Chapter 116
[ 494 words ]
Chapter 116:
“The element of surprise is gone. She’s running to tell Cornelia right now,” Jarrod stated, his tactical brain taking over.
He reached down and grabbed Caroline’s hand, lacing his thick fingers through hers and squeezing her hand so tightly her knuckles ached.
“We’re skipping the study,” Jarrod declared, his eyes burning with the fire of a commander ordering a frontal assault. “We’re going straight to the main hall.”
Jarrod dragged Caroline out of the parlor. His long, aggressive strides forced her to practically jog in her stilettos to keep up.
They marched down the dimly lit, cavernous corridor leading toward the main hall. The flickering light from the antique wall sconces cast long, distorted shadows across Jarrod’s sharp jawline. Caroline could feel the intense, burning heat radiating from his palm, and the rock-hard tension in his forearm.
Halfway down the corridor, Jarrod suddenly stopped.
He stopped so abruptly that Caroline nearly crashed into his back. He let go of her hand and turned, leaning his broad shoulders heavily against the dark wood-paneled wall, right beneath a massive, gruesome oil painting of a medieval battle.
Jarrod closed his eyes and let out a long, ragged breath. The terrifying, indestructible colonel suddenly looked incredibly exhausted.
Dо𝘄𝗇𝗹𝗼𝘢𝗱аb𝗅𝗲 р𝗗𝖥ѕ о𝗇 𝗀𝖺ln𝗈𝗏𝖾𝘭𝗌.𝗰𝗼𝘮
Caroline stood in front of him, looking at the tight lines of stress around his mouth. Her operative training allowed her to read micro-expressions perfectly. She didn’t see fear. She saw deep, sickening disgust.
She took a small step closer. Her voice was soft, stripped of all sarcasm.
“Are you upset because of what you had to say to Harper?” Caroline asked quietly.
Jarrod’s eyes snapped open. A dark, bitter laugh escaped his lips. He looked at her, his gray eyes completely hollow.
“Do not waste your sympathy on her, Caroline,” Jarrod said, his voice a flat, dead monotone. “In this family, blood means nothing. Only loyalty. And she has none.”
Caroline’s eyes widened slightly. Her brain instantly processed the massive implications of that statement.
“She is Cornelia’s creature, raised on poison and pretenses,” Jarrod continued, his voice seething with a controlled rage. “My father, the great Romero patriarch, was too much of a coward to face any public humiliation. So he swallowed every insult and raised the parasites in his own home.”
Jarrod turned his head and looked up at the bloody painting on the wall.
“And my grandfather,” Jarrod sneered, his voice dripping with pure hatred, “General Augustus. He knew every truth. But he forced everyone to keep their mouths shut to protect the family’s political alliances. This entire bloodline is built on lies and filth.”
Jarrod looked back at Caroline. His eyes were wide, exposing a raw, bleeding vulnerability he had never shown anyone.
“This is my swamp, Caroline,” Jarrod whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “This is the disgusting mud I was born in. Does it make you sick?”
A sharp, physical ache ripped through the center of Caroline’s chest. She looked at this massive, terrifying man, and for the first time, she saw the lonely, betrayed little boy trapped inside the armor.
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