Chapter 48 FORTY-EIGHT

Chapter 48 FORTY-EIGHT
M A R K O V

The apartment door clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing in the tense silence. I didn't go far, just leaned against the wall in the hallway, my head thumping against the cheap plaster. Her face was burned into my mind, the shock, the betrayal, and then the fierce, burning anger. I had seen that look before, but never directed at me with such pure venom.

I had wanted to protect her. To rip that cursed bottle from her hands and shatter it into a million pieces. I had wanted to shake her, to make her understand the poison she was willingly pouring into her body. But all I had done was prove her right. I had shown her the monster she believed me to be. A controlling, possessive brute who only knew how to break things, not fix them.

My hands clenched into fists. Tristin was right. I was going about this all wrong. But what was the alternative? Stand by and watch as the witch's magic slowly consumed her? As it hollowed her out from the inside, leaving nothing but an empty shell for Saffra to claim?

No. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I pushed off the wall and started pacing the narrow hallway, the worn carpet muffling my steps. I could still feel her, a faint, trembling thread of connection in the back of my mind. Her pain was a dull ache in my chest, a constant, throbbing reminder of my failure. She was crying. I could feel the hot, salty tears on her skin, the ragged hitch of her breath. It took every ounce of my self control not to burst back in there, to pull her into my arms and promise her that I would make everything right.

But I couldn't. I had to give her space. I had to respect her wishes, even if it killed me.

I stayed outside for a few hours. Until I heard the door click open. Jade came out wearing her cute little pyjamas with small hearts on them, my heart ached. I missed seeing her like that. All cute and vulnerable.

She looked at me, not one bit surprised that I was still there. She looked down the hallway and then at me again. I had a feeling she was checking if someone was there.

"Are you going to stay here all night?" She asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.
I looked at her for a moment, then at the door. "You haven't changed the passcode."

"You're the one who changed the lock, you get to stay."

A small smile tugged at my lips, but I quickly suppressed it. This wasn't the time for jokes.

She sighed, turning around. "Are you coming in?"

I didn't need to be told twice. I followed her inside, my heart pounding.

She went straight to the kitchen, which smelt heavenly do I add. She was cooking. The anger she seemed to have had when she kicked me out was gone. I guess she was as hungry as I was. She wasn't talking to me, but at least she wasn't yelling at me anymore. It was progress.

"Do you need any help?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "No, I'm good."

I leaned against the counter, watching her move around the small kitchen. She was so graceful, so efficient. Every movement was deliberate, precise.

"You're a good cook," I said, my voice low.
She shrugged, not looking at me. "It's just pasta."

"It's more than that," I insisted. "You put love into it. I can taste it."

I could imagine our lives like this. Me being a normal human, her being my wife, cooking in the kitchen of our little cottage as we played footsies under the table. Maybe she's pregnant with our baby, a small girl, one who looks just like me.
I wanted that life.

But I knew I would never get it. Maybe in my next life.

She stilled, her back to me. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice hoarse. "For what I did earlier. I was worried. I'm still worried. But I shouldn't have acted like that. I should have trusted you."

She turned around, her expression unreadable. "You're right. You shouldn't have."

"Then let me make it up to you," I said, my desperation seeping through.

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. "How?"

"I'll do whatever you want," I said, my voice earnest. "Anything except leaving until the agreed days are over."

A small smile played on her lips. "Anything?"

"Anything."

"Alright," she said, her tone light. "You can start by setting the table."

I nodded, a wave of relief washing over me. "Yes, ma'am."

I moved to the small dining area, grabbing the plates and utensils. I could feel her eyes on me, a curious, appraising gaze.

The food was delicious, better than I remembered. We ate in silence for a while, the only sound the clinking of silverware against porcelain.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "What is this side effect you're so worried about?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I had hoped we could avoid this topic, at least for tonight.

"It's... complicated," I said, choosing my words carefully.

"Try me," she challenged, her eyes narrowed.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "The potion... it doesn't just make you sleep. It puts you in a state of suspended animation, of sorts. Your mind is still active, but your body is... vulnerable."

"What do you mean, vulnerable?" she pressed.

"It means you're susceptible to outside influences. To suggestion. To control."
Her face paled. "You mean... she could control me? Amy?"

"Or anyone else with magical abilities," I clarified, my expression grim. "Saffra, for example."

I could see the wheels turning in her head, the pieces clicking into place. "Amy is as human as they come. How could she be a witch?"

"Witches are masters of disguise. They can look like anyone. Act like anyone. They can be your best friend, your neighbor, your coworker. They are everywhere."

I could see the fear in her eyes, the dawning horror. But she was trying to hide it, to put on a brave face.

"Why are you only telling me this now? If this Saffra is so dangerous, why didn't you warn me before?"

"I did try," I said, my voice low. "But you didn't believe me. You thought I was just being possessive. Controlling."

I could see the guilt in her eyes, but she quickly masked it. "So, what, you're my knight in shining armor now? Riding in to save the day?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm just a man who made a mistake. A man who's trying to fix it."

She looked away, her jaw set. "I don't need your help."

"I know you don't," I said, my tone gentle. "But you have it anyway. Whether you want it or not."

We finished the rest of the meal in a tense silence. I cleared the table, washing the dishes while she retreated to the living room. I could feel her turmoil, a storm of conflicting emotions. Fear, anger, confusion, and a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of something else. Something that felt a lot like trust.

It was a start.

I found her on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen.

"You should get some rest," I said, my voice soft.

She scoffed, "Not likely."

"Try," I urged. "Just lie down. Close your eyes. You don't need the potion. You just need to let yourself relax."

She looked at me, her expression guarded. "And what if I can't? What if the nightmares come back?"

"Then I'll be here," I said, my voice firm. "I'll watch over you. I won't let anything hurt you."

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. "Promise?"

"Promise," I said, my heart clenching.
She finally relented, a sigh escaping her lips. "Fine."

She laid down on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself. I sat on the floor, my back against the couch, close enough to feel her warmth, but far enough to give her space.

I watched her as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing slow and steady. I could feel her fear, a lingering echo of her trauma. But I could also feel her exhaustion, her body's desperate need for rest.

I stayed awake all night, a silent sentinel in the darkness. I listened to her breathing, the steady beat of her heart. I was ready for anything, my senses on high alert. I would not fail her again.

J A D E

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon. My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I was disoriented.
This was the best sleep I’ve had in ages. And I refused to believe it was because my soul felt protected by his presence. I refused to believe that my subconsciousness trusted him to keep me safe. The potion had nothing to do with it. Or so I told myself.

I sat up, stretching, the stiffness in my muscles a dull ache. The blanket was still wrapped around me, a warm, comforting cocoon.

I walked into the kitchen, and there he was, standing at the stove, his back to me. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and no shirt. My eyes wandered over his muscular back, the intricate tattoo of a wolf howling at the moon a beautiful contrast against his tanned skin.

He turned around, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning."

"Morning," I mumbled, my cheeks flushing. I quickly looked away, not wanting him to see me checking him out.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Coffee's ready."

"Thanks," I said, pouring myself a cup. I leaned against the counter, watching him cook. It felt... domestic. Normal. A strange, unsettling feeling.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, flipping a strip of bacon.

"Surprisingly well," I admitted, taking a sip of coffee. "No nightmares."

"Good," he said, his expression relieved. "I'm glad."

We ate in a comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of silverware against porcelain. It was... nice. Almost too nice.