Chapter 4: Blood, Bruises, and the Line I Draw

Her nails dug into my skin, forcing my gaze to meet hers. I saw the confusion flicker in her eyes.

“Do you really have to stoop this low?”

Her words were softer now, almost pitying. I felt something inside me crumble.

Looking into Harper’s pretty eyes, I saw confusion, disgust, mostly contempt.

But there was something else, too—a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear. I wondered if she saw a bit of herself in me, and that scared her more than anything.

“Miss Hamilton, you’re a guest. If you don’t head home soon, your mother’s gonna be furious in the morning.”

Julian’s voice cut through the night, calm and steady. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

I didn’t know when Julian had shown up.

He moved like a shadow, always there when you least expected. I wondered if he’d seen everything, or if he’d just arrived in time to save me from the worst.

But he didn’t look at me, just helped Harper into her car and left. His touch was gentle as he guided her away, but he never once glanced back at me. I felt the sting of his indifference more than any slap.

Mason stood behind Caroline, his face twisted, wanting to say something but swallowing it, finally just helping Caroline into the Yeager SUV.

He hovered, uncertain, then fell in line. In the end, he always did what Caroline wanted.

I staggered up, bracing myself against the wall, and limped out of the alley. My legs shook, every step a reminder of what I’d survived. I wiped the blood from my lip, straightened my dress, and forced myself to keep moving.

Watching the cars drive away, I thought about how late I’d be getting home again tonight.

The street was empty, the club’s neon sign flickering above me. I wondered if anyone would notice if I just disappeared.

I wondered if Ronnie was asleep, or if he’d cried.

I pictured him curled up in bed, clutching his stuffed bear, waiting for me to come home. The thought twisted in my chest.

As I stood there, dizzy, someone grabbed me and hauled me into a car. I barely had time to gasp before the door slammed shut. The leather seats were cold against my skin.

Julian, face like thunder, sat across from me, his eyes sharp as knives. His jaw was clenched, his hands white-knuckled on his knees. I could feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Maybe it was the closeness, or maybe the familiar scent of his aftershave and leather, but I flashed back to that awful night ten years ago.

The memory hit me like a freight train—his hands on my shoulders, his voice in my ear. I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around me.

I couldn’t help saying, “Stop the car, I want out.”

My voice was small, almost lost in the hum of the engine. I tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

No matter how many times I said it, the driver ignored me.

He kept his eyes on the road, silent as a stone. I realized then that I was trapped.

I don’t know where I found the guts, but I reached for the door, trying to jump out. Panic clawed at my chest. I fumbled with the lock, desperate for escape.

But just as I got one leg out, Julian yanked me back. His grip was iron-strong, pinning me in place. I struggled, but it was no use.

He pinned me, holding my wrists tight. No matter how I struggled, it was useless.

His eyes blazed with anger, his breath hot on my face. I saw a flicker of something else there—hurt, maybe, or regret.

“What? Wasn’t your waist plenty loose back at the party? Now you want to act all innocent with me?” His words were sharp, meant to wound. I flinched, but refused to look away.

“Charlotte Stewart, if your dead father saw you like this, he’d roll over in his grave.”

He spat my name like a curse, the old pain surfacing between us. I felt the shame settle in my bones.

“Mason says you’re real eager, and even better in bed. Come on, show me. If you impress me, maybe I’ll let you go.”

Julian’s voice was dripping with contempt and bitterness.

The words cut deeper than any blow. I stared at him, searching for the boy I’d loved, but he was gone.

My numb heart suddenly ached. It was a physical pain, sharp and sudden. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing it to stop.

If it could bring my father back, I’d be a kept woman for ten or a hundred Mason Yeagers.

I’d have sold my soul for one more day with him, for a chance to make things right.

At least with him alive, I wouldn’t be afraid to die.

His memory was the only thing that kept me going some nights, the only thing that made the pain bearable.

I reached up, wrapping my arms around Julian’s neck, my fingers brushing his jaw, my lips almost at his ear. I felt him tense beneath my touch, his breath catching. For a second, I thought he might soften.

Julian’s body tensed, just for a second. His hands tightened on my arms, and I saw the war in his eyes—a battle between anger and longing.

Then he shoved me out of the car. The world spun as I hit the pavement, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. I gasped, curling into myself.

I landed hard on the curb, along with a strange velvet box. It skidded across the sidewalk, coming to rest at my feet. I stared at it, dazed.

“Charlotte Stewart, you’re even cheaper than I thought. Get lost—don’t dirty my car.” His voice was rough, raw with emotion. He slammed the door, the engine roaring as the car sped away.

Julian’s face, usually unreadable, finally cracked with anger. I saw the pain behind his eyes, the way his jaw trembled. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hand clenched so tight on the door handle I thought he might break it. If things had gone further, maybe I wouldn’t have walked away at all.

I watched the taillights disappear, my body aching. The city felt colder than ever.

Expressionless, I stood up, ignoring the stares of strangers, and picked up the velvet box. I wiped the dirt from my knees, ignoring the whispers around me. The box was heavy, the velvet soft beneath my fingers.

Inside was a bottle of high-end wound ointment, the kind I’d only ever seen in hospital gift baskets.

I turned it over in my hands, reading the label. It was expensive, the kind of thing you bought for someone you cared about. I felt the sting of tears, but blinked them away.

Only then did I realize my forehead was bleeding, blood dripping down my face. I pressed a sleeve to the cut, wincing as the pain flared. I must have looked a mess, but I didn’t care anymore.

After ten years of misery, I’d long lost touch with my own body—living without feeling, without pain. I moved through life like a ghost, numb to everything but the ache in my chest. Even the bruises faded into background noise.

Even when Mason took me to bed, he’d complain I was like a doll—obedient, but lifeless. He wanted passion, but all I had left was survival. I learned to fake it, to give him what he wanted, but inside, I was hollow.

When I got back to the apartment, Mason was already waiting at the door. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes cold. I braced myself for the storm.

I nodded politely, pretending nothing had happened.

I smoothed my hair, straightened my dress, and smiled like everything was fine. It was the only armor I had left.

“Why don’t you come inside, Mason? The wind’s picking up tonight—you’ll catch cold.” I tried to sound casual, but my voice shook. I knew he wouldn’t care about the weather, but it was something to say.

I meant to invite him in, but he grabbed my wrist, forcing me backward step by step. His grip was bruising, his eyes wild. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance as he shoved me inside.

“You were in Julian’s car? You got the hots for him now that he’s some big-shot colonel?” His words were venomous, each one another accusation. I shook my head, but he didn’t care.

“Are you, like that bitch Caroline, looking down on me?” He spat her name like a curse, his jealousy boiling over. I tried to pull away, but he held fast.

Mason didn’t wait for an answer, dragging me into the bedroom and throwing me on the bed. The mattress creaked under my weight. I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to disappear.

“No, Mason, please—Ronnie’s still here, don’t do this in front of the kid…”

I tried to reason with him, my voice barely more than a whisper. I heard Ronnie’s footsteps in the hall, his soft cries muffled by the door.

My pleas were drowned out under Mason’s weight, fading to silence as I stopped fighting.

I closed my eyes, letting the world fade away. The only thing that mattered was protecting Ronnie, keeping him safe from this ugliness.

The harder Ronnie cried outside the door, the rougher Mason got. His anger was a storm, battering against me. I bit my lip, swallowing my screams, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Charlotte Stewart, you still think you’re some high-and-mighty debutante? You and that little brat both live off me. You think you’re good enough for Julian Pierce?”

His words were a litany of bitterness, each one another wound. I stopped listening, focusing on the sound of Ronnie’s cries.

“Now you’re pretending to be pure? Ronnie’ll end up just like you—what’s wrong with learning about men and women early?”

He tore at my clothes, venting his anger.

I stopped begging, biting my lip, trying to hang on to the last scrap of dignity in front of Ronnie.

When it was over, Mason finally calmed down. He rolled off me, breathing hard. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the world to start again.

He sat at the edge of the bed, silent, not looking at me. He pulled on his shirt, fingers trembling. I watched him from the corner of my eye, wondering if he’d say anything.

Finally, he took a fancy hairpin from his pocket and set it by my hand, then left without a word. The pin glittered in the dim light, identical to the one Caroline had worn at the club. It was his way of reminding me I’d never be more than a shadow.

I turned it over in my fingers, the cold metal biting into my skin. I wondered if Caroline knew he did this, or if she even cared.

I didn’t blame Mason; he had his own demons.

We were both broken in our own ways, both trapped by choices we couldn’t undo. I’d stopped hating him a long time ago.

All these years, whatever Caroline had, he’d send me a copy. It was his way of keeping me close, of pretending I was someone else. I let him, because it was easier than fighting.

For ten years, unwilling to be overshadowed by the Hamiltons, he’d come to me in the dead of night, taking out his frustrations as if I were Caroline.

He’d whisper her name sometimes, his hands shaking. I learned to be whoever he needed, because that was the only way to survive.

No matter how rough he was, in the end, he was the one who fed me and gave me a roof when I was penniless and outcast.

He was my jailer and my savior, all at once. I hated him for it, but I needed him, too.

He spared me from the street.

That was the truth of it. Without him, I’d be another nameless face in the shelter, another statistic on the evening news.

But Ronnie was different. He could hurt me, but he couldn’t touch Ronnie.

I’d drawn a line, and I’d fight to keep it. Ronnie was innocent—he deserved better than this.

Looking at my battered body, and the blood I coughed up into a tissue, I stared at the red stain, realizing how close I’d come to losing everything. The pain was a warning I couldn’t ignore.

For the first time, I realized I had to make plans for Ronnie’s future. He deserved a life beyond these walls, beyond the secrets and shame. I didn’t know how, but I’d find a way. For him, I’d do anything.