---- Chapter 5 Ally Gomez POV: | flinched away from Hanson's touch as if I' d been burned. \ "Don't,\" | said, my voice muffled by the pillow. V'I told you, | don't feel well.\" He sighed, a long-suffering sound in the darkness. For a moment, | thought he would press the issue, but then he just pulled me closer against him, his body a rigid line behind me. \'Fine,\" he muttered, a hint of impatience in his tone. \"Go to sleep.\" The next morning, to my surprise, he was still there, propped up against the headboard, scrolling through his phone as if he belonged there. \"You're still here,\" | stated, my voice flat. He looked up, a lazy grin spreading across his face-Branson ' s face, Hanson' s smile. \"Took the day off,\" he said, tossing his phone aside. \"To cheer you up. | feel bad about yesterday. v My heart gave a painful twist. Of course. Branson was too busy basking in the glory of defending Kennedy' s honor, so he' d outsourced the task of placating the inconvenient girlfriend to his understudy. ---- \'That's not necessary,\" | said, starting to get out of bed. He was too quick. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled me back. \"Oh, it is necessary,\" he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. \"Get dressed. We' re going out.\" He dragged me through a day of forced, hollow romance. A walk in the park where he bought me cotton candy | didn' t eat. A matinee of a movie | didn' t watch. Lunch at a restaurant where the food sat like a stone in my stomach. He was relentlessly charming, playing the part of the attentive boyfriend with an actor' s skill. To everyone else, we were a perfect couple. To me, it was psychological torture. The day ended at a high-end, exclusive club downtown, the kind of place with velvet ropes and a guest list. \'I' m just going to grab us some drinks,\" he said, settling me into a plush, secluded booth. \"Don' t move.\" | watched him disappear into the throng of people, and leaned my head back against the leather, a bone-deep exhaustion washing over me. | just wanted to be alone. | wanted to sleep for a hundred years. The booth was at the end of a dimly lit corridor, and the thumping bass of the music was slightly muffled here. It felt almost peaceful. Until the door to the booth was slammed open. ---- Three large men, reeking of stale beer and aggression, stumbled in. Their eyes, bloodshot and leering, landed on me. \'Well, well, look what we have here,\" the leader slurred, a nasty grin spreading across his face. \'Waiting for someone, sweetheart?\" | shot to my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. \"You have the wrong booth,\" | said, my voice trembling slightly. Vl 'm waiting for my boyfriend.\" \"Sure you are,\" another one chuckled, stepping forward to block the exit. He reached out and locked the booth door from the inside. \"We can keep you company until he gets back.\" Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my exhaustion. They started closing in, their laughter filling the small space, their intentions sickeningly clear. | backed away until my legs hit the sofa, my breath catching in my throat. | opened my mouth to scream, but only a choked gasp came out. My dress was grabbed, the fabric tearing with a sound that ripped through the music. Despair, absolute and suffocating, washed over me. This was it. This was the final, brutal degradation. Suddenly, the locked door was kicked open with a tremendous crash. Hanson stood there, his face a mask of pure, murderous rage. His eyes, usually dancing with careless amusement, were ---- blazing red He moved like a predator unleashed. He didn't speak. He just attacked. A fist connected with a jaw. An elbow slammed into a throat. It was brutal, efficient, and terrifying. In the chaos, one of the men scrambled to his feet, grabbing a heavy glass bottle from the table. He swung it wildly, not at Hanson, but at me. \"ALLY!\" Hanson roared. He launched himself in front of me, wrapping his arms around my head and pulling me into his chest. | felt the sickening thud as the bottle connected with the back of his skull. He let out a sharp, guttural cry of pain, but his grip on me only tightened. Blood. | could feel the warm, sticky wetness seeping through his hair, onto my hands. He staggered but didn't fall. With a furious roar, he spun around and kicked the man square in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall. Just then, club security swarmed in, pulling the brawling men apart. The chaos subsided into a mess of shouting and groaning bodies. Hanson swayed on his feet, his face pale, and then collapsed against me. ---- \'Call an ambulance,\" | heard someone yell, but the voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away. All | could see was the blood matting his dark hair, all | could feel was his dead weight in my arms. | spent the night in a cold, plastic hospital chair, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The doctor said it was a mild concussion and a few stitches. He was lucky. In the early hours of the morning, a nurse gently told me to go home and get some rest. \"He' s stable. He' II be fine.\" Exhausted to my core, | nodded. | started to leave, then realized |' d left my jacket on the chair. | turned back, pushing the door to his room open just a crack to slip in and grab it without waking him. But he was awake. And he was on the phone. His voice was clear and steady, all traces of pain and grogginess gone. \"...No, I'm not gonna die,\" he was saying, a hint of laughter in his tone. \"It was just a scratch. But you should have seen her face. The hero rescue worked like a charm. She was practically melting.\" My hand froze on the doorknob. \"'Yeah, | know, | know,\" he continued, and | could practically hear the smirk in his voice. \"All this just to get her back in bed one last time before Branson officially dumps her. But what ---- can | say? The girl' s body is incredible. And when she cries out... man, it almost sounds like she' s saying Kennedy' s name. It's the closest |' Il ever get, right? Since you both want her, | can't have the real thing. So while she's still technically ' Branson's girl, | might as well get my fill.\" The world stopped. It was alla lie. The fight. The rescue. The injury. It was a stage play. A sick, twisted performance designed to make me grateful, to make me lower my guard, to make me his one last time. And the final, devastating blow: | was nothing but a substitute. A vessel for his twisted obsession with a woman he couldn't have. | backed away from the door, my body moving without conscious thought. | stumbled down the sterile hospital corridor, a silent scream trapped in my throat, the pain so immense it stole the very air from my lungs. Title: A Princess? No! I'm the Female General! In "A Princess? No! I'm the Female General!" by CrushReel, Adela Taylor, a noble family's daughter, disguises herself as her brother to secure their Duke title by joining the army. Despite facing obstacles, she achieves remarkable success. However, upon her triumphant return, her brother betrays her, setting off a chain of events that will test her resolve and reveal hidden truths. This captivating novel delves into themes of secrets, reincarnation, revenge, murder, and drama. 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