The untouched plate of food sat on the table, a silent accusation between them. Cathleen's eyes, sharp as the knives she wielded in court, cut towards it and then away. She wouldn't touch anything Xavier had touched-not after his venomous words had burned her trust to ashes.
"Are you going to starve yourself to death, then?" Xavier's voice, cold and flat, betrayed none of the anxiety that knotted his insides.
"Better than risking whatever spite you've cooked into that meal," she spat back, her tongue a whip he'd felt many times before, though never like this-never when she was so vulnerable, confined to the confines of her wheelchair.
Her eyes fell to her own hands, useless for the moment, and her legs were a betrayal beneath her. The thought of needing help with something as intimate as bathing twisted her stomach with humiliation. In her mind, she saw herself as strong and indomitable, not this... husk. A tear betrayed her, carving a path down her cheek-a silent cry of new-found helplessness.
Xavier stood in the doorway, his frame as imposing as the walls that enclosed her mind. He saw the tear, a drop of vulnerability from the woman who was never meant to be weak. It was a blow, a realization that cut through him sharper than any of her victories with Olivia, his girlfriend. From a distance, he loved how she stood up for herself, but now she was just Cathleen, and that didn't sit well with him. She needed him, but how could he take on the role of caretaker when he'd always been the antagonist?
"Let me help you," he said, the words sounding foreign even to his own ears.
Cathleen's laugh was bitter, a sound that scratched the air between them. "Help? Since when does Xavier Knight play the doting husband?"
"Since I realized the accident left more scars than just the visible ones," he replied, stepping closer, the distance closing with a tension that could be sliced, served, and choked.
"Keep your pity," she hissed, her voice laced with the venom of betrayal. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone."
"Stubbornness isn't going to heal those wounds," Xavier countered, his voice low, piercing the air with an unspoken plea for a truce.
"Neither will your presence," she retorted, turning her face away, unwilling to show him the cracks in her armor. But Xavier knew-they both did-that despite her fierce front, Cathleen was at war with a body that refused to obey her commands.
Caregiver wasn't a role he'd ever auditioned for, but life had a cruel script, and they were both unprepared for the parts they had to play now.
Xavier's grip was iron as he led Cathleen back into the great dining room, a space too large for comfort, where the echo of clinking silverware often mimicked the whispers of judgment. She did not resist, her posture regal even in this unspoken defiance, her eyes betraying no plea for the help Finn was itching to offer. Finn's fingers twitched at his side, but Xavier's glacial stare was enough to deter him. He knew the turbulent waters here were not for him to navigate.
"Here," Xavier said tersely, placing an array of dishes in front of Cathleen as if he were presenting a feast to a queen in exile. He scooped up a spoonful of steaming soup and lifted it to Cathleen's lips like an offer-or a challenge. "Eat." His voice wasn't just cold; it was the frost that withered the first blossom of spring.
Without hesitation, she complied, her lips parting silently to accept the morsel, her every move calculated, never to be seen to falter.
Edward, from the corner of the room, watched the scene unfold with a sardonic twitch of his lips. The smirk suggested amusement at Xavier's domestic charade, but his sharp and hawkish eyes missed nothing-not even the quivering tension that vibrated through the air like a plucked string.
The patriarch of the Knight family, Old Mr. Knight, watched the tableau with a pensive frown that creased the lines of his weathered face. His voice carried the weight of years of wisdom and concern as he finally broke the silence. "We must find someone who can look after Cathleen."
Xavier's reaction was immediate, his dark eyebrows knitting together in an expression of offense, the veneer of calm shattered. "Are you saying I can't take care of my wife, Father?" he challenged his tone a dangerously low growl.
Before a word could escape the old man's lips, Finn blurted out a suggestion: "We can call Olivia - her friend - to help her."
The annoyance that flickered across Xavier's features was like the ominous rumble of thunder. "Who the fuck gave you a say in my wife's well-being?" he spat out, each word laced with venom. "I am her husband, and I will take care of her. That is final." The bark of his declaration echoed off the walls, a testament to his dominance.
Finn's intentions were simple: he was born out of a desire to provide Cathleen with what he felt was appropriate care. "You have to bathe her, and that's not proper. A woman should do that," he argued, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering in Xavier's eyes.
"And are you saying that I've never seen my wife naked?" Xavier's retort was an unsheathed blade slicing through the tense air.
The silence that followed was deafening and oppressive-a void where even time seemed reluctant to tread. It was in these quiet moments that the Knight family's recurring dance of love and betrayal, cloaked in a veneer of civility, was most exposed-every smile a wound, every gesture a potential blow.
"When it comes to matters between me and my wife, I don't need a third party. Marry your own wife to have an opinion. I don't fucking need anyone's opinion on how I take care of my wife. Are we clear?" Xavier says. It surprises Cathleen because this man has never once cared for her. So he went on, "If I by any chance find anyone meddling, my wife and I have a house of our own if not houses. Get that!" He barked as he wiped Cathleen's mouth tenderly with a tablecloth and took her to the bedroom.