Meant for love, bound by blood

Rescued From Silence

The pounding tore her out of sleep.

Adeline blinked into the dark, heart stumbling. She turned her head to the clock on the nightstand: 3:00 a.m. She had only managed an hour of rest.

“Adeline.” Andrew’s voice, flat at first. Then harder: “Open the door.”

She swung her legs out of bed, cinched her cardigan tight around her camisole and shorts, and moved toward the sound.

The pounding escalated. “Open it. Now.”

She unlatched the door.

Andrew shoved it wide and was on her before she could speak. His hand caught her wrist, then her hair, dragging her forward.

“What the hell—” She twisted, clawed at his arm. Her nails raked skin; he hissed, yanked harder. Her head jerked back, pain flashing hot across her scalp.

“Move.” His voice was low, deadly.

She kicked, bare heel slamming into his shin. He cursed, shoved her toward the stairs. She spun, landed an elbow in his ribs. He grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen.

“Stop fighting.”

She didn’t. Her fists pummeled whatever she could reach—his shoulder, his jaw, his side. He hauled her down the hallway, her feet dragging, scraping across the carpet, every inch a battlefield.

At the top of the stairs, she twisted violently, nearly breaking free. His hand tangled in her hair again, wrenching her balance, sending them both stumbling. She lashed out, her nails catching the side of his neck, leaving angry red streaks.

“You’re insane!” she spat.

His only reply was a brutal tug downward. She stumbled step after step, catching herself against the banister, shoving, clawing, kicking all the way down.

By the time they reached the foyer, both of them were marked—her skin raw where he’d grabbed, his arms and neck bleeding from her scratches. Her chest heaved, hair tangled, cardigan slipping from one shoulder.

The front door gaped open. A car idled outside, headlights casting pale beams across the marble floor. The driver stood waiting, face expressionless.

Andrew dragged her the last few feet. She thrashed, twisting free for a breath before he shoved her bodily through the rear door. She landed hard on the seat, hair falling across her face, cardigan askew.

She scrambled for the handle, but the lock clicked. The driver slid behind the wheel, pulling away.

Andrew dropped into the seat beside her, his chest rising and falling. Both of them were bruised, scratched, feral.

She turned on him, voice hoarse but steady. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t look at her at first. When he did, his jaw was set like iron. “The hospital.”

Her pulse kicked. “For what?”

“You’re going to apologize to Amelia.”

—————

The hospital room door slammed open.

Adeline stumbled in, shoved so hard she lost her footing and fell forward to her knees. The cold tile bit into her skin, cardigan slipping from one shoulder, bare feet raw from being dragged across pavement. Her hair hung in tangled waves around her face, one lip split and bleeding. Red welts ringed her wrists where Andrew’s grip had been too tight.

Andrew followed, chest heaving, scratches burning bright across his arms and neck. He looked like a wild animal, but she was no better—her body bore the marks of their brutal struggle.

The family stared. Lorraine’s breath caught in her throat, her emerald eyes widening in shock. Malcolm’s brows furrowed as his hands clenched tight at his sides. James’s jaw hardened, a flicker of concern breaking his otherwise detached expression. Brandon sat apart, not looking up from the paperwork he was intently reviewing, his indifference louder than words.

But it was Amelia who commanded their attention. She lay propped against pillows, pale and fragile beneath hospital lights, an oxygen tube resting against her nose, her hazel-green eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked like porcelain, breakable, angelic.

Andrew shoved Adeline forward again. She caught herself on her palms, knees aching against the floor.

Lorraine’s voice broke. “Your sister collapsed in the street tonight. Dehydrated. Nearly unconscious. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Adeline raised her chin, her voice steady despite the rawness in her throat. “She ran out on her own. She staged her collapse. If she was careless, then the consequences are hers to bear.”

Gasps cut the air. Lorraine’s hand flew to her mouth. Malcolm’s face hardened. Amelia’s tears slipped free.

“Enough,” Malcolm barked. “You’ll apologize. Now.”

Adeline’s lips curved in the faintest defiance. “I won’t play her part for her.”

Malcolm’s hand lashed out before thought.

The slap cracked through the room. Her head whipped so violently to the side that her vision blurred, knees buckling. She nearly collapsed—but a hand caught her before she hit the floor.

Nikolai had moved first.

He pulled her upright against him, one arm wrapped across her back, the other tilting her chin with impossible gentleness. His eyes locked on the mark spreading across her cheek, and in them, something hardened into steel.

“You strike her again,” he said evenly, his voice like the edge of a blade, “and it won’t be words you’ll answer to.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Brandon finally lowered his phone, slow and deliberate. His expression sharpened. “Daniels,” he said flatly. “What’s the meaning of this? How do you know my sister?”

Nikolai’s gaze cut to him, cold and level. “Your sister?” He shifted Adeline gently, her lashes damp against his chest. “What I see is a girl bruised, bloodied, and struck by her father. That’s not what I’d call family.”

The words hung heavy. Malcolm flinched. Lorraine’s lips trembled.

Brandon’s jaw tightened, though his voice stayed clipped. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“It doesn’t need explaining.” Nikolai’s tone dropped like a blade. “She’s not someone you cross. That’s all you need to know.”

Amelia’s breath caught. Her nails dug into the sheets. Not someone you cross? Why her? Why does he hold her like that? Her chest burned, humiliation sharp as glass. He won’t even look at me.

“How?” she blurted, voice trembling. “How does she even know you? She’s… she’s not even in your circle. She’s barely nineteen. And you’re—you’re years older. What is she to you?”

Nikolai didn’t so much as glance at her. “Not your concern.”

The dismissal was devastating.

Lorraine stammered, “Mr. Daniels, you don’t under—”

“I understand perfectly.” His gaze sliced through Malcolm and Brandon both. “You let this happen. You let her be dragged here in the middle of the night, beaten, humiliated, all so you could protect the comfort of the fake one.”

Adeline stirred faintly, whispering into his chest, “Please. Take me away from here.”

His voice softened only for her. “Always.”

And with that, Nikolai swept her up fully, carrying her bridal-style through the door. At the threshold, he cast one last warning over his shoulder.

“You won’t touch her again. Not while I’m here.”

The door closed behind them, final as a slammed gavel.

The Carmichaels sat in silence, heavy as stone. Lorraine’s sobs filled it. Malcolm’s hands trembled. James exhaled slowly, lips pressed thin. Brandon’s face was unreadable, though behind his eyes, new calculations sparked.

Then Amelia’s voice broke through, trembling but sharp beneath its softness. “Do you not see? This is what she’s been doing—sneaking behind our backs. Look at him. Men like Nikolai Daniels don’t just appear. They don’t hold girls like her without reason. She must be his mistress… or worse. His plaything. And what does that make us? What does that make our family?”

Her words were cloaked in concern, but venom coiled beneath them. Lorraine froze, shame prickling her skin. Malcolm’s jaw clenched. Andrew’s fists curled, fury simmering without direction. Doubt took root in their silence.

Brandon finally looked up, his voice clipped and final. “That’s enough, Amelia. Daniels doesn’t waste his time on that. And you’d do well to remember it.”

He shut her down, but the seed was already planted. Lorraine’s tears blurred with unease, Malcolm stared hard at the floor, and Andrew seethed without clarity.

Amelia leaned pitifully against her mother, tears streaking her face, her body soft, fragile. Inside, her heart seethed. Let them doubt. Let them turn against her. She doesn’t belong here—and I’ll make sure she never does.