She let the phone fall onto the soft, down duvet on the bed and closed her eyes. A wave of hopelessness washed over her, and she fought the urge to cry into the pillow. The world was such a miserable place. She'd hoped to try to fix some of the wrongs in her new life, but it was proving impossible.

She thought about her dad, and the tears began to fall. They'd been such a happy family, but everything had fallen apart when he died. She knew she'd never been able to bring him back, but she'd wanted to build a new family with Maria and Samuel. But that was impossible. She had to live in Sean's home, dealing with his strange moods and sudden changes.

​​

She sighed. If she couldn't have a happy family, she'd hoped to help Sophia and Linda. But how could she help them if Linda refused to leave? She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath. Crying about it didn't help anything—she'd just have to find a new way to help Linda and Sophia. She reached for the nightstand and grabbed a fashion magazine, idly flipping through its glossy pages while she thought.

The door creaked, and she looked up. Sean walked quietly across the room. The anger had faded from his eyes, but his face was still fierce as he strode toward. She looked away, pretending to be interested in the jewel-toned dress in the magazine. She flipped the page and forced herself to read the interview with the designer. Her eyes scanned over the words, but she couldn't sort them into any real order. She read the same sentence again and again—her mind was focused on Sean and the way the bed sank as he sat down beside her.

"I brought you something," he said, his voice low and gentle.

She ignored him and stared fixedly at the magazine. He sighed, and then something cold touches her neck. She shivered but didn't pull away. He kept the cold thing pressed to her neck and then pulled it away.

"Does it feel okay?" he asked.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see he was holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel. She sat still and let him press it to her neck again. She knew it was probably too late to do anything about the bruising, but the cold ice felt nice and soothing. She closed her eyes, and a gentle, cold finger stroked her cheek.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice thick.

She bit her tongue and kept her eyes closed. Her heart thudded anxiously in her chest, and she felt hope begin to rise in her. She bit her tongue and tried to force the hope away. She pictured him in the study—his cold gaze and inhuman anger. That was the true Sean, she reminded herself. This gentle version was something else.

"Answer me," he whispered. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really," she said flatly. "I'm fine."

"I'll go get more ice," he said finally.

"As you like," she answered, struggling to keep her voice cool.

He stood abruptly and left the room, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She knew he'd be back with fresh ice in a few minutes, and she needed to get ahold of herself. Though he was treating her tenderly, she knew it didn't mean anything. She couldn't let him fool her with his gentle act again.

***

The ice scoop scraped against the ice, and Sean scooped a handful into a fresh towel. He could feel the kitchen staff watching him, but he ignored their stares. He wrapped the towel carefully and walked back toward the room. The bruises on her neck filled him with horrible, helpless rage. He wanted to get the men who'd attacked her alone in the room. He wanted to make them suffer. To make them scared the way they'd scared her.

He slammed the fridge shut. It was his fault for leaving her alone. He should have known better. If the mysterious stranger hadn't appeared and attacked the men—he would have been too late to save her. The mere thought filled him with rage. She'd had to rely on some good-looking stranger instead of her own husband.

He stomped up the stairs, trying to control the fiery anger that coursed through his veins. It was clear she didn't know the mysterious man, but he was filled with jealousy for the stranger. He knew it was irrational, but he wanted to throttle that man too. He walked into the room and noticed the way Catherine's body immediately stiffened. She bent her head over her magazine and pretended to read.

He sighed. He had no one to blame but himself. He should have been tender and concerned, should have listened to her explanations, but he'd been too filled by rage. He watched her, slowly realizing he'd hurt her feelings.

"I brought you more ice," he said.

"I can hold it myself," she replied.

"But you can't see the bruises," he objected.

"No, but I can feel them," she snapped.

She shrugged and turned a page in her magazine. He crossed the room and sat on the bed, wondering how long her frostiness would last.

***

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine looked at Sean. His eyes flickered with fire and then calmed. His expression almost looked sad. She shook her head and turned back to the magazine. She wasn't going to let him fool her again.

As she flipped through the magazine, he held the ice against her injured neck. The ice melted, and the cold began to burn her skin.

"That's enough," she said.

"I'm afraid it's still bruised," he said.

"The bruise won't go away," she said. She took a deep breath and made her tone polite and indifferent, "Thank you for trying, though."

Sean frowned, "Why do you have to be so reckless? Why didn't you run?"

She spun around and stared at him, "Why didn't I run? I was trying to let Sophia get away. I couldn't outrun them, but I could distract them while she got away."

He sighed, "But you could have thought it through a bit more."

"It was a life or death situation," she snapped. "What was I supposed to do? Ask them to give me a minute to think? Ask them to give me a head start so Sophia and I could get away? I asked Sophia to get help. It's not my fault you came too late."

"Are you saying it's my fault then?" Sean roared.

She glared at him, and he took a deep breath.

"Never mind," he snapped. "Just don't go anywhere else on your own ever again."