Guard Dog
LILIANA’S POV
Ronny had to be dragged out of the room.
Okay, maybe “dragged” was dramatic, but it took every ounce of persuasion—and a few well-placed glares—to get him to step outside. The man was a wall of stubborn muscle and tattoos, and trying to move him was like shoving a boulder uphill.
“Five minutes,” he’d growled, his eyes cutting to the hallway like a hawk spotting prey. “I’m standing right outside this door. Don’t even think about unlocking it.”
It wasn’t a request.
It was a warning.
I’d smiled sweetly and promised to behave, but the second the door clicked shut, the air shifted. The hospital room felt strangely quieter without him, but not safer. If anything, the absence of his heavy presence left the tension humming louder.
Erika sat on the edge of my bed, her long legs crossed, her glossy hair falling like silk over her shoulder. She looked like she belonged anywhere but a hospital—perfect eyeliner, perfect nails, the faintest trace of perfume threading through the sterile air. But there was something else too.
Something I couldn’t name.
Her eyes.
It wasn’t the way they looked—they were as beautiful and luminous as always—but the way they held mine. Like a locked door. Like she was guarding something.
I leaned back against the pillows, trying not to wince as the IV tugged at my arm. “Okay,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Spit it out.”
Erika blinked, all fake innocence. “Spit what out?”
“Whatever’s sitting behind that pretty little poker face of yours.” I tilted my head, studying her. “You’re looking at me like you swallowed a secret.”
“I’m not.” She smoothed her skirt, gaze flicking briefly to the door before snapping back to me. Too fast. Too deliberate.
“Liar,” I said flatly.
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. “You’re still bossy even with a near-death experience, huh?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Just sat there, her fingers tracing the seam of the blanket like she needed something to hold onto.
Then she exhaled, a long, slow breath that sounded like surrender. “Fine,” she said quietly. “But don’t freak out.”
“That’s never a good opener,” I muttered.
Her eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something—hurt, maybe?—before she spoke.
“Ronny.” She hesitated on his name, like it tasted sour. “He… accused me.”
I blinked. “Accused you of what?”
Her jaw tightened, and for once the always-perfect Erika looked rattled. “Of having something to do with your accident.”
The words landed like a slap.
“What?” My voice cracked, sharper than I intended.
“He said…” She glanced toward the door again, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “He said you were at my house all day. And if that’s true, then why would your car brakes fail the second you left?”
For a moment, the room tilted. The sterile white walls, the soft beeping of the monitor—all of it blurred into a haze.
Ronny thought—
He really thought—
“Erika…” My chest tightened. “He actually said that?”
She nodded once, her green eyes shimmering with something between frustration and pain. “I swear to you, Lil, I would never—” Her voice wavered. “You’re my best friend. You know I’d never hurt you. Right?”
The question hit me like a blade. Because it wasn’t really a question. It was a plea.
I gripped her hand without thinking. “Of course I know that. God, Erika, of course.” My throat burned, a bitter mix of anger and disbelief rising like smoke. “I can’t believe he’d even—”
“He’s just being overprotective,” she cut in quickly, squeezing my fingers. “That’s all this is. Ronny’s like a human guard dog on steroids. He sees a shadow and thinks it’s a threat.”
Still, her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
I forced myself to breathe. “I’m so sorry he said that to you.”
“Don’t be.” She gave a small shrug, but her nails dug into my palm like she needed the anchor. “Honestly, I get it. He…you know…loves you. He’d probably accuse the Pope if it meant keeping you alive.”
I huffed a shaky laugh, though my chest still ached. “Mr. Hot Tattoos is insane.”
That earned me a real smile—brief but bright. “Exactly. Insanely hot. Insanely overbearing.”
I rolled my eyes but squeezed her hand again. “We’re best friends. Nothing he says changes that. I believe you. That’s all that matters.”
Her shoulders eased, the tension in her posture softening like a knot slowly loosening. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me carefully, mindful of the IV. I inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume, a grounding reminder of every late-night sleepover, every whispered secret.
“Best friends for life,” she murmured into my hair.
“For life,” I echoed, tightening my grip.
When she finally pulled back, the green in her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Or maybe I imagined it.
I tried to lighten the mood. “Speaking of overbearing hotness,” I said, smirking, “Ronny dropped a bomb before you came in.”
“Oh?” Her brows lifted, a spark of curiosity flickering through her worry.
“He wants me to move in with him.” I let the words hang there, dramatic pause and all.
Erika’s mouth fell open. “Wait. As in—move in move in? Like… live together?”
“As in pack my bags, throw them into his tattooed arms, and surrender all personal space,” I said dryly.
Her shock melted into a sly grin. “Well, well. That man wastes no time. What did you say?”
I tilted my head, letting a wicked little smirk curl my lips. “I said yes.”
Erika’s grin widened, but before she could speak, I added, “But—” I lifted a finger, “—I’m going to make him regret ever thinking he could boss me around.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling bright in the sterile room. “Oh, this I have to hear. What kind of evil genius plans are brewing in that head of yours?”
I tapped my temple, feigning innocence. “Wicked ones.”
Her eyes danced with amusement. “Careful. Mr. Hot Tattoos might actually enjoy a challenge.”
“Oh, he will.” My smirk deepened. “But he’s about to learn that protecting me doesn’t mean owning me.”
Erika chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re going to give that man gray hairs.”
“Good. He deserves it.”
The laughter between us felt like a balm, but beneath it, a current of unease lingered. Ronny’s accusation still gnawed at me, a quiet shadow in the back of my mind.
I knew Erika. I knew her. We’d shared too many nights crying over heartbreaks, too many stupid inside jokes, too many secrets. She wouldn’t hurt me.
Would she?
I shoved the thought away before it could take root. No. Ronny was wrong. He had to be. His paranoia was dialed up to eleven, but that didn’t mean he saw everything clearly.
The door handle rattled.
Both of us flinched.
A sharp knock followed. “Five minutes are up,” Ronny’s deep voice rumbled through the wood. “Open the door, Liliana.”
Erika rolled her eyes, but her smile slipped just enough for me to catch it. That flash of something—annoyance? Fear?—returned.
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “We’re fine, Ronny. Chill.”
“I’m coming in.”
The door opened before I could answer.
Ronny filled the doorway like a storm cloud in human form—tall, broad, tattoos peeking from under his black T-shirt. His eyes swept the room, sharp and assessing, landing on Erika first, then on me.
“Everything okay?” His gaze flicked between us, searching for cracks.
Erika’s smile was sweet, practiced. “Perfectly fine, watchdog. We were just discussing interior design for Liliana’s new living arrangement.”
Ronny’s eyes narrowed, catching the jab. “Good. Because the movers are already on standby.”
I blinked. “I haven’t even packed!”
“Then you’d better start making a list.” His tone left no room for argument.
Erika let out a low whistle. “Wow. Fastest hostage negotiation ever.”
Ronny’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze shifted back to me, softer now, but still burning with that relentless need to protect.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I felt the strangest mix of warmth and defiance.
Fine. I’d move in. But the game was far from over.
As Erika slipped out a few minutes later, her perfume lingering in the air, I caught her eye. She gave me a small, reassuring smile—one that should have comforted me.
It didn’t.
Because behind that smile, behind the soft green of her eyes, that locked-door feeling remained.
And for the first time, I wondered if Ronny’s paranoia wasn’t entirely misplaced.
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