Chapter 3: Deals, Scars, and Old Wounds

Sure enough, Jackson was waiting for me. As soon as I entered, I saw him shatter a coffee mug in his hand. The shards tinkled to the floor, a tiny, private rebellion.

I closed the door slowly and sat across from him, crossing my legs and folding my arms.

He shot up and strode over, his sharp eyes full of anger. “Everyone knows how you chased after Marcus. Why the sudden change—why marry me?”

“Savannah didn’t want to marry you, so I did. That’s all.” I flicked the foam off my coffee lid, my tone light, almost bored.

“I don’t believe you!” he snapped.

“Don’t believe what? That Savannah didn’t want to marry a man who might never wake up? Or that I made up my ‘longtime admiration’ for you?”

Without warning, I kicked him behind the knee. He yelped, caught off guard.

I stood up, looming over him. “I don’t like being looked down on.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—you aren’t that charming. I have no reason to lie to you, Captain!” I spat the title back at him, returning his earlier slight for the sake of Savannah.

He mumbled, “Savannah said… she cared for me. How could she not want to marry…”

“Believe what you want. Marcus argued with the whole council for Savannah. I married you for Marcus.”

I grabbed Jackson’s sleeve and hauled him up. I’m taller than most women—standing face to face, we were nearly the same height.

Jackson looked agitated, with a hint of respect. “I heard you loved Marcus deeply, but I didn’t expect you could go this far.”

“We’re both outcasts.”

He picked up the coffee pot and drank as if it were whiskey, coffee splashing on his handsome face, like bitter water after accepting fate. I almost felt bad for him.

“Do you want to marry Savannah?” I asked, blunt.

He looked at me, then lowered his head. “Dad would never agree. And besides, he despises you.”

“Promise me three things. When the time is right, I’ll ask Dad to let me go—maybe move upstate and start over.”

I’ve been married—how could I ever be with Marcus? Maybe a quiet life is all that’s left for me.

“You!” He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost, hesitation flickering in his eyes. But when his hand brushed the dog tag at his neck, he steadied himself.

“First, one million dollars.”

He looked as if he’d expected this, a flash of contempt in his eyes. “So both your love of money and your feelings for Marcus are real.”

“Of course. If there’s no love, then at least I get money. If I lose both, then I really have nothing.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Dad gave you a hundred thousand. I know the Whitaker family isn’t rich, but if you sell some land, maybe you can manage it.”

“I have land?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Your grandmother loved to pray, so the late mayor gifted her some property. If you can find a buyer, a million should be easy.”

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth and agreed.

“I’ll tell you the other two later. You can go now, Captain. Show me some respect from now on.”

“Yes, Mrs. Whitaker.”

He actually bowed deeply, then added, “I’ll agree to your second condition as well.”

I half-laughed. “Seems the captain can’t wait to send me off.”

He replied calmly, “You slipped. I’m just taking advantage.”

He meant to annoy me, but I accepted it so readily that he was surprised.

“Aren’t you going to start raising money, Captain?”

As he was leaving, I called, “Wait! If you don’t want to keep your promise later and refuse to divorce me, what then?”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes were full of disdain. The message was clear—he’d never let himself be outmaneuvered.

Jackson started raising money, and the mansion suddenly felt empty. The halls echoed, and the staff kept their distance.

The house manager brought a group of people, saying I should pick some new staff. I rolled up the account book and went to the yard, feeling like a queen choosing her court.

More than thirty men and women stood there, all with heads down. I walked around, eyeing them like cattle at a fair.

I stopped in front of a man in gray work clothes. “Raise your head. Let me see you.”

He obeyed, lifting his chin. The scars on his face caught the light, and I recoiled. The man was muscular—clearly a fighter—but he had two hideous scars running from the corner of his eye across his nose, making him truly frightening.

“So ugly.” I covered my eyes with the account book and turned away, half-laughing, half-groaning.

He lowered his head without a word. The house manager wiped his sweat. “Ma’am, he may be ugly, but he’s the strongest of the lot.”

“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “You’ll do. Stay by my side as my bodyguard. You won’t need to fight—your looks alone are enough to scare people. I’ll call you ‘Scar.’”

His eyes flashed with anger, but he quickly shrank back, silent. I liked his spirit, even if he hid it.

At night, Jackson refused to share a room with me, so I slept in the main house, he in a side room. The house was big enough for a cold war.

“Scar, come here.”

He obeyed, stepping inside quietly.

“Closer.”

He wouldn’t move, just stared at me quietly, his gaze steady and unflinching.

I studied him for a while, then asked, “Was it you who saved me from the lake at the Fourth of July fair?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

He was so calm and steady, nothing seemed to faze him. I found it oddly comforting.

Suddenly, I felt a cruel urge to push him. “Since it’s your job, come take off my shoes.”

He silently knelt at the bed, gently lifted my right foot onto his knee, and removed my boots. His hands were warm and sure, and he smelled faintly of Irish Spring, clean and fresh, and his body radiated heat from working out. For a moment, I was taken back to that night.

“Someone help! The mayor’s daughter fell in the lake!” The shouts, the cold shock of the water—memories crashed over me.

Marcus jumped in without hesitation—but swam in the opposite direction. He cradled Savannah like she was made of glass. And me? I closed my eyes and sank, unwilling, so unwilling. I wasn’t going to give in.

All my chasing, all for nothing but to be the backdrop to their love—a punchline to be trotted out whenever needed. I… I wanted…

Someone approached, pulled me up, and brought me to the surface. As I coughed and gasped, he quietly slipped away. That fleeting scent of Irish Spring—like a dream.

Looking at his face now, he didn’t seem so ugly after all. I wondered what else I’d missed, always looking the other way.

Savannah begged Dad for days before he finally let me visit city hall. I went to see my aunt—the mayor’s wife—and chatted for a while. She was always sick, speaking softly, often out of breath, but still tried to comfort me: “Your father is just upset right now.”

I glanced around but didn’t see that familiar gold tie. I forced a smile and nodded, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Ben’s health has improved a lot lately. He’s already helping your father with city business.” My aunt looked pleased, her eyes shining with pride.

My eyes lit up. “That’s good. I’ve always felt guilty about him. If anything happens to him, I’d rather die!”

My mother only had me, never a son, which made her even more difficult. My aunt, once a volunteer at the town library, was gentle and often visited my mother. One time, she noticed bruises on my arms, and after a long silence, she quietly gave me some ointment. She also urged me not to resent my mother.

But I was young and sensitive to pain. How could I not resent her?

Mom became obsessed with her son. I overheard her telling someone to send “vitamins” to Ben Ashford. After he took them, his health declined day by day. Only I knew the truth.

Until one day, Ben suddenly collapsed. The next day, my mother was caught with a guard and killed herself.

After leaving my aunt, Savannah and I wandered city hall. I asked her, “How’s Marcus lately? Has he invited you out?”

Savannah blushed. “You know how he is—loves poetry. We just exchange poems, haven’t seen each other lately.”

I’m barely literate, so I replied awkwardly, “Poetry is nice, very elegant, ha.”

“Have you ever thought of writing poetry, Sis? I’m sure you’d be great!”

I forced a smile. “I tried a few years ago. It was so bad, I threw it away.”

...

“Come to think of it, you and Marcus started with that red-leaf poem, right?”

“Yes. I carved a poem on a red leaf and tossed it into the town creek. Never thought Marcus would find it. Oh, Marcus!”

Marcus bowed, his smiling gaze fixed on Savannah. Jackson was there too, stealing glances at Savannah. Everyone loved Savannah. Of course they did.

I didn’t want to stay and embarrass myself, so I left them there. As I turned, my sleeve snagged on a branch and I lost my balance—

“Autumn—!”

“Careful!”

“Ugh—”

I was caught by Scar. I pushed him away, dusted off my sleeve in annoyance, and he silently retreated. I scowled. “I’m not feeling well. I’m heading back.”

My husband was a cold-faced captain who only softened for one person. My crush was a poetic, handsome scholar who only had eyes for one person. The two most sought-after men in the county, one academic, one military, both fell for Savannah.

What woman wouldn’t be jealous? Especially me—a completely ordinary, worldly woman. I’m so jealous, I could die.

Savannah was clever and beautiful from a young age, while I took after my late mother—sharp eyes, red lips, tall and imposing. I never looked like someone to mess with.

It’s true—I wouldn’t wear anything but silk and brocade, wouldn’t drink anything but fine wine. The staff gossiped that I “had all the queenly airs but none of the crown.”

Ha.

Savannah always looked out for me, caring in every way. Once, the family went to St. Michael’s Church to pray. We were walking up the hill, and I was struggling, sweat pouring down. Early summer sun was brutal.

Savannah gently tugged my sleeve and whispered, “Sis, someone’s looking at you.”

I followed her gaze and saw Marcus smiling at me. A breeze swept away the heat, ruffling his dark hair and revealing bright, gentle eyes. It was such a pure, unguarded smile. For someone like me, always at the mercy of others, it was salvation.

I returned to the mansion in low spirits and told the staff to buy my favorite pastries from Maple Bakery. A while later, a staffer reported, “Ma’am, Maple Bakery is sold out today.”

“….”

Just as I was about to lose my temper, Scar came in silently and handed me an oiled paper package. I raised an eyebrow. “Is this… Maple Butter Pastry?”

“Yes, I made it myself.”

I didn’t even look at the pastry. “Why did you make it?”

“Anger is bad for your health. You haven’t eaten all day.”

True, Dad hadn’t let me eat, and I’d left early, too angry to feel hungry.

“I mean, why make it for me?”

“….”

Could Scar actually have feelings for me?

I studied him for a while, then grudgingly admitted—eighteen years, and only he had treated me kindly.

I picked up a piece and let the savory flavor melt in my mouth. A thought stirred in my heart.

“I’m going to nap in the sunroom. Stand guard for me.”

“…Yes.”

The early summer breeze was pleasant. I changed into a light blue dress—the best silk from New York this year. Lying on the couch, I watched the staff lower the blinds, blocking out the light until only a few shifting shadows remained.

This moment was just like back then.

“Sis, Sis, is Marcus looking at you?”

“….”

I turned abruptly and met his handsome face. Before I drifted off, I think I heard myself laugh. Those were the days.