Joseph parked without saying a word. When he stepped out, she followed, her legs weak but steady enough to walk. The breeze carried the faint smell of trimmed grass and wet pavement. It was strange how different the air felt here, too calm after everything that had just happened.
She knew this building. She had been here this morning. Every step she took down the quiet hallways, she remembered how different she had been and how life had taken a horrifying turn, and she came back to the same place with a completely different mindset. Her hand tightened around Joseph's sleeve. He didn't say anything and simply entered the elevator and pushed the buttons while Aliana stood buried in her thoughts.
When he finally opened the door to his apartment, he spoke at last. "You should rest now," he said quietly, leading her to the same room where she had stayed this morning.
"What about you?"
"I will." He paused and then spoke again. "I will sleep on the couch here or sleep in the study," he said, scratching the back of his neck. She nodded and entered the room. Joseph followed her in, silent, his expression unreadable. The moment she sat down on the edge of his bed, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He left for a moment and returned with a glass of water.
"Here," he said quietly.
She took it with both hands. Her fingers trembled as she drank. The cold water hit her throat, making her realize just how dry her mouth had been. When she looked up, she noticed his knuckles—split and raw, speckled with dried blood. She wanted to say something, but her voice didn't seem to work.
The room was too still. Even their breathing sounded loud. Joseph stood across from her, chest rising and falling sharply, like he was trying to contain something inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough.
"Why were you in a place like that?"
Aliana blinked up at him. Her throat tightened. "I needed somewhere to stay."
"Was that the only place left?" His tone sharpened. The words came out more like an accusation than a question.
She frowned, clutching the glass tighter. "I just needed a room, that's all."
"That wasn't a room," he said. His voice dropped, low and tight. "Do you have any idea what kind of place that was?"
Her brows furrowed. "What's your problem? Why are you talking to me like this?" Suddenly the emotions she held in from a while ago started to resurface.
Joseph's hand curled at his side. He looked away for a second, trying to steady himself. "Do you even know what could've happened to you if I hadn't—" He stopped, his jaw locking. He seemed to not even want to imagine what he was going to say next. His eyes flicked to the mark around her neck, the faint red bruise where the rope had pressed, or where she had clawed her own skin just to get the belt off her neck.
She followed his gaze and instantly turned away, her hand rising to touch it. The silence between them became thick.
"I was just looking for somewhere cheap," she said weakly.
"And you chose that?" His voice cracked, the restraint slipping. "That place is in the red-light district, Aliana. No decent woman goes there—"
Her eyes widened. "Red-light?" she repeated, stunned. "Then what were you doing there?"
The question hit him hard. His jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
"Exactly," she whispered bitterly.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and turned away. "Just… don't go to places like that again."
Her frustration flared. "You don't get to tell me where to go."
Joseph's head snapped slightly toward her, but he said nothing. After a long pause, he muttered something under his breath and walked out of the room, the door shutting behind him harder than he probably meant to.
Aliana pressed her palms to her face, the adrenaline from earlier finally wearing off. The room smelled faintly like him, and it made her feel both safe and furious. She sat there for a long while. She felt her bile rising in her stomach, her head replaying the images from before, and she wanted to scream. Now it had started replaying his tone, his words just now.
"Men like him can go to places like that, and no one says a thing," she muttered, her voice cracking. "He was probably there for that woman, and I ruined his night." She let out a shaky breath and cursed under it.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"What?" she snapped, not even looking up.
The door opened, and Joseph stepped back in, a small medical box in his hand. He didn't meet her eyes. His jaw was still tight, his voice quieter now. "We should put something on that."
She followed his gaze to her neck and looked away, guilt washing over her. "I'll do it myself," she murmured, reaching for the box.
But then she saw the bruised knuckles, once again the torn skin. Her throat tightened again, this time with guilt. She reached out before she could stop herself, her fingers wrapping gently around his wrist.
Joseph's breath hitched, and he pulled his hand backward immediately, but her grip didn't let him pull away.
"Sit down," she said softly. "Let me put some medicine on your hand first." Her voice was already shaky because of how much she had cried while he was away for a few moments.
He hesitated, surprised, but obeyed. She sat across from him on the carpet, pulling the medical box closer and taking his hand carefully into hers. The warmth of his skin startled her. His hand was big, rough, but trembling faintly.
Her fingers moved over his wounds with hesitant care. The sight made her chest ache. Every scrape felt like her fault. She paused and took in a deep breath, then looked up at him briefly. Her chin was shaky.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking as she dabbed antiseptic over his knuckles. It stung—or was it how she looked at him with guilt he couldn't understand?
"I'm sorry this happened because of me. I didn't even thank you properly. And I was so rude to you. I am such a bad person. I—"
Her voice broke. Her eyes blurred, tears falling silently onto his hand. The drops rolled down his skin, mixing with the faint smudges of dried blood.
Joseph stared at her, his face unreadable, something raw flickering in his expression—something that unsettled him.
He swallowed hard, then suddenly pulled his hand away, standing up so quickly it startled her, but he was the one who looked like he had been more startled—even more than the incident just now.
"Joseph—" she began, but he was already turning for the door as if hiding his expression.
He didn't say a word. The door slammed behind him, leaving her sitting there on the floor, the antiseptic bottle still open, and his warmth still lingering in her palms.