Chapter 137 137
Damien pulled the car to a stop and stepped out immediately. He moved to her side, lifting Mathieu carefully into his arms while Jacqueline unlocked the door, slipping the keys from Damien’s pocket without a word.
Inside, he carried the boy to the only guest room and laid him gently on the bed. Mathieu stirred faintly, shifting beneath the sheets, then sank back into deep sleep. Damien pulled the blanket up over him, making sure he was covered.
When he turned, Jacqueline was standing in the doorway, staring at her brother.
The look on her face raw, hollow, shattered twisted something deep inside him.
He stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him.
“You can rest in my room,” he said in a low voice.
She didn’t argue. She simply walked toward it, her steps slow and unsteady.
And then his eyes fell on her back again.
Those welts.
Just hours ago, she had been glowing in that black dress at the club smiling, almost radiant.
Now she looked like something the world had chewed up and spat out.
Damien locked the house and headed straight for the nearest pharmacy. He had nothing at home for first aid. He’d never needed to. His body healed itself. Pain didn’t linger on him the way it did on others.
But this
This required more than his own survival.
He grabbed the basics and hurried back, each step heavier than the last as his mind replayed every vile thing he had thrown at her.
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What had he done?
She had been living in hell because of that bastard, and Damien had taken every chance to grind her further into the dirt. He had called her names. Spat accusations like poison.
You disgust me.
I pity your brother. He doesn’t deserve a sister like you.
I’m not into sluts like you.
Then let me have a taste too.
I can make you feel good just like Julien. Maybe better.
Why are you scared? I won’t be any different than him.
Now he understood.
Now he understood why the color had drained from her face when he said he’d be no different than Julien.
She had already been enduring one monster.
And he had made himself sound like another.
Rage churned inside him but this time, it wasn’t aimed outward.
It was directed at himself.
Guilt clawed at his insides, sharp and merciless. Even his wolf stirred restlessly, whining in regret.
How was he supposed to face her?
He had struck her exactly where it hurt the most.
Now he understood why she always stiffened when he invaded her space. Why fear flickered in her eyes when he got too close.
He had behaved like a bastard.
He had never felt guilt like this before.
He needed to apologize.
—
She was sitting in the corner of his dark bedroom, on the cold tiled floor, knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold her broken pieces together.
Tears streamed down her face freely. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
Her chest ached so badly she could hardly breathe.
Everything had spiraled the night Julien saw Damien drop her off.
She should have been more careful.
Somehow, she knew the pain that followed was connected to him.
Why did he affect her like this?
Even while Julien’s belt had cut into her skin, all she could think about was Damien at the club.
The way he had grabbed her.
The way he had said he would be like Julien.
Those words alone had frozen her blood.
She hadn’t been this weak before.
“Jacqueline.”
His voice filled the cold room, deep and heavy.
The tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Her breath hitched.
She buried her face deeper into her arms, curling tighter into herself. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to hear him.
Julien’s belt had hurt.
But Damien’s words had cut deeper.
Maybe because she liked him.
Maybe because she had expected him to be different.
She had seen something in his eyes before pain that mirrored her own. She thought he might understand.
Instead, he had judged her.
She heard his footsteps approach slowly until he stopped in front of her. Her fingers tightened around her arms so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Jacq…”
His voice sounded different now. Cracked. Weighted with something she couldn’t quite place.
Pain.
Why did he sound like he was the one hurting?
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
It was barely above a whisper, but it echoed loudly in her ears.
How ironic.
You shatter something into a thousand tiny fragments and then apologize.
Did sorry glue the pieces back together?
No.
Sorry was nothing more than a thin layer of ointment over a wound too deep to heal. It would only fester underneath.
She had always believed she was strong. Composed.
He proved her wrong.
He had made her feel small. Pathetic. Weak.
His words had hurt.
She felt his hand brush her arm, and she flinched violently away. Her head snapped up, and their eyes locked.
Olive green met wide, tear-filled brown.
He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her face red, swollen, eyes puffy from crying. For the first time, he saw unfiltered agony behind the girl who was always smiling.
His heart twisted painfully.
He had done this.
It was written all over her expression. In the way she looked at him. In the distance in her gaze.
He should have kept his mouth shut. Even if he didn’t know the truth. Even if he had misunderstood everything.
Instead, he had interfered. Judged. Condemned.
And hurt her.
She stared at him, confused.
He was kneeling in front of her.
His eyes were glossy.
Why did he look like he was breaking too?
“…I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Empty words.
“You can’t fix something that’s already broken,” she whispered.
The same words he had once thrown at her.
He had never intentionally set out to wound someone.
So why did it have to be her?
The girl who smiled too brightly.
The girl who talked too much.
The girl who carried more than anyone realized.
His shoulders sagged. His head dropped.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
His chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
What had he done?