The General's Replacement Doctor Wife

Chapter 9

Olivia wasn’t interested in engaging in this sort of small talk, especially with someone who seemed to be more interested in her looks than anything else.

“I have a fiancé,” she replied curtly.

He leaned closer, too close for her comfort. He smelled strongly of whiskey, cigarettes, and perfume—a combination that made her gag.

"Engaged isn't married," Chris chuckled. “What do you say we dance?” He gestured towards the thrumming dance floor, where a group of people were swaying in sync to the pulsating beat.

"No thanks," Olivia declined. She didn't trust his intentions, especially with the way he looked at her.

"Come on, just one dance!" he insisted. His hand landed on her thigh. Olivia flinched, nearly falling off her stool.

"Get your hands off me!"

"Playing hard to get?"

He stood up when she did and grabbed her wrists. The music was too loud—nobody seemed to notice her struggle.

"One dance won't hurt. Your precious fiancé won't know."

In one last attempt to escape, she pulled her hand from his grasp and turned to run, but his fingers caught the fabric of her dress.

The sound of tearing cloth combined with her scream. Her beautiful mauve dress ripped, exposing too much skin. Her hands flew up instinctively, crossing over her chest.

Shame and horror crashed over her like ice water.

However, before she understood what was happening, Chris was suddenly lifted off his feet and sent flying backward. He crashed into a nearby table, causing bottles and glasses to topple and shatter. In a split second, Clayton was on top of him, fists repeatedly pounding his face.

The music had stopped. Everyone was staring—at Olivia's state of undress and at Clayton mercilessly beating Chris to a pulp.

Olivia froze. She had seen Clayton angry before but never like this. His blazing eyes looked murderous. When she looked around, everyone else was frozen too.

Chris, disoriented and shocked, raised his hands in a futile attempt to defend himself, but Clayton wasn't holding back.

"Clayton, stop! That's enough!" Dylan's voice boomed through the now-silent room. He wrapped his arms around Clayton's torso, trying to pull his younger brother away.

Clayton struggled against his brother's grip. "Let me go, Dylan."

"Look at him, Clay. Look! He's not moving. He's out cold."

Those words seemed to penetrate Clayton's rage-filled haze. He blinked, his breathing gradually steadying as awareness crept back into his eyes. His gaze shifted to Olivia, who still stood frozen, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and moved toward her, draping it over her shoulders.

Everyone knew the party was ruined. The crowd cleared out, each visitor leaving on their own.

Clayton grabbed Olivia's wrist and led her upstairs.

Inside a large bedroom, his room— she guessed from the masculine décor—Clayton walked straight to a dresser. He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a gray t-shirt, tossing it onto the bed.

"Put that on." He turned around, facing the wall, giving her privacy.

Olivia slipped off his jacket and let her ruined dress fall to the floor. The sound of the fabric hitting the ground seemed too loud in the quiet room. She pulled his t-shirt over her head quickly.

"I'm done."

He turned slowly, his eyes immediately scanning her for injuries. His gaze lingered on her bare legs and arms before snapping back to her face.

"Did he hurt you?"

"N-no… Just... just the dress."

He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something but closed it again. Olivia wished he would scream at her in anger; his silence was more terrifying than if he had lashed out.

"You can sleep here for the night. The chauffeur will drive you to the Hilton Mansion in the morning."

Clayton turned to leave.

Her eyes landed on his knuckles; they were raw and bleeding. Without thinking, she reached out and caught his arm.

"You're hurt!"

Clayton stiffened under her touch but didn't pull away. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." Her fingers slithered over his injured hand, and he winced slightly. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"Bathroom cabinet," he muttered.

Olivia forced him to sit on the edge of the bed, and she padded to the bathroom. She found the first aid kit easily and hurried back.

"This might sting," she warned, dabbing antiseptic on his knuckles. Clayton didn't flinch, but she felt his muscles tense. Blood and bits of skin had crusted over his knuckles. She cleaned each cut carefully.

"You shouldn't have done that," she finally murmured, wrapping gauze around his hand.

Clayton's voice was low, dangerous. "He tore your dress."

"You could have killed him."

"I wanted to."

The raw honesty in his voice made her pause. She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. The anger was still there, but there was something else too—something she couldn't name.

Olivia didn't know if it was the alcohol or the look in his eyes, but she found herself leaning closer. Without thinking, her fingers reached up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath her fingertips.

Clayton's hand shot up, catching her wrist. His touch sent sparks racing through her veins. For a moment, they were frozen. Then, with a growl, he pulled her against him.

Their lips crashed together. His mouth was hot and demanding against hers, stealing her breath and thoughts. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. She tasted mint and something uniquely him, and it made her head spin. Olivia's fingers clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel more of him.

But as quickly as it began, it ended. Clayton pulled away. "Get some sleep, Olivia." Without another word or glance in her direction, he strode to the door and closed it behind him.

Olivia smiled bitterly. How could she be so stupid?

He hadn't kissed her because he wanted her. He had kissed her because she was there, because for a brief moment, she reminded him of Caroline—beautiful, perfect Caroline, who, even in death, still held his heart completely.

That night, Olivia cried herself to sleep after finally admitting that she had loved him for so long she couldn't remember when it started.

The next day, when she woke up, Clayton was gone to the Military Academy. He had left without saying goodbye.