For a full three seconds, I couldn't move.
The man—the terrifying, bleeding intruder—was just… there.
All six feet of unconscious, infuriating muscle, collapsing straight into my arms.
We toppled backward, half-graceful, half-disaster. I hit the floor first; he landed on top of me. The air whooshed out of my lungs. I was already breathless from the impact, and then my palm met something warm and wet.
Blood.
My heart, already hammering from adrenaline, kicked into a full-blown drum solo.
Cool it, Eileen. Cool it.
"Okay," I wheezed. "This is fine. Totally fine. Just another normal Thursday night in hell."
I shoved at him, but he didn't budge.
Either he was built entirely out of granite, or I was powered by noodles.
His head was tucked against my shoulder, hair damp and smelling faintly like pine and rain. For a second—just a second—it didn't feel like danger anymore.
It felt… calm.
Like he'd finally stopped fighting something I couldn't see.
Then the reality check kicked in.
Right. Stranger. Bleeding. My house.
I wriggled free and crouched beside him. His breathing was steady but shallow, the kind that made my stomach twist. There was a dark stain spreading across his back, seeping through the fabric.
Great. The one time a gorgeous man falls on me, he's leaking.
My phone was still in pieces on the floor. Honestly, it looked like even the engineers who designed it wouldn't recognize it now. And the landline? Please. I was too broke to own one.
No lights. No power. No help.
"Of course," I muttered. "Of course I'd lose electricity and acquire a dying Adonis on the same night."
I grabbed the sheet off the bed and pressed it against his side—lightly, because I wasn't totally sure where the wound was. He didn't even flinch. I told myself that was good. Probably.
I should do something else. Anything else. My eyes scanned the room.
Near the door lay a duffel bag—his, presumably. I picked it up on instinct and unzipped it. Maybe there was a phone. Or a first aid kit. Or, god willing, snacks.
Honestly, I'd take any of the three.
The bag was surprisingly tidy: black T-shirts, a rolled-up hoodie, a notebook, and—
Paperwork.
I pulled it out and squinted at it in the moonlight. My eyes snagged on the bold print at the top.
Property Transfer: Whitmore Residence.
Seller: Catherine Whitmore.
Buyer: Kaen Lyall.
A heavy, familiar weight settled in my chest. Not surprise, really. More like a deep, bone-tired sigh. "Oh, Catherine," I whispered into the silent room. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"
This wasn't malice. It was her. My beautiful, chaotic, perpetually-in-trouble cousin. Spoiled one too many times by my soft-hearted aunt. She never meant for the dominoes to fall on anyone else, but they always did. And I was always the one left standing, picking up the pieces.
This house was the last domino. My last real asset. The final safety net. And she—in her infinite optimism—had probably traded it for some latest "sure thing," fully convinced it would benefit me somehow.
I tucked the papers back into the bag. The initial shock was already cooling into a grim, practical resolve.
"Why wouldn't she sell the only thing I've ever really had?" I muttered, rubbing my forehead.
Another mess to manage. Fine. At least this particular mess came with a… well, a very distracting complication.
I glanced over at the unconscious man. Silver linings.
A low sound snapped me out of it.
A rough exhale. A faint, muffled groan.
I turned. The man's fingers twitched against the floor. His jaw tightened, a small tremor running through his shoulders. The sheet under him was dark with blood—but I couldn't tell if it was still bleeding or not.
Panic flared again. Was this man—Kaen—actually dying?
"Hey—hey, don't die on me, okay? I cannot have a corpse in here. That is not happening. Not on my watch.."
He didn't answer, obviously.
So I did the only thing my half-sane brain offered: I tried to move him.
"Okay, big guy. Up we go."
I hooked my arms under his and started dragging.
Bad idea.
He was heavy. Unreasonably heavy. I got about three inches of progress before my arms started trembling. "You could at least help," I muttered between breaths. "Or levitate. I won't judge."
Somehow—through a combination of cursing, adrenaline, and sheer disrespect for physics—I managed to haul him onto the edge of the bed. He slumped sideways, half on, half off, like a very expensive rug that refused to cooperate.
I straightened up, wiping sweat from my forehead. "See? You're doing great, Eileen. One crisis at a time."
And then—because the universe hates me—he moved.
A sharp inhale.
A shift of weight.
Before I could react, his arm shot out, catching me around the waist, and suddenly gravity flipped.
I landed flat on the mattress, breath punched out of me again, with Kaen's entire body pressed against mine.
For one paralyzed heartbeat, I didn't move.
His head was buried against my neck, his breath hot and uneven. Every nerve in my body screamed confusion: fear, warmth, the insane urge to not move at all. His hand was still at my waist, not gripping, just resting—like even in unconsciousness, he was guarding something.
"Great," I told the ceiling. "New record for rock bottom."
He didn't stir.
Outside, the full moon hung heavy and bright, spilling silver light across his back.
The stain on his shirt had stopped spreading.
I turned my head slightly, staring at the man pinning me in place.
He looked dead. Absolutely still. And way too comfortable.
That was it.
I wasn't going to sleep like this. I had standards. I had plans. I had bones.
So I tried again.
This time, I figured I'd roll him the rest of the way onto the bed, then haul him up over my shoulder and fireman-carry him off like a noble idiot.
I took a breath.
I braced.
I pulled.
And that's when he flipped.
Not like a sleepy shift. Like a tactical maneuver.
He rolled straight into me, full weight and all, pinning me flat.
I didn't even get to scream.
He was out cold. Still breathing. Still ridiculously handsome. But 100% deadweight.
I was pinned.
My last thought before exhaustion took me wasn't a scream or a prayer.
It was:
"Well, at least it's not a corpse lying on top of me."