Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Christine
Robert’s coastal estate feels different in the morning.
It feels less intimidating but it’s still massive. Still absurdly expensive in the way billionaire homes always are.
But I love to see it under the soft brush of sunlight. See the ocean endlessly drift beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows in silver-blue beneath the morning haze, with waves crashing far below the cliffs with the same rhythm I’ve been waking up to for over two weeks now.
Two weeks.
That’s how long we’ve been here.
Long enough for my stitches to stop pulling every time I move too fast. Long enough for the bruises blooming across my ribs and thighs to fade from violent purples into weak yellows. Long enough for the nightmares to become less frequent.
I sigh, standing near the archway leading into one of the sitting rooms, coffee warming my palms while Blue’s tutor sits across from her with enough patience to qualify for sainthood.
“What’s seven plus four?” The woman asks gently.
Blue gasps dramatically like she’s just been asked to solve world hunger.
“That’s too many numbers,” she complains immediately.
I bite back a laugh into my mug.
“You think?” The tutor somehow manages to keep a straight face. “I think you can do it.”
“I don’t think so.” Blue narrows her eyes suspiciously at the paper in front of her.
The nanny nearby coughs to hide her laugh.
I turn slightly, pretending to admire the absurdly high ceilings instead because if Blue catches me smiling, she’ll perform harder.
That’s another thing healing gave her back.
Her chaos.
The first few days after she woke up, she barely spoke above a whisper. Every tiny sound startled me awake. Every cough made my chest seize.
Now she’s back to arguing with everyone, and even asking security guards deeply invasive questions.
My gaze drifts back toward her anyway.
She’s sitting cross-legged now, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration while she writes the answer down with painful slowness.
She writes eleven backward with full confidence, and something about it warms my chest.
Because there was a moment I thought I’d never see this again.
There was a moment I was scared shitless that I’ll never hear her voice again or watch her exist so carelessly inside a room.
The thought still sneaks up on me sometimes, like a broken glass hidden beneath water.
My fingers cramp slightly around the mug, then ease when I hear footsteps echo through the hall.
They’re fast, purposeful, and several at once.
I turn to Robert and Enzo rounding the corner mid-conversation, both dressed in dark suits, phones in hand, and security trailing several feet behind them.
“…if the shipments move tonight instead, we can still reroute before customs starts asking questions.” Enzo is talking first.
“No.” Robert’s voice is calm, clipped. “That will be too visible.”
His attention flicks up, and his striking silver eyes find me instantly.
And with that, everything about him changes. The tension leaves his shoulders first.
“Morning.” His face softens in that dangerous way I still haven’t gotten used to.
“Morning.” I smile at him, hating how much a single word affects me to my core.
Enzo keeps walking after muttering something about taking the call outside, already used to this by now.
Robert doesn’t follow immediately.
Instead, he comes toward me, slow enough that I feel my pulse start acting stupid before he’s even close. His hand drops gently against my waist. Too gentle.
“How are you feeling?” He asks softly, eyes moving over my face like he’s checking for invisible injuries.
“Fine.”
“Are you sure, Bon?” His brows lift slightly.
“I am.” I huff quietly. “I’m serious.”
“Mmh.” His fingers brush lightly against my side. “No pain anywhere?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Sure?”
“Robert.” I fight a smile.
“What?” He sounds completely unashamed. “I’m monitoring your progress.”
“You sound like my nurse.”
“I’d make an excellent nurse.” He teases.
“You’d terrorize patients.”
He scoffs, pretending to be bruised by my words but a small grin breaks across his face regardless.
My stomach flips stupidly at the sight.
“You should still rest more.” His hand slides higher briefly, fingertips brushing carefully near my ribs like he’s resisting the urge to check for damage himself.
“I’ve done nothing but rest.”
“Do more.”
“Alright.” I roll my eyes softly.
Behind him, one of the guards clears his throat awkwardly, reminding us that other people exist.
Robert barely reacts.
His thumb strokes once against my waist before he finally leans down and presses a soft kiss against my forehead.
And after that, the other version of him slips back into place. A cold focus jams into his posture again as he steps away.
“I’ll be back before dinner,” he throws as he walks away.
I stare after him longer than I should, missing the version of him that used to touch me like he was starving.
Robert has been too gentle with me since the accident. Like I’m something healing in his hands and he’s terrified of pressing too hard.
But I don’t want gentle anymore.
At night, the house falls into its usual rhythm of hushed footsteps, muted conversations between guards downstairs, and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below.
Even the air feels expensive here at night, cool and salted from the ocean drifting through the partially opened windows.
Blue is already curled beneath her blankets when I pull them higher over her shoulders, tucking her stuffed goat beneath her arm.
“Night Bonbon,” she mumbles sleepily without opening her eyes.
“I told you not to call me that.” I blink.
“I like it.” She pouts.
“That’s for Robert only.”
“I asked him and he said I could borrow it.”
“You asked…” I stare at her tiny face in disbelief. “What?” I laugh softly despite myself. “Fine, go to sleep, menace.”
“Okay.” She grins with her eyes still closed.
I lean down and kiss her forehead carefully, breathing her in for a second longer than necessary before stepping away.
The two security guards outside her room straighten immediately when I step into the hallway and I skip a beat.
I still haven’t adjusted to that part of constant presence, guns tucked beneath jackets, and voices in earpieces.
Sometimes it feels protective, while other times it feels like living inside the mouth of something waiting to bite.
I’m halfway toward my room when I hear heels clicking against the marble floors behind me.
“At last,” Atelia sighs dramatically. “The tiny dictator sleeps.”
I turn to find her balancing a bottle of wine against her hip, in silk shorts, a free top, with messy hair, and lip gloss that still looks perfect somehow.
“How long were you lurking?” I ask suspiciously.
“Long enough.” She shrugs.
“Since when?”
“Since now.” She hooks her arm through mine before I can protest. “Come on.”
“To where?”
“I ordered food.”
“You what now?” I narrow my eyes immediately.
“Rude.”
“And suspicious.”
“Don’t ruin it.” She scolds. “At least let me lure you properly first.”
I allow myself to be dragged down the hallway anyway, mostly because the house has been painfully repetitive lately.
Wake up.
Heal.
Eat.
Watch guards rotate shifts.
Pretend everything is normal.
Repeat.
When we reach one of the smaller balconies overlooking the water, I stop slightly.
The table is already set with candles flickering softly against the ocean wind. Several platters spread across the table.
And Aisha is already seated cross-legged in one of the chairs stealing shrimp directly from the serving tray.
“You started without us?” I gasp.
“I almost died waiting,” she replies calmly.
“Atelia took too much time to get you.”
“She was doing motherly things,” Atelia defends immediately.
“Okay…” I glance between the setup and both of them suspiciously. “What exactly are we celebrating?”
“Well, let’s see…” Atelia pulls out a chair for herself lazily. “Boredom.”
“That’s not a celebration.” I scowl.
“It absolutely is.” Aisha chimes in.
I stay standing.
Atelia’s eyes flick toward me knowingly before she sighs dramatically.
“The men have taken all the work from me,” she complains. “Do you understand how insulting that is? I’m supposed to ‘rest’ now.”
“You did threaten to stab the house cook with a fork three days ago,” Aisha points out.
“He was annoying.”
“You threatened his assistant too.”
“I was having a bad day and the lamb was barely cooked.”
“Okay, so Robert did what?” I snort softly despite myself.
“He asked me to take some time off…”
I nod, waiting. Something feels intentional about tonight. I can feel it.
“What’s the actual reason for this dinner?” I ask again.
“Christine, can’t I do something nice?” Atelia grabs the wine opener.
“You can,” Aisha answers… “But you don’t usually do nice.”
Atelia scoffs, but she doesn’t deny or defend it.
“Okay.” She surrenders. “I’m having relationship troubles.”
That makes me pause because somehow that sentence sounds impossible coming from her.
“You?” I blink. “You date people?”
“Unfortunately.”
“With your personality?”
“See?” She points at me immediately. “This is why I will die single.”
Aisha bursts out laughing.
I finally sit down, curiosity winning.
“There’s a man?” I ask carefully.
“There’s always a man,” she mumbles darkly while pouring wine into the glasses. “That’s the tragedy.”
“What happened?” Aisha asks, poking.
“This man…” Atelia drifts, staring into her wine for a second, her lips flattening. She takes her time, fussing through something in her head.
Then she suddenly sighs deeply. The kind of sigh that belongs in period dramas and funerals.
We both look at each other, then back at her.
“This man,” she announces again like she’s confessing to tax fraud.
“You already said that,” Aisha points out.
“Yes, give me time.” She snaps. “I’m trying to progress emotionally.”
“That sounds ghastly,” I scoff into my wine.
“It is.” Atelia points at me immediately. “Because the idiot is in love with someone else.”
The air stills.
“He is?” Aisha leans back first. “How do you know?”
“He has told me in more ways than words ever could.”
“Ouch,” I hiss softly.