Chapter 2 Do Not Touch Her
1000 Words
Once she ended the call, Rebecca instructed her lawyer to draft divorce papers.
As she had expected, Samuel did not return that night.
The only thing that reached her was a cold, detached text: Natalie's old injury flared up. No one's here to look after her. I won't be back tonight. Get some rest.
As usual, he had someone deliver German chamomile tea to her.
Years ago, after her father, Vincent Summers, was killed by enemies, Rebecca spent night after night sleepless.
Wanting her to rest, Samuel traveled everywhere, asking and searching, until he learned German chamomile tea could ease insomnia.
Back then, he had just returned from the battlefield, his gunshot wound still untreated, yet he immediately flew a military transport plane to Germany and brought back an entire plane's worth of chamomile tea for her.
But now? Rebecca took the cup from the subordinate who offered it, studied its contents briefly, then tossed the whole thing into the wastebasket.
"Don't bother sending this anymore."
The next morning, her mind was focused on the practical task of collecting the finalized divorce papers from her lawyer's office.
But as she prepared to leave, a commotion at the entrance shattered the morning's fragile peace. Several of her guards burst in, their faces pale with alarm.
"Ms. Summers! There's an unauthorized vehicle forcing entry into the restricted perimeter. We've tried to stop them, but they won't back down."
A cold knot of foreboding tightened in her chest.
Abandoning her plans, Rebecca drove straight to the scene.
In the distance, she could make out the standoff: a small group of her people had positioned themselves as a human barricade in front of a rugged military-grade off-roader.
Her breath caught. She knew that vehicle—she knew it as intimately as she knew the lines of Samuel's face. It was his.
He knew the rules of this land better than anyone. This joint Summers-family and military district project was strictly off-limits to all unauthorized personnel. Himself included.
'So how could he dare?'
But as Rebecca closed the distance, the face that leaned defiantly out of the driver's side window was not his. It was Natalie's, wearing a look of entitled impatience.
"Move it! I checked the charts—tonight's meteor shower is best viewed from this exact spot. What would any of you grunts know about that?"
Rebecca marched forward, her boots crunching on the frost-hardened ground. She didn't look at Natalie.
Instead, she turned to the nearest subordinate, her voice dangerously calm. "What is the standard penalty for breaching a military restricted zone?"
The young soldier's voice wavered. "For minor violations... court-martial, ma'am. For those who forcibly resist orders after repeated warnings," he said, swallowing hard, "lethal force is authorized."
Without another word, Rebecca drew her sidearm in one smooth, practiced motion. The cold steel of the barrel came to rest firmly against Natalie's forehead.
"Then what are you all waiting for? Do I have to pull the trigger myself?" Rebecca's gaze swept over her stunned team.
Her people froze, a wave of palpable fear washing over them. Finally, one managed to stammer, "But... Ms. Summers, Ms. Barnes is... she's with Mr. Wesley. We... we don't have the authority..."
Rebecca's arm, extended and steady, seemed to turn to ice. The gun felt suddenly ten times heavier.
So even her own men saw it. Natalie was Samuel's. A public, undeniable fact.
And what did that make her, the woman with the legal title "Mrs. Wesley"?
Seemingly unperturbed by the weapon at her head, Natalie pushed the car door open and stepped down. She was bundled in a stylish black down jacket, but it was the scarf around her neck that stole Rebecca's breath.
Army-green. Samuel's signature color. The very one Rebecca had spent nights knitting for him, stitch by careful stitch.
Natalie said, tilting her head with a mocking smile, "Really, Ms. Summers? Is violence always your first answer? No wonder Sam says being around you is like being stuck in a permanent war zone—no room to even breathe. He told me you're driving him insane."
She took a deliberate step closer, invading Rebecca's space. With a slow, provocative gesture, she loosened the scarf.
Beneath it, the skin of her neck was a canvas of vivid, deep red marks—love bites, unmistakable and fresh.
The world seemed to tilt. Rebecca's face drained of all color. Her grip on the pistol tightened until her knuckles shone white.
"For trespassing in a military restricted zone and openly defying lawful orders. Restrain her. Take her to the holding cell for court-martial proceedings," she commanded, her voice ringing with a cold, metallic finality.
A loud gunshot cracked through the tense silence, making everyone jump.
"REBECCA!" Samuel exploded onto the scene, his vehicle skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust.
His eyes were wide, veins standing out on his neck.
Seeing Rebecca's men moving to tie Natalie, he lunged forward, kicking one soldier so hard the man stumbled back several feet.
In an instant, Samuel placed himself squarely between Natalie and any perceived threat, his body a shield.
But when his furious gaze finally landed on Rebecca, it was so cold it felt capable of stopping her heart. "Rebecca, I told you. Do. Not. Touch. Her."
She met his glare without flinching, her own eyes like chips of flint.
"As a commander of mercenary forces, you are fully aware of the violation. Unauthorized entry into a joint military restricted zone carries—"
"I'll handle the consequences. Any fallout, any inquiry—I'll take full responsibility," he snapped, cutting her off.
'Full responsibility?'
The words echoed emptily in her mind.
She thought, 'How? How could he possibly shield her from this? What twisted logic or blatant abuse of power does he have in mind?'
Turning his back on Rebecca as if she were no longer there, Samuel addressed the guards at the perimeter gate, his tone brooking no argument.
"Open it. Let her through."
- Writer
