Daphne Garza woke up, feeling a little better than days before.

However, her body still felt sore—and dead beat. As she slowly pried her eyes open, she could not stop the small gasp from escaping her lips.

If she was not mistaken, she was staring up at a softly-lit Sapele mahogany ceiling, slowly blanking out as she watched particles fall. Hot tears brimmed her eyes as she silently wished that she was not being deceived by her own mind—that this was far-fetched from being a lonely dream.

She would not even let her gaze falter, afraid that it would only take one blink to be led astray from such a comforting tranquility.

Am I finally saved?

Did my father finally find me?

Where are they anyway?

If she could recall, this was not her bedroom, so where was she?

Daphne felt a sense of panic, welling deep inside her, but she bravely set it aside. This was not the right time to brew such a feeling. As she tried to get up, she felt her limbs almost give out. She was rather flabbergasted, knowing that she barely handled her weight—she could not even get up without putting great strain on her muscles.

How long was I out?

“Huh?”

When she looked down, she suddenly realized that she was no longer wearing her torn garments.

Her forehead crinkled in confusion for a second before it dawned on her—she was in nothing, but a white hospital gown. That explained as to why she felt a bit lighter.

She brought her right palm to her chest, feeling the thinness of the fabric which scarcely covered the entirety of her delicate skin. Getting out of bed felt unreal. She almost forgot how it felt like, and it seemed like this was her first time to experience it once more in ages.

Daphne let out a shaky sigh while rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Somehow, she still could not bring herself to relax, and be at ease. For some reason, the whole thing before just did not add up to her expectations.

Perhaps, she was being fooled by her deep-rooted confusion, and deep down, she knew to herself that it would not be easy to let her guard down easily anymore.

Taking in her surroundings carefully, it would be safe to assume that this was a private place. Nonetheless, she was still bothered by the idea that she was directed straight into a private hospital. The room was far from what she had imagined, and she just could not simply believe that her father would go to such great lengths.

She would have been content to be in a more normal-looking hospital room as long as she saw them around.

Dahlia and Father.

“I see you are finally awake.”

Goosebumps trailed along her skin when she heard that deep, baritone voice, coming from behind. Her throat had gone so dry, and she could not even say anything. She was held in place, and her body would not cooperate with her.

She could not move—or rather—she refused to turn around, and see for herself.

The voice was not familiar at all. It was definitely not her father’s. The command in his tone was unmistakable. At the back of her mind, there was a nagging feeling.

Was he the doctor?

Daphne closed her eyes momentarily, and took a deep breath. She was no longer in the hands of the enemies, right? After all, they should not bother nursing her back to health if it was the case. Her bruises and scrapes were all tended to.

She must refrain herself from overthinking.

This would not help her overcome those horrible experiences at all. She bit her lower lip—hard enough to ascertain herself that this was reality, and there was nothing else she could do, but face it.

A minute later, she finally mustered up the courage to face the owner of the intimidating voice. Using her right foot as the pivot foot, Daphne turned to her left, wherein that particular movement created seemed to be in slow motion.

It was as if everything around her had begun fading away.

“Who are you?” were the only words that came out of her mouth when she came face-to-face with a blue-eyed man with an open, oval face. For a moment, she was at a loss for words.

She thought he was a Hollywood celebrity, and the idea that she was being visited by one—had sure brought her perplexity to a whole new level. She did not recall telling her father who her favorite actor was, and the point of sending one to her aid for her to recover faster had been long rejected by her own perception. She was aware of the extent of her father’s love for them, but this was certainly not his doing.

The man who was apparently sitting on a Monobloc chair in the farthest corner of the room looked like a leather-clad hitman, awaiting the appearance of his prey, calculating each movement, and reading the situation cautiously—before pouncing on his helpless target.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, big thanks to her wild imagination.

Daphne shook her head, and discarded those unwanted thoughts immediately. Thoughts were magnetic after all, and she would never wish that the weird guy before her turned out to be a sicario.

Also, his gaze was so intense, she could not keep up. She looked away, focusing her attention on her wobbly knees instead.

Who is he?

He did not look a normal person. He did not look familiar as well.

Is he a new bodyguard assigned to me?

She was aware that the moment she got retrieved, her father would undoubtedly be sterner regarding his policies. This one should be highly expected.

Swallowing down her fear and misplaced pride, she looked up once again, and offered him a soft smile. “What is your name?”

The man’s forehead knotted, as if he just heard something that he should not be hearing from the girl.

“Interesting,” he smirked. “Is that a thing you should be asking a felon?”

Her eyes widened in horror.