CHAPTER 8N
Xavier had planned everything down to the smallest detail. Spread across the bed lay a bright–red chiffon dress–off–the–shoulder, cinched at the waist with a slim ribbon. The bold color flared against my pale skin, rekindling all the half–buried memories of who I’d been before the tragedies.N
Coincidence? No. Xavier didn’t believe in coincidence. He’d probably dug through my past–prom photos, stacks of teen fashion magazines, old social–media posts buried deep online. However he’d done it, he’d chosen a dress I was bound to love.
I still had no idea why he’d brought me here–why he claimed me as if I were spoils of war.M
“His,” he’d said. A word as brittle as glass yet cutting as steel.
Dominic–a thirty–something, athletic man assigned as Xavier’s aide–just shrugged whenever I asked what Xavier wanted. The answer was always evasive: “Miss will understand in time.“N
The wood–paneled dining room was silent when I entered. Dominic stepped forward and pulled out a chair with a movement that seemed etched into his muscles.N
“Breakfast is ready, Miss.” His tone was calm, trained, almost soothing.
At the far end of the table, Shin–silver–gray hair, eyes sharp as a wakizashi blade–gave me a brief look, then turned and glided out without a word. Cold as dawn fog. Instinct whispered: that man didn’t want me here.
I sat, and my eyes widened. The entire table was covered with my favorite foods: peanut–butter–and–strawberry sandwiches, thick corn soup, mushroom omelet, pomegranate juice. A small laugh escaped–strangled by unease.
“Your boss seems eager to show how much he ‘admires‘ me, huh?“N
Dominic allowed the faintest smile. “He’s simply relieved you’re back, Miss.“N
That word–back–vibrated in the air. Back from where?N
Strangely, in some deep recess, I felt as if I really had… come home.
The sun climbed until it dazzled the marble pool. I sat at the edge, letting the heat soak my skin, trying to chase the chill of trauma still clinging to my bones. The scrape of a chair’s wheels on stone made me turn.N
Xavier approached: black suit, top button of his shirt undone. That face was a smooth mask, but I’d learned his calm hid turbulence.
“Ready to leave?” he asked without preamble.N
I glanced at him. “I never said I was going.“N
And he didn’t seem to recognize the word no. Xavier leaned in, bent, and–in one fluid motion–lifted me from the chair. My body rose like a scrap of fabric; my protest caught in my throat. He strode down the veranda and slid me into the passenger seat of a waiting black SUV. The engine growled. Along the mountain road, my red dress fluttered over one thigh–one real leg, one stump swathed in bandages. I stared out the window, counting curves, mapping escapes that always stalled on the same fact: I couldn’t run without a prosthetic.
“Miss your leg?” His voice split the silence.N
I shifted my gaze, but he went on, as if reading my mind.N
“You can have it back. One condition.”
I turned fully toward him. “What?”
“Love me. Then everything you want is yours.“N
A low, bitter laugh slipped out. Love. To me the word was an open wound–Oliver, the triplets, every nightmare sang the same note. Love led to suffering. And Xavier offered it like a business contract.N
He kept his eyes on the road, voice calm yet piercing. “You have time, Laura. After the graft, you’ll walk like before–dance, if you like. If, in the end, you can’t fall in love with me, you’re free to leave. That’s my promise.“N
“A promise from the man who kidnapped me?” I shot back.
His gaze flicked to me, not angry, almost warm–the deadliest danger is the one that looks gentle. “Not kidnapping. Rescue.“N
I closed my eyes, drew a sharp breath. Fine. Let him think whatever he wants. I just had to last until the surgery–until my leg was back. After that? He’d said it himself: I could go if I didn’t love him. Easy. I wouldn’t fall in love.N
The SUV plunged into a tunnel. Neon lights streaked across the glass–flashes of my red dress, ghosted reflections of Xavier’s face, and between them the silhouette of my future: free, standing on two legs, far from any dark–eyed man who called himself a savior.N
Easy, I told myself.
Yet deep in my chest, something–hope, or danger–was already sparking to life, red as this dress.
1:04 PM
