Chapter 11
[ 480 words ]
Chapter 11:
The black SUV rolled through the dark streets of Alexandria. Caroline sat in the back seat, her fingers still intertwined with Jarrod’s. The heat radiating from his large, calloused palm was the only thing keeping her from shattering into a million pieces. She had just been kicked out of her childhood home. She had just shown her parents a marriage certificate to a man she barely knew. She was adrift, and he was the only anchor in the storm. She stared out the window at the blurred city lights, her reflection a pale, hollow-eyed ghost. The silence in the car wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, filled with the unspoken reality of her new, terrifying life. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left, and for that, she was grateful. There was nothing to say. He had won. He had her.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her purse. The harsh buzz shattered the quiet of the car.
Caroline pulled her hand away from Jarrod’s, the sudden loss of his warmth making her shiver. She dug out her phone. The screen lit up with a text message from Dr. Cromwell.
Thompson. Your reckless behavior yesterday has caused a PR disaster. Come to my office immediately to process your termination, or I will ensure you never work in medicine again.
𝗧𝗁е 𝘣𝖾ѕ𝘵 𝘳𝗲vі𝗲𝘄s 𝗼𝗻 𝗀𝖺ln𝘰𝗏𝘦𝘭s.𝘤𝘰𝗆
Caroline stared at the glowing words. Her stomach dropped, twisting into a tight, painful knot. A sharp, audible gasp escaped her lips. She had survived an assassin, only to lose the career she had bled for.
Her sharp intake of breath caught his attention. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.
Wordlessly, she tilted the phone screen toward him. The temperature in the car seemed to drop instantly.
“Bell,” Jarrod said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Turn the car around. We are going to the hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” K.C. Bell replied from the driver’s seat, instantly whipping the heavy steering wheel around.
Twenty minutes later, Caroline stood in the sterile, brightly lit administrative hallway of Washington United Medical Center. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She reached out and pushed open the heavy oak door to Dr. Cromwell’s office.
She froze.
Jarrod had walked in ahead of her while she was hesitating in the hall. He was already sitting on the expensive leather sofa in the corner. He wore a dark, long-sleeved shirt and tailored trousers, his clothes slightly rumpled after the long, chaotic day, his injured right arm secured in a low-profile black sling. He was leaning back, his long legs stretched out, his posture lazy but radiating a suffocating, predatory dominance.
Dr. Cromwell stood behind his massive mahogany desk. He was dabbing his sweaty forehead with a crumpled handkerchief, his face pale and his posture hunched in a sycophantic cringe.
Hearing the door click, Cromwell’s head snapped up. When he saw Caroline, his terrified expression instantly morphed into a mask of vicious authority.
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