Chapter 5 - The Serpent's Grip
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Andrew stood in the hallway, looking immaculate in his tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his smile radiant with the high of public praise. To anyone else, he was the picture of a noble, heroic physician.
To me, he was a monster in a custom suit.
"There you are," Andrew said smoothly, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. "I've been looking everywhere for you. The photographers from the Times want a portrait of us together with the award."
His sharp hazel eyes swept over me, instantly catching the slight discrepancy in my outfit. His gaze locked onto my right wrist, where a sliver of dark purple bruising peeked out from beneath my new black cuff.
Andrew’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a cold, dangerous glint.
"You changed your blouse," he noted softly, his voice dropping into that chilling, dangerous register he used when we were alone in his brownstone.
"I... I spilled some wine while setting up the donor gift bags," I lied smoothly.
"Of course you did," Andrew murmured. He stepped closer, reaching out to wrap his long, surgeon’s fingers around my upper arm—placing his thumb directly over the deep, agonizing bruise he had given me two nights ago. He squeezed, hard. "You really need to be more careful, darling."
I choked back a gasp of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Take your hand off her."
The command cut through the quiet room like a blade.
Andrew froze. He turned his head slowly as Ethan stepped out from behind the door, his tall frame blocking the exit, his eyes burning with lethal fury.
May you like
Andrew’s grip relaxed slightly, though he kept his hand resting casually on my shoulder. "Mr. Carter," Andrew said, his voice instantly switching back to his charming, respectful public tone. "I didn't realize my fiancée was in here assisting you."
"She isn't assisting me," Ethan said, taking two slow, deliberate steps forward. "She works for me. And you are hurting her."
