Chapter 128 Don't Hit Me
Kieran was worried.
He looked at his wife as she sat beside Daisy, who was busy talking her ear off. Genesis was smiling—she looked happy, even free—but Kieran knew better. It wasn’t real.
He glanced down at her plate. She’d barely touched her food—just two slices of toast and a cup of juice. One crust was nibbled off, and the juice had only been sipped.
His stomach twisted.
He wasn’t usually around for breakfast, and seeing this up close made something in him ache.
“Genesis,” he said gently.
She turned to him right away. That quick response should’ve meant something good—but it didn’t feel like it.
“Eat more,” he said softly, nodding toward her plate.
The moment the words left his mouth, her smile vanished. She looked down at her food and shook her head.
Oddly enough, he took that as a sign of progress.
She was saying no. That was more than she used to do.
He remembered the charity event a few weeks ago—he’d told her to eat, and she had. A steak. Even though she was vegetarian. She hadn’t said a word. Just chewed and swallowed it like she was afraid to disobey.
And on her first day here, she’d eaten a single meatball. Not because she wanted to—but out of fear.
He found out later that Eliana had caught her spitting chewed meat into her clothes when no one was looking. She never confronted Genesis—but she told Kieran. And from that day, they stopped serving her meat altogether.
That had been the start of progress.
Now, he watched Genesis grimace at the toast like it might make her throw up. His eyes drifted to the faint handprint on her arm.
His heart tightened.
His mind returned to the night before.
Kieran had woken up in the middle of the night and immediately noticed the bed was empty.
Panic shot through him.
He leapt out of bed and rushed to the bathroom—nothing.
“Shit,” he breathed, his heart racing.
The wildest thoughts filled his head. Had someone taken her? No. That couldn’t be possible.
He ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs, his breath shallow. Then he heard a noise in the kitchen—a soft clatter, like something had fallen.
He rushed in.
And froze.
There she was.
Barefoot. Standing in the middle of the kitchen. A kitchen knife trembling in her hand.
Her eyes were open—wide and glassy—but she wasn’t awake. Not really.
Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, soaking her face. But her expression was blank. Empty. Her lips parted like she wanted to scream—but nothing came out. No sound. Not even a breath.
Just silence.
Kieran stood frozen in the doorway.
The blade hovered near her wrist. Pressed just lightly. But it was enough.
Oh God.
His stomach dropped. His legs went numb.
She didn’t see him. Didn’t blink. Her eyes locked on something invisible. Something he couldn’t fight. Her body swayed like the ground beneath her was unstable. Her mouth moved—forming shapes that didn’t match any words.
“Genesis,” he whispered, barely able to breathe. “It’s me. It’s Kieran.”
No response.
The knife shifted.
“Genesis,” he tried again, his voice cracking. “Please, baby… it’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing—it’s not now. You’re safe. You’re home.”
She flinched.
Barely.
Her brows creased. Her lips trembled harder.
Then her mouth moved again.
No sound.
But he knew what she was saying.
“I’m sorry.”
Over and over.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
His chest caved in. He couldn’t see through the tears building in his eyes.
She glanced down at the knife. Just for a second. Her hand twitched, like she didn’t even realize she was still holding it.
“Don’t,” he breathed, stepping closer. “Please, give it to me. Baby, just hand it to me.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
He dropped to his knees—afraid any sudden movement or noise would startle her—and began crawling toward her, heart thudding in his ears.
When he got close enough, he reached out and grabbed her hand.
Her mouth fell open.
She let out a raw, terrified but silent scream—and the knife clattered to the floor, missing his face by inches.
Then her knees buckled.
She collapsed to the floor, folding in on herself, arms hugging her legs, her shoulders shaking.
Kieran moved with her, pulling her into his arms as gently as he could. She didn’t resist. She didn’t speak. She just cried.
Silently.
Her body trembled in his arms like a leaf caught in a storm.
And all he could do was hold her.
Kieran held her close, heart pounding, whispering to her even though she couldn’t respond.
“You’re okay. You’re here. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her lips moved again.
This time, he saw the words clearly:
“Don’t hit me.”
And that nearly destroyed him.
His arms tightened around her, his voice cracking with emotion. “Never. I would never hurt you. Not in this life, not in the next. You’re mine. And you’re safe.”
She didn’t nod. Didn’t flinch. She just let him hold her, crying without sound, curled in his arms like the world had shattered her.
And all Kieran could do... was hold her together.
Now, as he watched her gently push the food away, he nodded slowly.
“It’s fine, princess,” he murmured.
She looked up at him with a soft smile, and he could tell—she didn’t remember anything from last night.
But he did.
And one thing was painfully clear: his wife needed help.
He’d been so focused on having her back. So obsessed with hunting the people who had hurt her... that he didn’t realize the most important thing of all—
She needed more than safety.
She needed healing.
She needed to live again. Not just survive.
She needed to laugh without fear, eat without guilt, and sleep without nightmares.
She needed freedom from the ghosts in her mind—
and someone to fight them with her.
“…Yeah, I’m just taking you to see someone who can help take care of you…” Kieran began, but the moment he saw panic flash across her face, he cut himself off.
“No, no—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “We’re just going to see someone. I’m not leaving you with them.”
She stared at him for a long second, searching his face. Then
, slowly, she nodded and offered a small smile.
Kieran exhaled with quiet relief, reaching over to gently run his hand through her hair. Her smile grew a little at the gesture.
But when he turned back to the road, his jaw clenched. One hand remained on the wheel—tight, white-knuckled—as if he were holding onto more than just the car.