RATHOR

Six days have passed. I don’t know exactly when I started counting, but I can feel the difference now—I’m coming back to myself. My body no longer feels like it’s breaking apart. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer unbearable. I can move, and I can walk, slowly but steadily. Everything is healing the way it should. And yet, despite all of that, something doesn’t feel right.

This place is clearly a hospital. The white walls, the sterile scent, the quiet hum of machines—everything points to it. But even then, it doesn’t feel like any normal hospital. The silence here is too perfect, and the environment feels too controlled. In these six days, I’ve realized one thing with unsettling clarity—nothing here happens by chance. Everything is predetermined. Who comes in, who leaves, who speaks, and even how they speak—it all feels decided beforehand.

Everyone is polite and calm. No one rushes, and no one speaks unnecessarily. But beneath that politeness, there’s something else—a quiet, restrained alertness that is hard to explain but impossible to ignore. And behind all of it, there is one man.

Lucius Blackwood.

At first, the name didn’t mean anything to me. It sounded ordinary, forgettable even. But slowly, piece by piece, it began to take shape. Fragments of conversations between nurses, bits of overheard phone calls, and once, a file left unattended on a table—it was enough to form a clear picture. Lucius Blackwood is a lawyer, but not just any lawyer. He is known for being dangerously successful. Every case he takes starts at a level most people can’t even imagine—a million dollars, at the very least. And what makes it even more unsettling is that he almost always wins.

For him, the law isn’t a boundary. It’s a tool—something he bends and reshapes according to his needs.

Knowing all this, I should feel afraid. But strangely, I don’t. Instead, something else has taken its place—a quiet, growing curiosity. This man, the one everyone respects and fears, stands in front of me with a calmness that doesn’t match the image I’ve built in my mind. There’s something different about him when he’s here, something I can’t quite explain.

I slowly push myself up from the bed and walk toward the window. Outside, the city moves on like nothing has changed. Everything looks normal, but I don’t feel normal. In these six days, I haven’t received a single clear answer about when I’ll be allowed to leave. Every question is avoided, every response vague and carefully worded.

Today, I finally asked.

Calmly, I asked when I would be discharged.

The nurse paused for a moment before giving me a small, polite smile. But her answer wasn’t really an answer. It depends on the doctor, she said. I need to stay under observation for a few more days. That was all.

I didn’t argue, but I understood something in that moment—this isn’t in my control.

Just then, the door opened softly. The sound was almost silent, but the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. I turned and saw him.

Lucius Blackwood.

The nurse straightened immediately, a subtle tension visible in her posture. The entire room seemed to still, as if everything had paused for his presence. But he remained completely at ease. He walked in with slow, measured steps, his movements controlled and deliberate. His presence was impossible to ignore—tall, broad-shouldered, carrying a quiet authority that didn’t need to be announced.

And then his gaze settled on me.

Something about it changed. That quiet authority softened. There was no pressure in it, no force—just a steady, composed presence.

He stepped closer but stopped at a distance that felt intentional. Not too close, never intrusive. Just enough. His hand moved toward the table, adjusting the glass of water slightly, placing it within easier reach. It was a small gesture, but deliberate.

Then I noticed what he was holding.

My phone.

For a moment, I just stared at it, unsure if I was seeing it right. I hadn’t had it once in these six days. I couldn’t even remember when I had lost it. Without saying a word, he placed it on the table. No explanation. No questions. As if it had always belonged with him.

A faint unease settled inside me. If my phone had been with him, then he could have learned everything about me. Maybe he already has.

The thought should have unsettled me more than it did.

Instead, another question formed in my mind.

If he knows everything, then why am I still here?

I glanced at the nurse. She was still standing at a distance, silent, her posture carefully controlled. That quiet tension hadn’t disappeared. But the man standing in front of me felt entirely different.

Calm. Composed. Strangely… safe.

I should be afraid.

But I’m not.

Instead, I find myself watching him, trying to understand who he really is, and why a man everyone fears becomes so different when he stands in front of me.

Maybe I should be more cautious. Maybe I should keep my distance.

But strangely—

I don’t want to.

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