The moment Shyan and his accomplice fled, the sudden, vast silence of the terrace was absolute. The thumping bass of the party music from the ballroom felt impossibly distant, quarantined from the raw reality of the secluded lawn. Roo and Lav were left kneeling on the cool, high-polished granite floor near the edge of the softly glowing infinity pool, a barrier of shimmering blue light separating them from the main terrace. The air smelled faintly of chlorine and night-blooming jasmine.
Roo, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps, ran trembling hands over Ghost's flank where Shyan had kicked him. Lav, still consumed by fury and shock, instinctively reached for his phone. He located a hotel coordinator instantly.
"I need a medic—no, a vet, on site. Now. Private lift by the pool, code 5. We have an injured dog." His voice was low, sharp, and brooked no argument. He then returned his focus entirely to the pet.
For ten tense minutes, while the distant city lights glittered indifferently, they worked as a unit. They checked Ghost's legs, comforted him with soft words, and examined the bruising, their hands occasionally brushing, each contact a tiny, electric spark. When the vet arrived—a brisk, professional woman who worked discreetly for the hotel—she quickly confirmed their fears were unfounded: Ghost was physically fine, having only sustained minor bruising and shock. The relief that flooded Lav's face was so profound it made him sag with exhaustion.
The vet was dismissed, and the moment they were alone again, the emotional dam broke. Lav settled back on the cold stone, pulling Ghost close. Roo sat opposite him, close enough to continue stroking the pet's head, but far enough to maintain the façade of newly acquainted friends. Ghost, sensing the shift from fear to care, nudged his head first toward Roo, then toward Lav, now a lively, shared anchor between them.
Lav found himself staring at the dark, shimmering surface of the pool, unable to meet Roo's gaze. He began to speak, his voice a low, gravelly confession meant only for the quiet air and the dog.
"He's my shadow," Lav began, his fingers weaving through Ghost's thick fur. "He came into my life a little over a year ago. It was… the time when I needed a clean anchor. I was spiraling. Completely untethered."
As he spoke of the past year, Roo watched him. She saw the change in his posture; the proud cynicism was gone, replaced by a profound, naked vulnerability. His pale eyes, when they briefly lifted to the distant city lights, looked like abysses of hell and pain—cold, deep, and vacant, reflecting a man who had seen too much darkness.
"He doesn't ask questions. He doesn't judge," Lav continued, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "He just exists, and his existence is proof that loyalty and honesty aren't ambition or a transaction." The bitterness in the last two words was a sharp, clear echo of Abby's betrayal, a mystery he hadn't yet named.
Roo's expression shifted with every word. First, a deep, empathetic sympathy; then, a flicker of professional recognition of severe trauma; finally, a painful understanding that mirrored her own caged life. She saw the man drowning, just as she had at the wedding. "He's my support, Roo. He's the reason I get out of bed, the reason I eat." Lav admitted, the words raw. "He's my constant. That's why seeing Shyan kick him… it felt like someone kicking me right back into the dark."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Lav had laid bare the foundation of his despair. Roo listened, her lips pressed tight, absorbing the weight of his confession. The tears she had been battling all night—tears for the cruelty, for her parents' dismissal, and for the sudden, dangerous connection—began to slide, warm and silent, down her cheeks.
Lav stopped talking instantly, his own emotions too heavy to process hers. He was a man who knew how to manage controlled suffering but was terrified by honest sorrow. He stared at the glistening paths of her tears, paralyzed.
Instinct, bypassing all reason and social restraint, took over. Lav gently lifted Ghost, pushing the dog into her arms. "Here. Here, hold him. He's better at this than I am."
The warmth and solidity of the pet were the final, necessary catalyst. Roo buried her face in Ghost's golden fur and the silent tears broke into deep, shuddering sobs that echoed her long-suppressed pain. She squeezed the pet tightly, clutching him like a lifeline, all the years of her own crushing loneliness and betrayal finally escaping. Lav, still kneeling, leaned forward, his awkwardness dissolving into a pure need to soothe her.
And then, in a desperate, animal need for shared human comfort, Roo lunged. She wrapped her free arm around Lav's neck, hugging him tightly, Ghost squeezed firmly between their chests. Lav stiffened at the sudden, electrifying contact, his mind screaming stop, but his body sighed and gave way. He returned the embrace, holding the two precious beings—his salvation and his newest source of light—in a single, eternal moment. Every barrier, every unspoken trauma, was briefly, terrifyingly shared.
Roo suddenly gasped, her eyes flying open. She realized she was pressed against a stranger, bound by an intensity that defied all logic and safety. The fear of that pure, honest intimacy was more terrifying than Shyan's violence. She pushed away from Lav with a frantic energy, scrambling backward on the cool stone.
"I have to go," she choked out, her voice ragged with shame and adrenaline. She didn't look at Lav, only at the pet, whispering a desperate, tearful apology into his ear. She scrambled to her feet and ran, abandoning the Terrace Lawn and the terrifying, beautiful vulnerability of the only honest embrace she had ever known. Lav remained kneeling, stunned, the imprint of her desperate hug and the heavy warmth of Ghost's body still stinging on his chest.