The breaking point
499 Words
The drive back to the estate was a blur of throbbing pain and cold, concentrated fury. The makeshift bandage the security guard had wrapped around my forearm was already stained with a blooming circle of crimson, but I refused to let anyone touch it. I didn't want their sympathy, and I certainly didn't want Soren's brand of protective interference.
The moment the SUV pulled into the courtyard, I threw the door open myself.
The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, met me at the entrance, her eyes widening as she took in my pale face and the stained cloth around my arm. "Mrs. Evandor! Oh, goodness, let me call the estate doctor—"
"No," I snapped, my voice a sharp, brittle blade that cut her off instantly. I had never spoken to the staff like this, but the sheer volatility of the day had stripped away my politeness. "I don't want a doctor. I don't want food. I don't want water. Bring a first-aid kit to the stairs and leave me be."
A junior maid hurried over, placing a heavy white plastic medical kit into my uninjured hand. Without another word, I turned toward the grand staircase, gripping the handle tightly as I marched up to the East Wing. I slammed the heavy double doors of my bedroom behind me, locking the world out.
I stripped out of my ruined, dust-caked clothes and stepped into a hot bath, hissing through my teeth as the water stung the edges of the deep cut on my arm. Once clean, I sat on the edge of the bed, methodically cleaning the wound and wrapping it in clean, tight gauze.
I pulled on a heavy, oversized charcoal sweater and a pair of soft trousers, completely hiding the bandage. By the time the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed for dinner, the anger had settled into a cold, unbreakable resolve.
Downstairs, the heavy front doors of the estate flew open as Soren returned. The atmosphere in the foyer instantly turned lethal.
The lead security guard stepped forward immediately, his posture stiff. "Sir, we have a situation. The Vances bypassed standard perimeter protocols at the commercial block. They cornered Madam in the back gallery. An altercation ensued—her father forced a shelving unit down. Madam sustained a laceration to the forearm from broken glass. We extracted the threats immediately upon her command."
Soren’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched violently beneath his sharp jawline. His dark eyes flashed with an intense, terrifying heat.
Mrs. Gable hurried over next, her voice trembling. "Mr. Evandor, she refused the doctor. She was bleeding, snapped at the staff, took a medical kit, and locked herself in the East Wing. She won't let anyone in."
Soren didn't say a word. He threw his coat onto the foyer chair, his face a mask of pure fury as he marched straight toward the grand staircase. The lines of his contract didn't matter anymore; someone had touched what belonged under his roof.
- Writer
