Chapter 30 #2
I slammed the bedroom door shut, and this time, I turned the key with a force that nearly snapped the metal inside the lock. I stood there for a moment, my back to the room, my shoulders heaving as I forced the absolute fury back into its cage.
I turned back around, my chest still heaving, the fire in my eyes slowly cooling as I looked at the bed. Alex was wide-eyed, completely frozen. I could see the shock in her expression—she knew I protected her, but she had never seen me lay hands on my own blood for her sake.
I let out a long breath, my mask melting away entirely as I crossed the rug to meet her halfway. Her arms slid around my waist, pulling me into the safety of her hold, and I could feel the faint tremors still running through her own frame.
"Baby," she whispered, looking up into my eyes. "Is there anything I can do? Do you need a minute?"
My heart ached with a desperate, crushing tenderness. I smiled softly, my fingers cupping her face, my voice becoming a low, steady vow.
"No," I said. "You don't do anything. You are perfect. And nobody speaks to you like that—not in this house, and never, ever in front of me."
I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers.
"He looked at you as if you were just...
some girl. As if you were an object he could comment on.
" My fingers trailed down to the deep violet marks on her neck, my touch intensely possessive.
"He doesn't get to see you like this. Nobody does but me. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, Alex. "
She squeezed me tighter, burying her face in the silk of my robe. "I'm not going anywhere, Carrie. He's just an idiot."
"He’s an idiot who is leaving the second he can find his car keys," I murmured, kissing her temple. "Go back to bed, baby. Let me go downstairs and ensure he is sufficiently terrified, and then I’m coming back to you. I’m not letting anyone else ruin the start of our year."
When I returned a few minutes later, the lethal lightning in my veins had been replaced by a focused, nurturing calm.
I carried a silver tray, the rich, nutty aroma of her favourite latte filling the air before I even reached the mattress.
Beside it, a plate of perfectly toasted sourdough and fresh fruit.
Before I set it down, I turned back to the door and engaged the lock with a definitive, final click. The world was officially locked out.
"There," I murmured, settling against the plush headboard and pulling the tray onto my lap. "Only the best for you."
She reached for the latte, her hands still a little shaky from the residual adrenaline. I didn't say a word; I simply reached out and steadied her wrist, my thumb gently stroking the faint red line where the rope had bound her to me hours ago.
"Richard is confined to the guest room with a very clear understanding that if I hear his footsteps in the hall, he’ll be sleeping in his car," I said, my voice dropping into that smooth, conversational hum she loved.
I picked up a piece of toast, holding it directly to her lips.
"Eat. You’ve had a very long night, Alex.
And I intend to spend the rest of the morning making sure you feel exactly as cherished as you are. "
She took a bite, the beautiful, submissive compliance in her expression making the last of my tension drain away.
She looked at me, and I could see the realisation dawning on her—despite the interruption, our dynamic hadn't shifted a fraction of an inch.
If anything, my defence of her had only made my marks feel heavier, more permanent. She needed that certainty.
"Thank you, Mommy," she whispered between sips of the latte.
A small, triumphant smile played at the corners of my mouth. "You're very welcome, darling. Now, once you've finished every bit of this, I think we might just stay in this room until the sun goes down again. No idiot brother. Just us."
She stared at me, her mouth slightly agape, as I reached over to the nightstand and picked up a sleek, brushed-metal remote.
I pressed the button, and a soft, motorised whir filled the room.
At the foot of our bed, a hidden panel in the heavy oak cabinetry slid open, and the massive, ultra-thin television glided upward seamlessly.
Alex stared at it as if she had just witnessed a magic trick, her eyes wide with that beautiful, unrefined wonder that I adored so much about her.
"Wow," she breathed. "Are you serious? It's like Disney in here."
I let out a low, melodic chuckle, allowing a touch of the smugness I had earned to colour my tone. "I told you, darling—I take my comfort very seriously. And since we aren't leaving this bed for the foreseeable future, we might as well be entertained."
I navigated the screen with practiced ease, selecting a documentary on deep-sea bioluminescence—the exact kind of atmospheric, visual journey I knew her overactive mind would get lost in.
The room dimmed slightly as the vibrant blues and neon greens of the ocean floor cast a cool, ethereal glow over the rumpled sheets and our tangled limbs.
I set the remote down and pulled her back against my chest, her head resting perfectly on my shoulder.
My right hand remained on the tray, ready to feed her another piece of fruit, while my left hand migrated to its absolute favourite place—resting possessively, heavily, over the fresh marks on her thigh.
"There," I whispered, my lips grazing her warm temple. "The world is locked out, the interloper is silenced, and you have nothing to do but exist right here with me. Comfortable, baby?"
She leaned into me, her body melting into a state of total, blissful surrender as the steady rhythm of my heart tethered her to the bed.
"Perfect," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen. "Absolutely perfect."
The afternoon sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden slants across the room. The documentary had long finished, the tray was set aside, and Alex had drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep against my side, cocooned in my warmth.
The soft, hesitant rap-rap-rap on the door cut through the silence like a cold draft.
I tensed instantly, my muscles turning to cords beneath her cheek.
Beside me, Alex stirred, her hair a chaotic mess, her mind clearly struggling to bridge the gap between our sanctuary and the reality of the intruder I thought I had neutralised.
The marks on her neck, which I had spent hours perfecting, throbbed with a faint, rhythmic heat against my own skin as her pulse quickened.
"CC?" Richard’s voice drifted through the wood. It was rough, the boisterous, entitled bravado from this morning replaced by a thick, hungover rasp. He sounded genuinely hesitant—scared, even. As he damn well should have been. "Please... can we talk? Just for a minute?"
I looked down at Alex. She was disoriented, but her first instinct was to check on me. My expression was a mask of cool, clinical detachment, but the annoyance in my jaw was impossible to fully suppress. I gazed at her, checking to ensure she was properly covered by the duvet and the silk robe.
"One minute, Richard," I called back, my voice firm, glacial, and entirely devoid of warmth. "And do not move from the hallway."
I sighed, a long, weary sound, and turned to my girl. I reached out, tucking a loose, sleep-tousled strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her skin. "Stay under the covers, darling. I’m going to see what he wants so I can finally get him out of my house."
"Is he okay?" she whispered, her natural empathy poking through.
I felt a flash of dry, sharp amusement. "He’s hungover and realising he’s insulted the most dangerous person he knows. He’s exactly as 'okay' as he deserves to be."
I slid out of bed, adjusting my robe with a sharp, elegant tug of the silk.
I walked to the door, my posture regal and formidable.
I turned the lock with a deliberate click, opening the door only a few inches—my body serving as a literal, unbreachable barrier between the hallway and the sanctuary of our bed.
"Speak," I commanded.
Richard hesitated, his shadow flickering through the gap. "Can we... I don't know, sit down or something? My head is killing me, CC, and I just—"
I did not even let him finish. I began to pull the door shut, my face a mask of absolute indifference. "You have thirty seconds left."
"Fine! Fine, okay!" he blurted out, his voice cracking with desperation. "Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for the way I turned up, and I’m sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to insult whoever it is you're... you know, sleeping with."
The air in the room turned sub-zero. I felt my knuckles turn white on the door handle. My voice dropped to a lethal, quiet hiss. "If you refer to her as 'whoever I'm sleeping with' one more time, Richard, I will personally ensure that you are sleeping on the motorway."
"I’m sorry! I’m a prick, I know!" He sounded on the verge of a breakdown, the bravado completely purged by his hangover and his fear. "I lost my job, okay? Three weeks ago. I couldn't make rent, and I... I have nowhere else to go."
His voice dropped to a broken whisper. "You know Mum and Dad. They’d never let me move back in, not after the last time.
They'd just lecture me until I lost my mind.
" He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "And 'Perfect Peter' has his wife and his kids and his pristine life; he’d never help a failure like me. You’re the only one left, CC. Please."
I stood perfectly still. The silence stretched out, long and agonising, as I weighed my protective instinct for our privacy against the pathetic, undeniable reality of his desperation. I did not look back at Alex, but I could feel her eyes on me, watching the internal battle.
"You're pathetic, Richard," I said finally, the ice in my voice thawing into exhausted resignation.
"I know," he mumble. "I really do."