The dancing lights behind my closed lids were the first thing I observed. As consciousness seeped into my oxygen-deprived brain, I started noticing the change in my surrounding. There was no doubt that I was no longer being held down. My arms were free, heated and tingling, and too heavy for me to move. The chill of the floor was missing. In its place was the warmth of freshly washed bed covers. The temperature in the room was pleasant, something I had not expected to feel.

My mind started to question the legitimacy of the last lucid memory I possessed. I remembered the hard body pushing mine down; I remembered the long fingers wrapped around my throat. Had that incident really taken place? I was quite sure that I would not be alive if that were the case. Anthony Murray had every intention to leave me breathless—literally, and punish me for causing trouble.

I humorlessly wondered what our scores would be if we were keeping tabs on how threatened one's life was because of another. I was pretty sure that he would be winning. He would gain extra points of being a pretentious prick that did not know when to drop his charade.

Sincerely, the meddling part of my mind interjected, we must take into account how many times you pulled your gun on him.

I grit my jaw as I tried to fend off the offending thought.

"When are you going to stop pretending that you are still unconscious?" Instantly, anger bubbled in my veins. My breath left my nostrils in a rush as I tried to bite back the sinister reply. Instead, I told him the truth as politely as was humanly possible.

"The moment you stop pretending to care." I tested the light inside the room, opening one lid slowly. I squinted, realizing that only the dim bedside lamp was turned on beside the bed. Thanking the gods, I tried to put my weight on my dead arms and push myself back against the headboard and sit. After a few tries, I found myself in the most comfortable position I could find.

"Mia," I heard her disapproving voice. My eyes moved towards the direction of her voice. I scanned her form, trying to see the damage. Apparently, she had none.

"Where were you when he was strangling me?" I asked, coolly. I raised a brow at the upraised gun in her hand. It was pointed at Anthony, who sat at the foot of the bed, waiting for the slightest movement so that he could make his move.

"I was being held back." I shot her a questioning look. Maybe, I made a judgement on her as well. I could imagine that it was Ethan, who had accompanied Anthony in his little break-in. No one else had the time or inclination to indulge in the Boss' games.

"Oh? Did you not fight your detainee off?" I quipped. Her eyes, which had been trained on Anthony's form, shifted towards me.

"I tried, but you were too busy being angry and fighting off the abusive lover of yours." The chill in her voice brought me a sense of clarity.

"He is not-" she did not let me finish. She scoffed... on my face. I should have been furious, but I was tired off bursting out at every turn. It was time I squeezed out my answers and give them no occasion to exploit my emotions.

She returned her gaze to the man that she kept at gunpoint.

"So, now you took it on yourself to protect my unconscious person?" She nodded.

"Right," I murmured, begrudgingly. If I really distanced myself from the situation and went over the scenario, I might have laughed. Daisy stood no chance in front of Anthony, even if he didn't have a gun on him. She was not a bad shot, but she was definitely not an excellent one. Anthony would be easily able to anticipate her moves, as he had done mine.

I understood where the problem lay: how he understood my next move. My raging emotions had made my moves predictable.

The woman was not trained to protect anyone, yet she had taken it upon herself to look after me when I couldn't.

"Where is Ethan?" I asked suddenly, curiosity getting the best of me.

"Trying to contact Sean to delete all the footage from our CCTV. They don't want to leave any evidence of their forced entry behind," she stated.

"Of course," I snorted, "you would think that the best way to take revenge was to go to the cops and file a trespassing report." I groaned. "I'm not a saint and I know very well that the cops are on your payroll and at your beck and call." I let the sneer come over my features. "Don't try to fool me, Anthony. What other motive do you have?"

"Ethan and Sean used some unorthodox methods which I do not wish to reveal to you," he spoke up. The sudden outburst made me jump.

"And now you are trying to accuse me of plagiarism!" I said playfully.

"You are quite a trouble maker and I don't want to take a risk," he told me, too defensive to be true.

"Speak the truth, you bastard."

"Ethan had been keeping tabs on Daisy for the past two years trying to figure out how to approach the woman." He tilted his head towards her direction.

"And he freely gave you this information because he thought you wanted to chat with her?" I prompted, helpfully.

"No, Ethan was the one that found out that you two met frequently. He may even have had the security information to the building if he were being thorough."

"He gave you the address knowing that you would try to murder me? And he tagged along to watch the drama unfold?" Frankly, I was scaring myself by sounding so calculative and formal.

"I did not try to murder you!" he retorted, his hands thrown over his head in exasperation.