CHAPTER 306

CHAPTER 306
ZION

Winter was propped up against a stack of pillows, pale blue fuzzy robe from home draped over her hospital gown, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail I'd brushed for her earlier.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, balancing the tray table across her lap, helping her with breakfast.

She poked at the scrambled eggs with her fork like they’d personally offended her.

“I want a burger,” she muttered.

“And fries. Crispy ones. With extra salt. And a milkshake. Chocolate. Thick. This bland hospital food is killing me faster than the knife did.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea yet, Snowflake,” I said gently, spearing a small piece of egg on her fork and holding it up for her.

“Your stomach’s still sensitive from the surgery. Grease and salt right now would probably have you doubled over in pain, and I’m not letting anything hurt you more than you’re already hurting.”

She gave me a half-hearted glare, but opened her mouth and let me feed her the bite.

She chewed slowly, swallowed, then wrinkled her nose.

“Still tastes like cardboard. When I get out of here, you’re buying me as many burgers and fries as I want. Milkshakes too. And onion rings. And maybe a whole pizza. I’m gonna eat everything I’ve been dreaming about.”

I smiled—soft and full of relief that she was even talking about food, about getting out, about wanting things again.

“Deal,” I promised, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth with my thumb.

“The second Dr. Hemming clears you, we’re hitting every drive-thru in the city. Burgers, fries, milkshakes, pizza, whatever you want. I’ll even let you have the last onion ring. That’s how much I love you.”

“You’re gonna regret that promise when I’m back to full appetite.”

“Never,” I said, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to her temple.

“I’ll regret nothing as long as you’re eating and smiling and giving me shit about it..Now at least try the oatmeal. One bite. For me.”

She rolled her eyes—slow, still a little pained—but picked up the spoon again.

A soft knock at the door interrupted us.

Harry cracked it open, sticking his head in.

“Police are here to take Winter’s statement,” he said quietly.

“Are you ready to talk to them?” I asked, keeping my voice soft.

She shook her head immediately, ponytail swaying.

“I really don’t want to do this. I don’t want to think about it. I just… I just want to eat this stupid breakfast and pretend none of it happened.”

I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers.

“I know,” I said quietly.

“I know, baby. And I hate that you have to. But you have to give the police a statement, sweetheart. We might as well get this over with. They’ll just keep coming back until you do. And the sooner it’s on record, the sooner we can bury them under charges so heavy they’ll never see daylight again.”

She stared at the blanket for a long moment, thumb rubbing absently over the edge.

Then she sighed—long, defeated, but resolute

“I’ll do it. I’ll tell them everything. I want them to hear it from me. I want the jury to know exactly what they did—I want them locked away so deep they forget what sunlight looks like. I want justice. Real justice. Not just words on paper. I want them to pay.”

Her fingers tightened around mine—weak but fierce, nails digging in just enough to ground herself.

I squeezed her hand once—gentle, reassuring—then looked up at Harry.

“Let them in.”

Harry nodded once and stepped back.

A second later, Roxy walked through the door, notebook in hand, expression professional but soft when her eyes landed on Winter.

I shifted closer to the bed, positioning myself so Winter could lean on me if she needed to, hand still locked in hers.

Roxy sat in the armchair beside Winter’s bed, phone propped on her knee, the recorder light blinking red like a tiny, unblinking eye watching everything.

“We’re sorry to bother you with this right now,” she said quietly, meeting Winter’s eyes without flinching at the bruises or the exhaustion I knew was written all over her face.

“We already have strong statements from me, Harry, Ro, and Clark. They’re detailed, consistent, and damning. But yours… yours is the one that’ll make the difference in front of a jury. The victim’s voice—the person who survived it, who felt every second of it—that carries weight no one else can give. It’s not just facts on paper; it’s the truth in your words. That’s what turns a good case into an airtight one. That’s what makes sure they can’t walk away from this.”

She paused, letting the words settle, giving Winter space to breathe.

“So when you’re ready,” Roxy continued,

“we need your account. What you saw, what you felt, what they said. Every detail you can give. The sooner we have it on record, the harder it becomes for them to twist or deny. You’re the heart of this case, Winter. Your voice is what’ll bury them.”

Winter’s fingers tightened in mine—

I leaned in just enough that my shoulder brushed hers, voice low, meant only for her.

“You’ve got this,” I whispered.

“Whenever you’re ready. One word at a time. Or none at all. Your call, baby. I’m right here.”

She nodded—just a tiny dip of her chin—and finally looked up at Roxy.

Her voice came out thin, hoarse, cracked at the edges, but she started anyway.

“I was in the library,” she began,

“I was doing my assignment... Waiting for Zion...to come back.."

Her fingers tightened around mine—hard enough that I felt the tremor in them.

The monitor beeped a little faster.

I kept my thumb moving—slow, steady circles—reminding her I was here.

Reminding myself I was here. That she was here. That we’d made it out.

She kept going—voice shaking but growing steadier, like saying it out loud was slowly unraveling the knot they’d tied inside her.

The grab. The zip-ties. The punches. The knife. The basement. Damien’s laugh. My father’s cold eyes watching from the corner. Every detail she could remember, every word they’d said, every way they’d tried to break her.

Fucking hell.

My stomach turned over as I listened.

I had known pieces. I had seen the aftermath. I had carried her out bleeding and broken.

But hearing it like this—every word, every punch, every cut, every second she thought she was going to die—felt like someone was carving those moments into my own chest.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to find them both in their cells and finish what they started. I wanted to burn the world down for letting this happen to her.

I squeezed her hand tighter, careful not to hurt her, but needing her to feel me.

Needing her to know I was here.

That I would listen to every word even if it killed me.

When she finished—voice raw, trembling, tears streaking down her cheeks again—

“If that’s all you need from her right now,” I said, keeping my voice even but firm, eyes flicking between Roxy and Winter,

“She’s exhausted. She’s given you everything she could. Let her rest.”

Roxy held my gaze for a beat—professional, assessing—then gave a small nod, and stopped the recording.

The red light blinked off.

“That’s all we need for today,” she said quietly.

“She did more than enough. This statement is powerful. It’s going to make a real difference when the DA presents the full case.”

She rose from the chair, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket with careful movements.

“You did good today. Rest. We’ve got what we need for now.”

Winter nodded against my shoulder—exhausted, drained—

Like saying it out loud had loosened something that had been choking her from the inside.

Roxy gave Winter a small, proud smile.

“You’re stronger than they ever were,” she said.

“Don’t forget it.”

Then she left—quiet footsteps fading down the hall.

I turned back to Winter.

She was staring at the ceiling, eyes glassy, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket like she was trying to hold herself together.

I reached for her hand—slow, careful—and laced our fingers together.

“You okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

She didn’t speak.

Just squeezed my hand once—weak, but there.

Before I could say anything else, the door cracked open again.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our favorite badass still kicking,” Clark announced, shoving the door wide and striding in like he owned the place. Behind him came Harry and Ro—

Clark made it to the bed in two long strides, dropping a greasy paper bag onto the tray table.

“Burger. Fries. Extra pickles because I know you’re weird like that. And a chocolate shake because hospital food is a crime against humanity. Don’t tell the nurses. I bribed the guy at the desk with my charm.”

Winter blinked—slow, surprised—then let out a tiny, cracked laugh that immediately turned into a wince as she clutched her side.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” she rasped,

“What the fuck, Clark?” I snapped.

“She can’t fucking eat that. I literally just told her no greasy food. Her stomach’s still sensitive from surgery. The last thing we need is her throwing up Big Mac and fries while the nurses lecture us both.”

Clark threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“Whoa, whoa, relax, Dad. I’m just trying to nourish her soul. Hospital food is soul-crushing. This is medicinal. Comfort food therapy. Look at her—she’s literally perking up just smelling it.”

Winter’s lips twitched again, fighting another laugh.

I shot Clark a look that should’ve set him on fire.

“She’s perking up because you’re ridiculous, not because deep-fried regret is good for her. Put the bag away before I shove it down your throat.”

Clark gasped—hand to chest.

“Wow. So bossy. Maybe you should think about changing boyfriends, trouble. Someone more charming. Funnier. Better looking. Like… me.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Winter.

“I’d let you eat burgers in bed. I’d even feed you the fries. Romantic, right?”

“Clark,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully,

“if I ever switch boyfriends, it won’t be to someone who thinks ‘feeding me fries’ counts as romance. That’s not a love language. That’s just you wanting an excuse to steal half my food.”

"Steal?” he gasped, staggering back a step for dramatic effect.

“I would never. I’d merely… quality-control the fries. For your safety. Gotta make sure they’re crispy enough for royalty. I’m basically performing a public service here.”

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, shaking her head slowly, the tiniest smile tugging at her split lip.

“But… thanks for the burgers.”

“Anytime, trouble. You know I’ve got your back. And your fries. And your milkshake. Basically your entire illegal fast-food delivery service.”

I watched the whole exchange from the foot of the bed, arms crossed, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably—she was laughing.

Out loud.

In pain, still healing, still bruised to hell, but laughing.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed too—low, rough, shaking my head at Clark.

“You? Better looking?” I said, voice dripping sarcasm.

“You wish, asshole, andc stop fucking flirting with Snowflake. She’s my girlfriend. My future wife. She’s gonna be the mother of my kids one day. She’s stuck with me—mine—for the rest of her fucking life. No take-backs. No upgrades. No charming, fry-stealing substitutes.
She’s mine, Clark. Only mine. Always mine. And no amount of charm or fries is changing that.”

Clark threw both hands up in surrender, backing toward the door with exaggerated steps.

“Jesus, Z. Message received. Loud and clear. She’s yours. Possessive caveman energy: noted. Keep your man privileges. But when she’s better, I’m taking her for milkshakes. No boys allowed.”

Harry snorted from the doorway.

Ro’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile on anyone else.

Winter looked up at me—eyes soft, tired, but sparkling with that familiar mischief.

“Possessive much?” she whispered, fingers squeezing mine tighter.
I smiled—slow, unapologetic—and leaned down until my mouth hovered just above hers.

“Very,” I said against her lips.

“And you fucking love it.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head—careful, lingering—and shot Clark a look that said you’re lucky she’s laughing.

Clark fake-gagged, stealing a fry from the bag and popping it in his mouth.

I leaned my forehead against hers—careful, careful—and breathed her in.

Mine.

Always mine.

Forever mine.

And I was going to spend every single day proving it.

One possessive, stupid, loving moment at a time.