Chapter 16
Dahlia:
The soup shouldn’t taste this good.
I sit cross-legged on the bed, bowl balanced on my knees, spoon in hand like I’m five again and hiding upstairs from my mom.
The broth is hot, rich, buttery, and way too comforting for a prison meal.
Each swallow makes my body sigh in relief, which only puts me more on edge.
Comfort is dangerous. Comfort makes you forget you’re locked in the tower.
I shove the spoon back into the bowl and scowl down at it. Really? I’ve been kidnapped, branded, and trapped in a billionaire’s lair, and I’m complimenting the soup? Nice priorities, Dahlia.
The door creaks, and I nearly dump the whole thing into my lap. Mrs. Price, the housekeeper who brought me lunch earlier, steps in.
She’s an older woman, hair tied back in a neat bun and an apron dusted with flour. She’s carrying what looks like folded clothing.
“Oh, good,” she says, spotting the half-empty bowl. “You’re eating.”
I blink. “Should I not be?”
Her smile deepens, like she’s in on some secret. “I was a bit worried you wouldn’t. He’s been impossible, pacing holes in the floor over you.”
My stomach knots, spoon frozen halfway up. “You mean Xander?”
She gives me a look that says obviously. “Who else? Don’t let his growling fool you—he’s better than he seems. Just doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he’s finally got a wife in the house.”
I choke. I have to thump my chest to swallow the bite of soup trying to kill me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to him calling me his “wife.”
She shrugs, matter-of-fact. “It’s about time, if you ask me. Man his age, no one to share this place with. He doesn’t even bring his nieces and nephews over. Stubborn. He needs someone to soften him. A little romance in his life.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Right. Because that’s what this situation screams. Romance.”
The housekeeper doesn’t flinch at my muttering. She just tucks the folded clothes into a drawer that’s already full, eyes twinkling like I’m Belle and she’s my talking teapot. “Give it time, dear. He just needs someone who won’t let him brood all alone in this big house.”
“The man drugged me, tattooed me, and locked me in here. Pretty sure I’m qualified to think he’s exactly as bad as people think.”
She hums like I didn’t say a word and heads for the door. But when she pulls it open, there’s someone already on the other side.
A man in his fifties with thinning hair and a leather bag slung over his shoulder looks startled, but recovers quickly.
“Dr. Clark,” he announces, voice smooth, practiced.
Relief rises and falls in the same breath when I notice who’s standing just behind him in the hall. Xander. Arms folded. Silent. Watching.
The doctor shifts under that weight, his shoes squeaking against the floor. The housekeeper pats his shoulder like she’s seen this dance before and slips past him without another glance.
Now it’s just me, the doctor, and the shadow that owns the doorway.
Xander stays rooted outside, like stone, and I almost breathe easier. I can’t help wondering if he knows that. If he’s doing it on purpose.
The doctor tries to smile, but his weight keeps shifting, nervous energy leaking out in every twitch of his hands. “Mrs. Everette,” he says, fumbling over the name. “I’m here to check on you.”
“It’s not Everette, it’s Sinclair. Dahlia Sinclair.”
I push up, meaning to stand, but his hand lifts fast.
“No, no—stay seated. Dahlia.” He says my name, humoring me, but it’s better than Mrs. Everette, so I’ll take it.
So I sit, legs sliding over the side of the bed, blanket pulled across my lap.
The doctor clears his throat and kneels. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Headache?”
I force my shoulders straight. “I’m fine.”
Except my head still pounds every time I breathe too deeply. A sharp reminder of how close I came to being killed. I keep my gaze down. As of right now, Xander doesn’t seem to realize I saw him there.
The doctor reaches into his bag, pulling out one of those pen-like flashlights they all seem to carry. “Let’s just check.”
The light slices into my pupils. I clamp down on the urge to blink, holding steady because the last thing I want is to look weak while Xander’s watching.
“Good response,” the doctor mutters. He scribbles something on a pad. His eyes flick past me, toward the hall, and dart away again.
Xander hasn’t shifted an inch. A statue in the doorway.
The doctor sets things aside and reaches for the bandage at my temple. “We’ll have a look at this cut.”
The second his fingers brush the gauze, pain sparks, and I can’t stop the hiss that escapes my teeth.
Xander takes a step forward, and the air shifts, heavy enough to press against my ribs. The doctor’s hand jerks back as if burned.
“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, eyes wide. “Didn’t mean to…”
I glance at Xander. His eyes catch mine, reading something, and he leans back into the wall again, contained but not gone.
“I fell,” I try, but the words sound weak even to me.
The doctor doesn’t question it. His eyes flick once toward the hall, then back to his notes. He keeps his voice low, clinical. Dizziness, appetite, sleep. Quick boxes to tick, nothing more.
Thankfully, the doctor works fast, fresh gauze wrapped around my temple. The sting fades once it’s covered, but the pressure makes my jaw clench.
“Take these now and another two every six hours. You need to stay ahead of the pain.” He hands me two pills, then goes to set the bottle on my nightstand.
“Give them to me,” Xander commands.
The doctor tosses them back as if already expecting it. “Rest. Hydration, and don’t forget to keep eating.” His tone is brisk, like he’s talking to a chart instead of me. “Change the bandage daily.”
He finally looks at me. Just a flick of the eyes, pity written in it before he looks away again. It hits harder than the tug of the bandage. He knows. He won’t say it, won’t help, but he knows.
“Will you be back?” My voice is sharper than I mean, chasing that look.
He hesitates, shoulders stiff.
“I’ll handle it from now on.” Xander’s voice cuts from the hall. Calm. Final.
My mouth opens, words ready to fight, but the doctor’s already snapping his bag closed, eager to be gone. “Call me if there are any changes.” He doesn’t look back as he slips out, careful not to get too close to Xander.
The silence sits heavily after the door shuts, the doctor’s shoes scuffing as he hurries down the hall.
“You scared him half to death.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His answer is low, steady. “You say that like it wasn’t intentional.”
I drag the blanket tighter around me until it’s bunched at my throat. The soup on the nightstand has gone cold, but the pounding in my skull is lighter, the bandage snug instead of pulling.
I don’t feel safe again until Xander’s gone.