Chapter 13
Miley
I could feel the tension before I saw him.
Eleanor was mid-sentence, telling Dominic about a new recipe she’d learned from me, when the temperature in the hospital room dropped by about ten degrees.
I was standing by the window holding the container of arroz con pollo I’d brought from the house.
Dominic was in his wheelchair smiling at something Eleanor had said. Everything was warm, easy, and normal.
Then Christopher appeared in the doorway.
He didn’t walk in. He stood there, filling the frame like he’d been carved from stone and placed in the entrance specifically to block the light. His eyes swept the room in one pass. Eleanor. Dominic. Me. The food I'd cooked for his brother. Then they came back to me and stayed.
Eleanor saw him and her face brightened.
“Christopher, come in. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty chair beside her. “Your brother was just telling us about his physical therapy. He’s making wonderful progress. Dominic, tell Christopher about the new exercises.”
Dominic opened his mouth.
“We’re leaving,” Christopher said.
His eyes were locked on me.
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said we’re leaving. Now.”
“I heard what you said. And I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He crossed the room in three strides. His hand closed around mine.
“Christopher.” Eleanor’s voice went high.
He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on mine and the look behind them was beyond anger—something primal and territorial. Like I’d crossed a line he hadn’t told me existed and the punishment was already decided.
He turned his head toward Dominic. His voice dropped low, each word placed with precision. “Enjoying yourself, brother?”
Dominic’s easy smile faded. “Christopher, she was just—”
“I didn’t ask what she was doing. I can see what she’s doing. You’re soaking it up the way you soak up everything that belongs to me.”
“Christopher!” Eleanor stood from her chair. “That is enough. She came because I invited her. This has nothing to do with—”
“Stay out of this, Grandmother.”
The room went silent. I’d never heard Christopher speak to Eleanor like that. Neither had Eleanor, based on the way her face changed.
I tried to pull away.
Christopher didn’t let go. He pulled me toward the door.
The hospital corridor was too bright and I was being dragged through it by a man who looked like he was one inconvenience away from losing his last shred of patience.
His hand was around my wrist, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough that I’d have to make a scene to break free. He was walking fast, long strides that I had to half-jog to keep up with.
Nurses stepped out of the way. An orderly pushing a medication cart flattened himself against the wall. A woman in scrubs looked at us, noticed Christopher's face, and immediately ducked into a nearby room.
I tried to pull my arm back. He didn’t let go.
“If you don’t let go of my wrist in the next three seconds,” I said, loud enough for the entire corridor to hear, “I am going to scream.”
Christopher slowed, but didn’t stop. He steered me through a side exit into the parking garage, where the fluorescent light gave way to dim concrete and the distant rumble of the air system.
He let go.
I yanked my wrist back and rubbed it. He turned to face me. His expression was controlled but his eyes were not. There was something wild in them, an emotion he usually buried under so many layers of performance that I'd started to wonder if it existed at all.
It existed. It was standing in front of me in a parking garage, breathing hard, looking at me like I’d betrayed him in a way I still didn’t understand.
“I don’t want you around my brother,” he said.
“You don’t get to decide who I spend time with. You don’t own me,” I shot back.
His eyes flashed. “Dominic is off limits.”
“Off limits?” I stared at him. Then, I scoffed.
“I’m not a child and you are not my father.
Eleanor asked me to come. Your grandmother, the woman I work for, invited me to accompany her to visit her grandson who is in the hospital.
What was I supposed to say? No, sorry, your other grandson has unresolved family trauma and I’ve been forbidden from existing in the same room? ”
“You don’t understand the situation with Dominic.” His voice sounded hoarse.
“Then explain it.”
Nothing. He just looked at me with that burning expression, and the silence told me everything.
Whatever had happened between these brothers went deeper than business, deeper than rivalry, deeper than anything he was willing to hand me.
I thought, standing there with my wrist still warm from his grip, that this was none of my business.
These were his wounds. His brother. His family.
I was a contract wife with seventy-six days remaining and no right to his secrets.
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But you had no right to drag me out of that room like some property.”
He said nothing, so I continued.
“I want to go home,” I said. “My home. My apartment. I’m done with this whole arrangement.”
“You signed a contract.”
“I don’t care about the contract.”
“Seventy-six days left, Miley. That’s what you agreed to. That’s what the document says. We live together. It’s non-negotiable.”
“The document also doesn’t include a clause about being dragged through hospitals against my will.”
“You signed—”
“You lied to me!” It burst out before I could stop it.
Fueled by the kiwi incident, the slap, the weeks of cold silence, folded napkins and plates returned to the sink without a word.
“You lied about the kiwi. You manipulated me. And now you’re manhandling me through a hospital because I had the audacity to be kind to your grandmother.
Is that really all you have, Christopher? A piece of paper?”
I was breathing hard. I turned and walked toward the garage exit, scanning the street beyond as I raised my hand to hail a cab.
I heard his footsteps behind me, fast and closing distance.
"Miley. The incident wasn't planned. Please, just listen." He called after me, but I kept walking.
"Miley, wait."
"No." I threw the word over my shoulder. "I know you staged your staff so I'd feed you a kiwi dessert."
His footsteps slowed behind me. "They probably heard something online and ran with it. I didn't stage anyone, Miley."
"I don't believe you.You're probably acting right now."
Pain flickered in his voice. "I have no reason to lie about this."
I glanced back despite myself. For a second, he looked devastated. It wasn’t the frustration I’d braced for, not some practiced defense. He held my eyes and didn’t reach for a single word, like he couldn't understand why I wouldn't believe him.
Maybe he was telling the truth. But even if he was, it didn't change what had happened. It didn't undo the damage.
"Miley—” he called again.
I spun around. "What?"
Christopher stopped a few feet away. He didn't reach for me this time. He just stood there, hands loose at his sides, looking strangely lost.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze dropped to my wrist.
"I'm sorry."
I blinked. "What?"
His shoulder tensed, like the apology physically cost him something. "For earlier. I shouldn't have grabbed your wrist like that."
His apology knocked the wind out of my anger, enough to make me hesitate, even if I was nowhere near ready to forgive him. Christopher Vale apologizing felt about as common as a solar eclipse.
"I was angry," he continued, rubbing his thumb against his palm once, like he was trying to erase the moment. "That's not an excuse. I shouldn't have taken it out on you.”
I stared. He looked uncomfortable. Genuinely uncomfortable.
Good. He deserved to be uncomfortable.
"So that's it?" I asked, folding my arms. "You apologize and everything's magically fixed?”
"No."
"Good answer."
A corner of his mouth twitched. I hated that I noticed.
"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.
His expression sobered instantly. "Why what?"
"Why did seeing me with Dominic make you lose your mind?"
His gaze shifted away. For the first time since I'd met him, Christopher looked like a man who genuinely didn't have an answer.
"I don't know."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
"You dragged me out of a hospital because you don't know?"
"I know."
I threw my hands up, exhaling sharply. "Do you hear yourself?”
"Unfortunately."
Despite myself, I almost laughed, but I clamped my mouth shut. He was not getting a laugh out of me, not after the entire ridiculous afternoon.
Christopher dragged a hand down his face, exhaling like the weight of the entire day had settled there.
"I saw you with him and..." He stopped, expression tensed. "I don't know. Something about it bothered me.”
"Bothered you?"
"Yes."
"That's your explanation?"
"It's the best one I've got."
I stared at him. He stared back.
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been told that."
"No, I mean medically. There should be studies."
That actually earned a laugh. A real one.
The sound surprised both of us. His shoulders loosened slightly, like he hadn’t realized he was holding tension until it left him.
For a second, the tension between us didn’t feel like a battlefield.
Then his gaze settled on me again. The amusement faded just as quickly as it came.
"I don't like it.” He almost whispered it.
I frowned. "Don't like what?"
His eyes held mine, steady now. "The idea of you with him.”
My stomach performed an alarming maneuver that I immediately resented.
"Christopher..."
"I know it doesn't make sense."
"No, it really doesn't."
He took a step closer. From there I could read the frustration he usually kept buried: the tight line of his jaw, the heat behind his eyes, none of it hidden for once.
"I don't know why it bothers me," he admitted quietly. His voice dropped lower, almost like he didn’t want anyone else in the world to hear it. "I just know it does.”
My heart chose that exact moment to become deeply unprofessional.
Before I could respond, a voice interrupted us.
"Everything okay over here?"