Chapter 3
That thick, sickening stench of blood seeped from the obsidian shard once again, instantly flooding the cabin. It was so overpowering it felt like a freshly gutted corpse was lying right there between us.
"Do you smell it?" I stared into the guard's eyes, my voice raspy. "Blood. He's bleeding."
The guard froze. He sniffed the air, his face suddenly draining of color as a flash of primal fear crossed his eyes.
"What the... why do you reek of dead rats?" He jerked his hand back as if burned, frantically wiping it on his uniform in panic.
"Not dead rats. Ruptured organs." I let out a hysterical, nervous laugh, tears streaming down my face unchecked. "Richard is hurt... Did he burn his hand when he lit the fire this morning? Did he scorch his own flesh just to cover his tracks?!"
"Enough!" Vincent turned around, pulling a syringe from his briefcase. "Since you refuse to cooperate, we'll just have to sedate you."
He leaned back, the needle glinting menacingly in the dim cabin.
*BAM!*
With a deafening crash, the front of the SUV slammed into something solid. The massive jolt threw Vincent violently against the windshield. The syringe flew from his hand, embedding itself deep into the leather seat.
"What the hell was that?!" Vincent roared, clutching his forehead.
The driver glanced back in a panic. "Mr. Vincent, there's... there's a car blocking the road!"
I peered through the window.
A black Maybach sat across the center of the lane like a phantom, its headlights slicing through the dry-ice fog in two piercing beams. The custom vanity plate featured a string of consecutive eights.
It was Richard's car.
The door opened, and a pair of bespoke Oxford shoes stepped onto the snow.
Richard Sterling.
My husband. The control freak who dictated my every move, calculating even the air I breathed. He wore an impeccably tailored dark grey cashmere overcoat, his posture commanding, but the aura radiating from him was far more chilling than the bitter winter wind.
"Mr. Sterling!" Vincent shoved his door open, ignoring the swelling on his forehead as he hurried over. "My deepest apologies. Mrs. Sterling's condition suddenly flared up, and we were just transporting her to Silver Pines Wellness Retreat..."
"Who gave you the authority to touch my wife?"
Richard's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a terrifying, suffocating pressure. Standing silhouetted against the headlights, his towering shadow completely swallowed Vincent. He didn't even glance at the lawyer; his deep, dark eyes locked straight onto me in the backseat.
"Please, let me explain," Vincent swallowed hard, trying to embolden himself with legal jargon. "She had a psychotic break by the fireplace, dug out a pile of trash, and assaulted the security detail. The judge has already signed the involuntary psychiatric hold. If you forcibly intervene, it will be highly detrimental to your divorce proceedings..."
"Divorce proceedings?" Richard let out a cold scoff, laced with undisguised contempt and a hint of barely concealed violence. "In this state, my word is the law. As for the judge, tell him to come to my office tomorrow."
He strode to the rear door and yanked it open.
The freezing wind rushed in, and his signature scent of cedar and snow instantly overpowered the stench of blood in the cabin.
"Get out." He looked at me, his tone an undeniable command.
I flinched, clutching the obsidian shard tightly to my chest. "I'm not going anywhere... What did you burn in the fireplace this morning? Who is she? Hand over the evidence, or I swear I'm never going back with you!"
Richard's eyes darkened.
His gaze dropped to my hands, stained with soot and blood. Deep within his pupils, that eerie, molten-gold flash flickered once again.
But he masked it instantly, his brow furrowing in extreme impatience.
"Evelyn, your delusions are becoming a danger to yourself." He leaned in, extending a leather-gloved hand. "Give me that damn rock, and I'll take you home."
"Home? Back to the prison you use to monitor me?!" I slapped his hand away. "You won't even touch me, and now you're playing the devoted husband? Are you just terrified I'll find proof of your affair and force you to walk away with nothing?!"
Richard froze.
He stared at me, a complex flurry of emotions flashing in his eyes that I couldn't decipher—was it pain? Restraint? Or the anger of being called out?
"An affair?" he repeated the word in a low murmur, as if he'd just heard an absurd joke. "Evelyn, do you honestly think there's anyone in this world worthy of my attention?"
"Then why won't you touch me?!" I screamed hysterically, my tears finally breaking free. "It's been three years! We sleep in the same bed, and you won't even graze my fingers! What am I to you? A prop? A convenient cover to hide your true orientation?!"
Outside the car, Vincent and the guards stood in stunned, terrified silence.
Richard remained silent.
Slowly, he peeled off his right leather glove, revealing a strong, knuckle-defined hand covered in faint, tiny scars. Suddenly, he reached out and clamped his hand around my wrist.
His palm was shockingly scorching, almost burning my skin through the thin silk of my blouse.
"Don't force me to tie you up and drag you back right here," his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble meant only for my ears. "The world out there is far more dangerous than you can imagine. And the thing you're holding will get you killed."
"So you admit it?" I glared at him. "The ashes in the fireplace—you really did burn them! You're trying to cover your tracks!"
"I'm protecting you!" His voice spiked in volume, a vein throbbing slightly at his temple before he forcibly reined it in.
He took a deep breath, his thumb gently stroking the pulse point on the inside of my wrist.
That gesture... it was far too familiar.
*Out on the snowy tundra, his rough thumb had stroked my wrist just like this.*
*"Eve, memorize this rhythm. If I ever lose you, as long as your pulse is still beating, I can track you by your scent."*
My heart skipped a violent beat.
"You..." I stared at him, my voice trembling. "Who the hell are you?"
Richard didn't answer. With his other hand, he firmly but carefully pried my fingers apart, taking the obsidian shard.
The exact second his skin brushed the fragment, his fingertips gave a faint, almost imperceptible tremble.
"Drive." He slipped the shard into his overcoat pocket and issued a freezing order to the driver. "Back to the Blackwood Estate."
"Mr. Sterling, this violates protocol..." Vincent tried to intervene.
