Chapter 12 - Scars and Silk
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The adrenaline of the gala crashed the moment they returned to the penthouse.
Ellie retreated to her bathroom, struggling to unzip the heavy midnight blue gown. Her ribs were screaming in agony, the muscles cramping from holding herself perfectly rigid for four hours. She reached blindly behind her back, her fingers slipping on the tiny zipper.
A soft knock interrupted her frustration.
“Ellie?” Jack’s voice called through the heavy door. “Do you need help?”
Pride told her to say no, but the sharp pain shooting up her spine forced a quiet, “Yes.”
Jack stepped into the opulent bathroom. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket and tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He walked over to her, his movements slow and deliberate, treating her like something fragile.
“Turn around,” he murmured.
She turned her back to him, staring at her own flushed reflection in the massive mirror. Jack’s large, calloused hands gently grasped the zipper. He pulled it down slowly, his knuckles brushing against her bare skin. The touch sent a completely unexpected shiver down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with fear.
The dress loosened, pooling around her waist. She held the silk to her chest, exposing her back and the edge of the heavy, white bandages wrapped around her ribs.
Jack didn’t look away. His eyes traced the stark white gauze, a dark, heavy guilt settling over his features.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice impossibly raw.
“You didn’t shoot me, Jack.”
“I brought the war into that room. I painted the target on my son. You just paid the price.”
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He reached out, his fingertips lightly tracing the uninjured skin just above the bandage. The gentleness from a man known for his brutality was staggering. Ellie looked at him in the mirror, their eyes locking. The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly thin, thick with an unspoken, dangerous tension.
For a terrifying second, Ellie realized she wasn’t just pretending to be his wife anymore. The lie was bleeding into reality.
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