Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ariana
I woke to sunlight streaming through the window, bathing the room in a soft glow. Despite how long I’d slept, I still felt bone-tired. Like my body had been fighting a war in my sleep and barely survived. My limbs were heavy, my eyelids gritty, as if I’d been crying.
When I finally managed to focus my gaze, it immediately fell on Henry. His breathing was deep and even, his lips parted slightly. His stubble had thickened into the kind of rugged scruff I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel across my bare skin. Between my thighs.
I quickly shook off the thought, carefully sliding out of bed and tiptoeing out of the room, mindful not to wake him up.
As I descended the stairs into the sun-drenched living room, Cato jumped up from his bed, his tail wagging.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, scratching him between his ears.
His tail wagged even harder as he bounded toward the front door, lightly pawing at it.
“You need to go out?”
I probably imagined it, but I could have sworn he responded with a single nod of his head.
“Okay, pal.”
The instant I opened the door, he bolted out of the house and off the porch in one enormous leap, kicking up snow all around him. He did several happy circles, heavy flakes clinging to his coat, before he glanced my way with an expectant look.
“Maybe I’ll come out and play later.”
He tilted his head to the side for a beat, then darted off, vanishing behind the pines.
I closed the door and shuffled into the kitchen, powering up the one-cup brewer. After a sip of coffee, I turned my attention to the refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients I needed to make a frittata.
My hands moved without thinking, cracking eggs, chopping vegetables. The rhythm calmed me. It felt good to be able to do something normal again.
When I met Victor, I loved how he pampered me. I was happy not to have to worry about all the mundane burdens of my old life — laundry, cleaning, cooking. Having someone who could do all those things for me seemed like a dream.
A fairy tale.
I didn’t realize they were pieces of my freedom.
If I’d known then what I knew now, I never would have traded my independence for silk sheets and a full-time staff who saw everything but said nothing.
I hummed to myself as I moved around the kitchen, already feeling more at home in this place than I ever did in the house I shared with my husband. Just as I popped the frittata into the oven, I heard a scratch at the door.
I headed toward it, and Cato barreled inside, shaking off snow in the entryway mudroom before making a beeline toward his bowl.
He danced around my feet as I scooped out some of his kibble, causing me to almost trip over him.
But the instant his food hit the bowl, he buried his face in it, hungrily gobbling it up as if he hadn’t eaten in ages.
I watched him for a few moments, unable to stop the smile that tugged on my mouth as he ate, his tail wagging with every mouthful. Then I headed back to the kitchen and washed my hands. I grabbed a container of strawberries from the refrigerator and began slicing them.
Just as I pulled the frittata out of the oven, I made out the creak of floorboards upstairs, followed by a door opening and closing. I peeked around the corner, finding the bedroom door still closed. Then I heard the faint sound of water running —the shower.
I grabbed the mug I’d seen Henry use and prepared him a cup of black coffee. After arranging the fruit and frittata on a plate, I brought it upstairs along with his coffee, carefully balancing both in order to nudge the bedroom door open.
Heading to the sitting area in the corner of the room, I set the plate and mug down on the small table. I was about to leave when the bathroom door swung open.
A wave of steam rolled out, followed by Henry clad in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. His chest glistened, his skin still damp from the shower, and my mouth went dry.
This man was pure perfection. I’d seen him shirtless before, but never like this. Never with the light tracing every plane and ridge of him like a sculpture.
Like a goddamn work of art.
And that was exactly what he was.
A masterpiece.
Oblivious to my presence, he moved toward the duffel bag, turning his back to me.
But unlike his chest, his back was covered in scars. So many scars.
Angry. Raised. Raw.
They slashed across his skin, like a road map of pain he didn’t want anyone to see.
A small, involuntary gasp escaped me as I stared at his flesh.
Henry whirled around, his eyes widening when he realized I was there.
“What happened?” I asked in a shaky voice.
I could have written it off as some injury from his military days, but I knew deep in my marrow it wasn’t. That the reason behind all those marks had a lot to do with why he was the way he was.
“Don’t pretend to care,” he bit out before turning from me once more and rummaging through his duffel bag.
“I wasn’t pretending. I do?—”
“Not everyone lives a charmed life, Mrs. Kane .” He grabbed his clothes and started toward the bathroom, limping slightly.
Rage boiled in my chest. I was so sick of him thinking I lived the perfect life.
That I had everything I could ever want.
That because I lived on Star Island in a house that cost millions of dollars, had a closet full of designer dresses, and a staff that was always at my beck and call, everything about my life was idyllic.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Storming toward him, I wrapped my hand around his arm, stopping him before he could disappear. Close the door.
Shut me out.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at him. If I did this, there was no going back.
I wasn’t sure what scared me more.
That he’d learn the truth and pity me.
Or that he wouldn’t believe me at all.
But I was done keeping Victor’s secrets for fear of what he’d do to me.
Victor wasn’t here.
I needed to do this.
For me.
“You think I live a charmed life?” I snapped. “Because I’m draped in diamonds and gowns and live in a mansion, you think my life is a goddamn fairy tale?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared.
“Well, it’s not. It’s anything but.” I released my hold on him. “I meant what I said at the gala. I haven’t been living. I’ve been surviving . Every fucking minute of every fucking day. That’s all I’ve done.”
Not allowing myself a chance to change my mind, I yanked my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor with a thump, the chill of the air causing goosebumps to prickle my skin.
It wasn’t the fact I was standing in front of him in only a bra and panties that made me feel exposed.
It was because I was allowing him to see the real me. The mottled skin along my waist. The bruises that hadn’t faded from my ribs. The angry scar where Victor had recently carved into me, reminding me I was nothing more than property.
His property .
Or, according to the word carved into my skin, his whore.
Henry sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes traced over every single mark on my body.
“Who did this to you?” His question was low, but it cut through the room like a blade.
“You know who,” I whispered, tears burning at my eyelids, but I refused to let them fall.
“A name, Ariana.” His voice was steel, but his entire body trembled with barely restrained fury. “I need a fucking name.”
I parted my lips, my words caught in my throat with the weight of what I was about to say. What I needed to say.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, “Victor.”
The silence that followed was deafening as I waited for his reaction.
Would he believe me?
Or would it be like Victor had warned? That no one would take me seriously. That it was my word against his and he was too well-liked and respected.
“These marks here…” Henry skimmed a finger along my throat. “How did you get them?”
“Victor almost choked me to death because I spoke to you at the gala. It wasn’t the first time he did it. But it was the first time I thought he was actually going to kill me.”
Henry’s face twisted with something awful. Guilt. Rage. Regret.
“When did he do this?” He nodded at the letters branded into my skin.
“The first time? When we were married for about a month.”
His muscles tightened even more. “And the most recent?”
“The same night he choked me. Restrained me as he carved my skin. Then he forced me onto my stomach and fucked me like the whore I am, according to him anyway.”
He held up a hand like he couldn’t bear to listen to another word. “Did you agree? Tell him yes?”
“Why the hell would I want that ?” I shot back incredulously.
He stepped closer, his gaze searing into mine. “Then he didn’t fuck you, Ariana. He raped you.”
A breath whooshed out of me.
I never allowed myself to think of what Victor did as raping me. He was my husband, after all. Somehow along the way, I’d been trained to believe that meant I owed him everything, including my body.
“Say it,” Henry pressed, his jaw tight.
“Say what?” I asked.
“The truth about what Victor did. That he didn’t fuck you. That he raped you.”
I swallowed hard. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. It was the truth.
But it was a truth I’d ignored for years. It was easier that way. Allowed me to disassociate from the reality I’d been living.
“It’s okay. You can do it.” Henry wrapped his fingers around my hand, giving me an encouraging squeeze. “No one will hurt you here. He can’t hurt you here.”
I met his eyes, struggling to form the words. Henry remained a source of silent encouragement, giving me the space and time I needed in order to come to terms with this.
“Victor raped me,” I finally said, my voice barely a whisper. But once spoken, it echoed louder than a scream, wrapping around me. Around both of us.
“Now I want you to say it wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t—” I began, but he cut me off.
“Say it, Ariana.”
I licked my lips, squaring my shoulders. “It wasn’t my fault.” My statement was soft, hesitant.
Years of training and conditioning had led me to believe everything Victor did was my fault. That being forced to endure his abuse was my penance for being the reason my father lost his life.
“Again,” Henry instructed.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I repeated, but this time my words came out with a bit more confidence.
“Again.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Again.”
Something inside me cracked wide open. I kept saying it, the phrase transitioning from uncertainty to belief. My voice grew steadier. Stronger. Each repetition peeled away a layer of shame. Of self-blame. Of the carefully constructed lies Victor had carved into my skin.
I didn’t realize when Henry stopped prompting me. I kept going on my own, the words lifting the weight I didn’t even know I carried.
When I finally stopped, the silence left behind was different.
Not cold. Not accusing. It was…peaceful.
I didn’t think I’d ever know this feeling again, this sensation of freedom. Of letting go. But that’s what Henry helped me do. He helped me let go of the guilt. Of the fear. Of the mask I’d been forced to wear.
For the first time since Victor slipped his ring on my finger, I could feel her again. The woman I used to be. The one Victor tried to erase.
But he failed. I was still here. I had Henry to thank for helping me see that.
Not caring about any repercussions, I hastily yanked Victor’s rings off my finger and tossed them into the fireplace with a grunt. Then I clutched Henry’s face and smashed my lips against his.
He froze, every muscle in his body going rigid as he sucked in a sharp breath. I jerked back, averting my gaze.
“Sorry. I— I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I got caught up in the moment. You should eat before your food gets cold.” I turned from him, those old feelings of shame slowly crawling up my spine once more.
But I only made it a few steps before a gentle hand closed around my wrist, tugging me into a warm, firm body.
It was one thing to be inches away as I changed the dressing on his injuries. Or wrap my arm around his waist as I helped him maneuver around the house.
This was completely different. This was skin against skin. Flesh against flesh.
Pain against pain.
“Kiss me again,” he said, practically pleading with me.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. We can just forget I ever did that.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and he ran the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip. Slow. Reverent. Affectionate.
“Do you honestly think I can ever forget how your lips felt against mine? I was just…surprised. So if you want this, if you want me , kiss me again. And I swear I will absolutely fucking kiss you back. But this needs to be your decision. Your choice. I won’t take that away from you.”
I stared into his eyes, a myriad of thoughts filling my mind.
How did this man, this stranger , understand what I needed more than anything?
Not protection.
Not rescue.
Choice .
My heart pounding, I rose onto my toes and inched my mouth closer to his.
“I choose this.”
Then I crashed my lips against his.
This time, he kissed me back.