Chapter 18 She Is My Wife
Scarlett's glare was sharp enough to cut glass, her eyes wide and glistening. "I've been chewing on gunpowder all day. You really can't hear it?"
Daniel arched one brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "If you're that explosive, just make sure you don't take me with you when you blow."
Her breath caught in her throat, anger flaring hot and fast. Before she could fire back, Una let out a quiet laugh, unable to hold it in.
Scarlett's attention snapped toward her, wary. She didn't want Una's hands to tremble—one wrong move could hurt Daniel more. "Slow down," she urged, her voice tight.
Una, a woman in her forties with a calm steadiness in her eyes, smiled at Scarlett. "Don't worry. I'm very professional. I won't hurt your boyfriend. Besides, he's a grown man. He can handle a little pain."
The scissors bit through fabric. Daniel's sleeve fell open, revealing the wound. Four inches long. Flesh pulled back. Blood welling, warm and relentless.
Scarlett's stomach knotted hard. She bit her lip. "That's not a little injury… please, just don't talk." Her voice was low but urgent.
She was more tense than Una. More tense than Daniel himself.
Una chuckled again, but Daniel's expression shifted—half resigned, half amused. He reached out with his uninjured hand, fingers curling around the back of Scarlett's neck.
The heat of his palm spread across her skin. He pulled her gently forward until her forehead rested against his chest. Her view dissolved into the steady rise and fall of him breathing. Above her, his voice carried a smile. "It'll be fine. Just a minute."
"…Okay."
She stayed there, listening to the deep, even beat of his heart. For reasons she couldn't name, the sound made her nose sting.
Una worked quickly, disinfectant stinging the air. "We'll need stitches."
Scarlett's head jerked up, panic flashing, but Daniel's hand pressed her down again, his thumb brushing the nape of her neck in slow circles.
"Don't move."
The touch was maddening—soft and electric all at once. She melted back into him.
Una's hands moved with practiced speed. When she finished, she took the gauze from her colleague and smiled. "You're lucky. Your girlfriend really cares about you."
Scarlett shifted slightly, but Daniel's fingers found the edge of her hair, sliding until they pinched her warm earlobe. "She's my wife."
Una blinked, surprised. Scarlett looked so young, like she'd just stepped out of a college library.
Una finished wrapping the bandage, pulled down her mask, and said, "Then you'd better take good care of her. She's still so young to be married."
When the nurses left, Daniel finally let her go. She lifted her face, her eyes bright with a smile she couldn't quite hide.
"What's funny?" His voice was softer now.
She blinked. "She said you're old. Didn't you catch that?"
Daniel's lips pressed together. In his mind, the important part of Una's words had been about taking care of Scarlett… but she had a way of noticing the wrong details.
He leaned down, his nose brushing hers. Their breaths tangled, warm and close, the air between them charged.
Scarlett froze. "What are you… doing?"
Her voice trembled.
"I'm checking how young you really are."
Heat flared in her cheeks. She pushed him away. Daniel let her go, straightening, ruffling her hair with one hand.
"Enough. I'll have Tom help you pack. Go back to Regal Estate early, alright?"
She looked at him—bandaged arm, torn suit jacket draped over his shoulders, the sunset painting his sharp profile in gold. The light softened him, made him impossibly handsome, untouchable.
Her hand drifted to her stomach. For the child, maybe she should try again.
She curled her fingers into her palm. "What about Alice?"
Daniel thought she was asking if he'd go see Alice. He remembered how she'd held her belly when she left earlier. "I'll check on her. You go home first. I'll be back soon."
The warmth in Scarlett's chest shattered, turning to ice. "I'm not going back."
His expression darkened. He caught her shoulder as she stepped past. "Scarlett, what do you want? I'm injured. Shouldn't you move back to take care of me?"
A bitter laugh escaped her. She pulled away. "You were injured because of Alice. Have her move in. I'm sure she'd love to."
Daniel's mouth twisted. "She's afraid of blood."
Scarlett's jaw tightened. Alice's fear was traced back to childhood abuse from John. But Scarlett had been beaten worse. No one ever gave her the luxury of fear.
Her chest ached. She stepped back from his grip. "Fine. I'll move back—on one condition."
His face eased slightly. "Name it."
"There's a composer online—Shadowlight. She has a new piece. I want it."
She knew Daniel's reach. She didn't want Alice to have that song. But if the Wilson Group kept digging, they'd find her. They'd have ways to make her give in.
Daniel frowned. He'd already promised the song to Alice. She needed it. Scarlett asking for it was nothing but a challenge. His voice was firm. "No. Pick something else."
Scarlett bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. She'd humiliated herself again.
"Be good. I found some rare diamonds in Arcturus. You like Elsa's designs, right? I'll have her make you a bracelet—"
"I don't need it. Give it to Alice," she cut in.
She turned on her heel. Jewelry was easy for him. Effortless. He'd dig into Shadowlight's identity because Alice wanted it. He'd buy asteroid naming rights for the child he hoped for. But for her? Even asking took courage, and courage only earned her dismissal.
The tenderness earlier had been bait. Nothing more.
Her pace quickened until she was running. She rounded a corner—and collided with someone.
"Sorry, I—"
"Scarlett? What's wrong?" Ramon's voice was smooth, concerned. He'd come back after finishing his work, uneasy about leaving her.
Her eyes burned. She didn't want him to see. "I just remembered I'm late for a part-time job."
She tried to pass, but he stepped aside and followed. "I'll take you."
She kept walking, faster now, the weight in her chest making speech impossible.
Daniel hadn't expected her to cut him down like that. The words hit harder than he wanted to admit. Frustration clawed at his chest, a slow burn that made his jaw tighten. He'd never chased anyone before—never needed to.
But she still wanted divorce, as if being near him was a sentence she couldn't bear to serve. Fine. Let her go. Let the world strip her down until she had nothing left but the memory of him.
He told himself to turn away. To walk. To leave. But the image of her eyes—red, rimmed with tears—rose unbidden, freezing his resolve. He moved before he could think, cutting across the street, his pace quickening.
Then he saw her.
Ramon was beside her, his hand hovering just close enough to suggest possession.
The two of them walked toward the edge of the plaza, their shadows stretching long in the dying light. Daniel's own shadow reached forward, swallowing hers for a heartbeat.
Their silhouettes merged on the pavement, a fleeting overlap that felt too intimate. His gaze hardened. His steps stopped.
Scarlett pushed through the heavy doors of the Shadow City Theater. The scent of dust and old velvet greeted her, a smell she'd known since university.
She hadn't made the company after graduation, but Beatrice—her mentor—was the troupe's honorary consultant. When the stage was empty, Beatrice let her use it. A quiet kindness Scarlett never took for granted.
She came here sometimes to practice. To dance until her body remembered who she was.
She crossed the stage barefoot, the cool wood pressing against her skin. She plugged in her phone, and a single violin note spilled into the air—soft, aching, like a confession whispered in the dark.
The sound curled around her as she stepped into the spotlight. Her right foot pivoted, her body swaying, turning.
Movements loosened, opened. She rose into the air, light as silk caught in a sudden breeze.
The melody shifted—sad, then joyful; slow, then urgent. It pulled her the way Daniel had once pulled her, with a force that was both salvation and destruction. Light and shadow, warmth and ash.
Daniel didn't know what she'd endured while he was gone. The whispers that followed her into every room. The slander that clung to her name.
The Wilson family's cold dismissal. The sideways glances, the barbed remarks. The dream of dance, interrupted mid-step. James's accident. The months of depression that hollowed her out. The sleepless nights.
This song had been born after the night she almost didn't wake up—too many sleeping pills, a desperate bid for silence. But the dawn came anyway. Birds sang outside her window. And she thought of him.
She danced until the world fell away, until her breath was ragged and her skin was slick with sweat. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't stop. Not until the music cut off mid-note and the stage lights blazed white.
Her knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, palms pressed against the wood, lungs straining for air. Slowly, she lifted her head.
A figure stood at the side door.