The wife he bought

chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Zara’s POV

I feel tired all the time. I did nothing. I only had to sit at home all day. My meds are almost out, would need a trip to the hospital soon. My life here wasn't so bad. I have gotten used to it, being treated with the utmost respect and bring addressed as “Mrs Voss” that I haven't gotten used to.

I had already began to love my life even before I knew it. And a part of me didn't want it to end —-- I wanted more. Yes more.

I had an alarm set for breakfast, Why. I wanted to eat with him, just wanted to be in his presence.

Damien was warm underneath the cold aura and attitude he wore like armor. But when he looked at me, frost cracked. His voice stayed ice,but his hands, when they brushed mine, were a secret furnace.

I was watching a movie downstairs.

The movie was at the part where the heroine finds the villain bleeding at an alley. Ironic.

I paused it when I heard the front door. 2:17 AM. Damien was home.

He walked past the living room like a shadow with a limp. Then I saw it — a thin line of blood sliding from his hairline, down his chin. It dripped onto the white marble. One, two, three dark spots.

“Damien?” I was up before I decided to be.

He didn’t stop. “Go to bed, Zara.”

I followed him anyway. His rules didn’t apply when he was bleeding.

The injury hadn’t happened clean. Earlier that night at the docks, the shipping containers had been half empty. Again. Roman’s men had been waiting. Not a full crew — just enough to send a message. A crowbar to the ribs, a fist with a ring to the head. Damien had given worse than he got. The shipment was gone, but so were two of Roman’s men. Blood for cargo. That was the trade tonight. He’d driven himself home one-handed, pressing his jacket to his head at red lights.

I pushed his bedroom door open without knocking.

He was in the bathroom, white shirt half unbuttoned, trying to see the cut in the mirror. His knuckles were split. The cut wasn’t deep, maybe an inch, but head wounds always bled like murder scenes.

“I said go away.” His voice was gravel and winter. Same cold aura he wore for everyone else.

“No.” I grabbed the first aid kit from under his sink. He always kept one close. Occupational hazard. “Sit” I said to him.

“I’m fine.” he said “leave my room I didn't give you permission to come in”.

“You’re dripping on the tile. Sit, or I’ll make you.” I said firmly.

That earned me a look. Not angry. Surprised. Nobody made Damien Voss do anything.

He sat on the edge of the tub.

The cut was jagged, just at his hairline. I wet a cloth with warm water. He flinched when I touched him, but didn’t pull back. Up close, he smelled like rain, copper, and the cigar he had smoked.

“Roman?” I asked, dabbing.

“Shipping issue.” he replied

“That’s what you call it?” my hands still on his head

“That’s what it was.” He exhaled. “Containers were light. He wanted to renegotiate terms with a crowbar.”

I pressed gauze to the cut. “You won the negotiation?” I asked not out of curiosity I wanted to keep him talking.

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “We reached an understanding.”

For a minute, it was just the sound of water in the sink and his breathing. His eyes were closed. The cold aura was gone. Underneath, he was just tired. And warm. His skin under my fingers was warm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “You should be scared of me on nights like this.”

“I am,” I admitted. “But I’m more scared of you bleeding out because you’re too stubborn to let someone help.”

He opened his eyes. Gray, like a storm that hadn’t decided to break. “Why aren’t you listening to me tonight?”

“Because you look human for once.” I taped the gauze down. “And humans need help.” I said.

He huffed. A real sound. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe.” I started cleaning his knuckles. “You want to tell me why Roman’s so desperate to h****k Voss shipments lately?”

“Because my father’s slipping.”

Old Voss. The name dropped the temperature 10 degrees.

Damien leaned back against the tile, watching me work. “He thinks if he marries younger, cuts harder deals, screws over old allies, it’ll make him strong again. It’s making him reckless. And reckless gets men killed. Roman smells it.” he explained to me.

I didn’t look up. “Is that why you’re out at 2 AM fixing his mistakes?”

“Someone has to keep the family from burning down.”

The word _family_ sat ugly between us. I knew why.

I finished his hand and reached for the antiseptic. He caught my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me.

“You’re bruised, why do you have new bruises.”

“i must have pumped into something,” I lied. It wasn’t.

Just a guy with cuts on his knuckles, another on his head and a grief he never talked about.

He lets go. “Talk to me. Distract me. Before I decide this was a bad idea.” he said to me in a cold calm commanding voice

So I talked. About the stupid movie. About how the villain never lets the girl help. About how unrealistic it was because no one bleeds that much and still monologues.