Chapter 48
1136 Words
Elias POV
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly, bending down immediately—instinctively—to pick up the pieces herself.
I turn back toward Camille just as I hear Mara’s breath hitch. The sound is faint, but it cuts straight through me. My eyes drop, and I see it—blood spilling from her hand, red against her skin.
My body reacts before my mind does.
I almost rush to her.
Almost.
But I didn't move.
Margaret hurries forward at once, kneeling to help gather the broken glass from the floor as Mara straightens and turns away, already heading upstairs. She doesn’t look back.
It must really hurt.
I thought in my mind.
The thought presses hard against my chest.
Before Camille continued speaking, the front door opens.
The private doctor for Mara arrives.
Relief crashes through me as he approaches me.
Thank Goodness.
It was the only way out of this moment.
“Excuse me, Mother. I’ll be back,” I muttered, already moving. I lead the doctor upstairs, my steps quick, my jaw tight. When we reach Mara’s room, I push the door open without knocking.
There was no sight of her.
The room was empty.
I searched for her, my eyes scanning everywhere, but there was still nothing.
I saw her come up here.
So where was she?
I turn just as the bathroom door opens.
She steps out slowly, one hand wrapped in a small towel, her movements careful and restrained. My gaze drops to her hand instantly.
Blood was still seeping through the cloth.
I cross the room in two strides and grab her wrist before she could react.
She stiffens.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, trying to pull away from my grip, which only tightens instead.
“You’re not,” I snap, gently removing the towel.
The cut seems deeper than I thought—angry red against her skin.
My chest tightens harder this time, the pressure almost painful. I guided her to the bed and sat her down.
Reluctantly, I release her hand as the doctor steps in and takes control. He studies the wound, clicking his tongue as he prepares antiseptic and bandages. Mara doesn’t protest. She barely reacts at all as he administers her medication, her gaze distant, fixed on some invisible point in the corner of the room.
I stood there and watched.
I studied her face.
She doesn't look hurt.
She looks upset.
She must be upset about something
The doctor cleans the wound carefully and wraps it with practiced precision. After that, he administers her usual dosage for the day. When he was done, he turned to face me.
“Mrs. Lawson is done with her treatment,” he says firmly. “She’s good to go, but she should rest a little.”
I nodded once.
Mara says nothing too.
When the doctor left, silence settled heavily in the room. It pressed in from all sides. I turned ust in time to see her reaching for her coat.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting dressed.”
“You’re supposed to rest.”
She doesn’t look at me. She walks to the mirror, applies her gloss, and for a moment it’s as if I don’t exist at all. When she’s done, she undoes her ponytail, attending to her hair, and finally speaks.
“I prefer going to work.”
“No,” I say automatically, stepping closer to where she was. “You’re not going anywhere. The doctor instructed you to rest.”
That made her pause.
Slowly, she turns to face me.
“And who are you to decide that?”
The question lands like a slap.
“Don’t start,” I say. “You should—”
“You should be downstairs,” she cuts in. “With your wife-to-be.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“I don’t care about your life,” she says, grabbing her bag. “And you shouldn’t care about mine.”
She brushes past me, her shoulder striking mine as she heads for the door. Instinct takes over. I grab her by the waist and pin her gently but firmly against the door.
My breath is hot against her face.
She looks away, refusing to meet my eyes.
I hate that—hate the way she’s angry over something I’ve never decided, the way she’s acting as though I don’t matter at all right now.
“I—I want to leave now,” she says, her eyes darting around the room, everywhere but at me.
I only stare at her.
I take her in—every detail. The fine sheen of sweat along her hairline. Her brown eyes avoiding mine. The freckles scattered across her skin like a constellation. The way her throat moves when she swallows.
I saw everything, the effect I have on her.
And then I let her go.
She grabs the door handle and leaves without looking back.
She was still disobeying me.
She's supposed to be resting right now, but she chose to go out.
That realization ignites something sharp and volatile in my chest. I left the room minutes later, already seething.
Richard greets me the moment I arrive at the company. I nod once and kept walking.
As we pass the reception, voices reach me—low and careless.
“…First it was her sister-in-law’s fiancé—” One said
“…Now it’s her husband’s brother—”
Every head snaps down the moment they notice my presence. I turn slowly to Richard, my voice deadly calm.
“Fire them.”
He blinks. “Sir?”
“Every single one,” I repeat. “Immediately.”
No hesitation this time. “Yes, sir.”
I continued walking to my office. I slam the door harder than necessary and drop into my chair, fists clenched tight. Later, Richard returns to confirm that the two staff members have been dismissed.
That’s the punishment for speaking her name like that.
Work becomes an illusion. My thoughts circle back to Mara—her attitude, her distance. I glance at the glass wall, half-expecting to see her there.
Her seat, empty.
If I had the chance, I would show her exactly what happens to people who go against my orders. I drag a hand through my hair, frustration burning.
Camille’s words flashes in my mind.
What right does she think she has deciding my marriage?
Evening creeps in unnoticed.
I lean back in my chair, exhausted, when Richard enters again, holding out his tablet.
“The news is already everywhere.” He said, handing out his tablet.
The news came in view, seeing the news of my engagement with Jacqueline.
My jaw clenched as I figured out the one person behind this.
Camille..
- Writer
