I clung to him like a koala, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. My body trembled with shock, and the tears wouldn't stop—hot and heavy. Danny gently scooped me into his arms, holding me like I was made of glass. His hands rubbed soft, soothing circles along my back, whispering, "It's okay. You're safe now. I've got you."
As we stepped out of that dark, unknown room, the cold night air hit my skin. Red and blue lights from the police cars flickered across the street, washing everything in urgency and truth. The sirens had faded, but their echoes still lingered in my bones.
"They arrived just in time," Danny murmured against my hair.
One of the officers stepped forward, asking for details. Danny didn't hesitate—he explained everything. How he followed me when I didn't return. How he heard muffled cries. How he burst in just in time. His voice was calm but edged with fury.
Then a policewoman opened the back door of a car, and out stepped Olivia—disheveled, tear-streaked, and pale.
She was handcuffed, held by a stern-looking lady officer.
"She was the one who tipped us off," the officer said. "Told us about the location and what was being planned. It was all her idea from the beginning—threatening notes,how to frame you, isolate you,and finally win the event."
Olivia looked at me with broken eyes, mascara running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, again and again. "I didn't mean—I'm so sorry."
But Danny didn't respond. His silence spoke volumes.
I didn't say anything either. I couldn't. I just held onto him tighter, my mind numb, my throat raw. The officers led her away, and the last glimpse I had of Olivia was her slumping into the back seat of the cruiser, the door shutting with finality.
The road back to my house was quiet.
Danny walked slowly, one arm still around me, his hand never leaving my back. He whispered gentle reassurances—his voice low and steady like a lullaby in the chaos of my thoughts.
"I'm here. You're safe. No one's ever going to hurt you again."
When we reached home, he helped me inside with the same carefulness he had carried me with. He helped me change into fresh clothes, washed my face, brushed my hair. He didn't say much—just let his presence speak for him.
Soon, I found myself seated at the kitchen table, wrapped in a warm blanket.
Danny moved around the kitchen quietly, making cocoa. The scent of rich chocolate and milk filled the air, grounding me. He set the mugs on the table, and I hugged mine with cold fingers before looking up at him.
"Thank you," I whispered. "If you hadn't come in time… if you weren't there…" My voice cracked. I couldn't even finish the sentence.
He leaned down, cupped my cheek gently, and kissed me. It was soft and sweet and filled with the kind of promise that needed no words.
"That was never going to happen," he whispered against my lips. "Never. Not while I'm breathing."
I melted into his arms, tears slipping silently once more—not out of fear, but gratitude.
He pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me as I nuzzled into his chest, my cocoa forgotten. The world outside still spun—but here, in his arms, I was safe.
Suddenly the doorbell rang