Chapter 138 138
Jacqueline hadn’t moved from the corner.
He had offered quietly, carefully to clean and dress her wounds, but she’d asked him to leave her alone. So he had. Without protest. He rose, placed the first aid kit beside her within reach, and stepped out, giving her the space she clearly needed.
Her mind was a storm.
Everything was ruined now.
What was she supposed to tell Mathieu? How was she going to protect him?
Julien would tear the city apart looking for them. And when he found her and he would she didn’t know if he would even let her live this time. Her body trembled as his threats echoed in her memory. He had always been a man of his word.
And if he caught her now
He would make her beg for death.
Damien should never have come.
The door creaked open again. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was back, standing there, looking down at her.
“You’ll get an infection,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.
Slowly, she pushed herself upright using the wall behind her. Her legs had gone stiff and numb from sitting so long in one position.
“Restroom?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
He stepped closer, picked up the first aid kit, and moved toward the hallway. “Come.”
She followed silently. When they reached the bathroom, she stepped inside. Just as she was about to close the door, he stopped it with his hand.
“Here.” He placed the first aid kit on the side counter.
Then he stepped back.
She shut the door and locked it.
Her dress was beyond saving.
Damien returned to his bedroom and grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Walking back to the bathroom, he knocked gently.
“I brought clothes.”
After a brief pause, the door opened just enough for her small hand to slip through. He stared at her palm for a second before placing the clothes into it. The door closed again.
He went to the lounge and sank into the two-seater sofa.
She wouldn’t be able to reach the welts on her back properly.
He should help her.
But she didn’t even seem able to look at him without flinching.
There were a thousand questions clawing at his throat, yet he didn’t know how to ask a single one. When he’d checked on her earlier, she hadn’t been crying anymore. Instead, she’d looked eerily calm composed in a way that felt almost worse.
The bathroom door opened.
He expected her to head straight to his bedroom, to avoid him.
Instead, she walked into the lounge.
His eyes lifted and lingered before he could stop them.
His shirt swallowed her small frame, hanging loose over her shoulders. The waistband of his shorts was clearly too big; she must have folded it over several times to keep them from slipping. Because of that, the hem rode higher on her thighs, exposing her long legs.
His gaze trailed downward down to her delicate feet, to the deep mahogany polish on her toes.
Beautiful.
She shifted, placing one foot over the other to hide them.
He tore his eyes away immediately, cursing himself.
He’d made her uncomfortable.
Fuck.
She probably thought he was staring for the wrong reasons.
“If you want, I can call a doctor,” he began carefully. “To look at your back.”
“It’s nothing,” she murmured.
His head snapped toward her. Rage flared again at the sight of her bruised face. The swelling had gone down slightly, but her cheek was still tinted blue. A thin line of dried blood marked her lower lip.
He wanted to go back and finish Julien.
Right now.
She walked closer, and instinctively he shifted aside, thinking she meant to sit on the sofa.
Instead, she lowered herself onto the small table in front of him. A soft wince escaped her as she moved.
“You can sit here,” he offered, standing up and gesturing to the couch.
She shook her head lightly. “I’m fine. I’m used to it.”
The words hit him harder than any accusation.
Used to it.
He couldn’t find a response.
“I’ll tell you the important parts,” she said at last, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. “Because now you’ve involved yourself in my mess.”
He watched her silently.
“Mathieu has leukemia.”
The word alone carried unbearable weight.
“Julien is his father,” she continued, “but he doesn’t deserve that title. He has more than enough money. Still, he refused to pay for his own son’s treatment.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I tried working. Every job I got I was fired by the second day. He has connections everywhere.” Her hands clenched. “Mathieu was getting worse. He was dying.”
Her voice wavered for a fraction of a second before she forced it steady again.
“Julien offered a deal. If I did what he wanted, he would cover Mathieu’s treatment.”
She swallowed.
“I agreed.”
A long pause stretched between them.
“And then you came,” she finished quietly. “And now we’re here.”
Damien’s jaw was locked tight. There were things she hadn’t said out loud, but he could read them anyway. Even though she refused to meet his eyes, her posture, the stiffness in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her breathing it all told him what the deal had truly cost her.
She was trying to look strong.
But she was terrified underneath.
Most of what he’d suspected was true.
“I won’t let him touch you again,” he said, the promise leaving him before he could stop it.
A faint, sad smile curved her lips as she finally lifted her gaze to his.
The vulnerability in her big brown eyes caught him off guard.
“You don’t know him,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry to say this but you only made things worse for me tonight. I appreciate what you did… but I can’t drag you into this.”
“Why didn’t you fight back?” he asked quietly.
Her expression hardened instantly.
“I’d prefer you not judge me,” she replied sharply. “I told you what I chose to tell you. You still don’t know everything.”
He looked away abruptly as something surged beneath his skin. Golden flecks flashed briefly in his eyes his wolf pressing forward.
This was the first time she had snapped at him.
The first time she showed fire instead of fear.
And despite everything the bruises, the pain, the heaviness in the room
She looked fierce.
And heartbreakingly strong.