Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
For a fleeting moment, our eyes collide, her striking green clash with my icy blues. She is so beautiful, fragile like glass, a fine jewel. Every day, I’m reminded of how precious her safety is, her life is in my hands, and I’ll be damned if I let her down.
Soon, she’ll be my bride, and then she’ll give me an heir.
The day is coming... soon, so very soon.
Breaking the connection, I ask, “Are you ready for dinner? Or would you rather take a walk first?”
“Maybe just a short walk before dinner?”
“As you wish.” I nod and help her from the bed.
She loops her arm around mine and uses my body as a brace to stand. She hasn’t used the wheelchair in over a week now. The brace on her ankle is enough to let her walk slowly and pain-free, but I still maintain a hold on her. There is always the risk that she could trip and fall and injure herself all over again.
“I think I’ll be fine without a brace soon,” she tells me as we walk down the hall together. “My ribs barely hurt anymore.” The excitement in her voice radiates outward. I know she’s ready for me to stop babying her, to do things on her own, but part of me isn’t there yet. With her father out there and enemies coming from left and right, her safety and care is of the most importance.
“I’m happy to hear that. I’ll have the doctor come take a look and make sure it’s okay to take off the brace beforehand.”
I might be overprotective, but I don’t care. Ahead is the staircase, and in my mind, a flashback of that day replays. Her tumbling down the stairs, the horror in her eyes, and how her father tried to kill me. As if Elena can read my thoughts, she perks up and turns her head to look up at me.
“You never told me how I fell down the stairs,” she whispers softly like she’s approaching a wild animal. “I know you would never hurt me… I feel safe with you, but… I just feel like there is something you are hiding from me. Will you please tell me what happened? No matter how many times I rack my brain for an answer or a memory of that day, all I get is a black void. I know something happened; I can tell...”
“It doesn’t matter now–”
“It matters to me,” she almost yells before softening her voice. “Did someone try to kill me again?”
“What? No. You falling was an accident,” I assure her.
She relaxes next to me, but the way she looks at me tells me she still wants to know more. I can’t hide the truth from her forever.
“Then why are you not telling me how it happened?”
I grit my teeth, my jaw becoming steel. “Your father was here.”
Confusion flashes across her face. “My father? He was there when I fell?”
“Yes. He was there, and he saw it happen.”
“Why wasn’t he at the hospital? Did you send him away?” Her tone grows accusing, and anger rips through me. I can’t fucking believe it. She still trusts him more than she trusts me, and that bothers me more than I’d like to admit.
For a moment, I say nothing. I’m caught between wanting to make her see her father for the person he really is and not wanting to hurt her feelings. My desire for her complete submission wins over my need to protect her emotions, and I know what I’m about to tell her is selfish, but it’s the truth.
“Your father was there. He saw you fall. He saw your lifeless body lying on the bottom of the stairs, and instead of rushing to your aide like I did, he left. He didn’t even check on you, didn’t blink, or make a move toward you. One second, he was there, and the next, he was gone.”
Her whole body goes rigid, and she stops walking. I almost cringe at the hurt in her eyes. The last thing I want is to see her suffer.
“Did he try to come to the hospital?” she asks, her voice shaky, matching the pain in her gaze.
“No. He left and went into hiding. No one knows where he is…” And then it hits me. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he would go to hide, would you?”
“No,” she blurts out, a bit too fast, too eagerly.
She’s lying.
My self-control is hanging on by a thread, but I don’t say another word about it as I lead her outside and into the garden. She doesn’t ask any more questions, and that might be her saving grace at the moment. I don’t trust myself to say anything right now. My anger is too prevalent.
She’s lying to me.
She knows where her father is.
Now, I only have to figure out how to make her talk.