Recovery did not come gently, nor did it arrive with the sterile comfort of the private hospital wing. It did not arrive with the careful, apologetic tones of the doctors who moved through the room like shadows, afraid that a loud word might shatter the woman in the bed.
Recovery came in jagged, agonizing fragments—disjointed moments where Victoria remembered how to breathe without the phantom weight of a hand over her mouth. It came when she realized she could sit in a room without immediately counting the exits, or close her eyes without seeing the flickering industrial light of the warehouse.
She woke screaming the first night back in the estate. The sound was raw, a primal thing that tore through the expensive silence of the master suite.
Charles was there before the sound had even
