Chapter 142

[ 506 words ]

Chapter 142:

A massive, ugly purple bruise was already blooming across her pale skin. The sight of it made her wince. She hissed as a sharp spike of pain radiated up her leg.

She leaned her head back against the headboard. Her heart was still beating fast, but the adrenaline was fading.

She stared at the closed oak door.

She had expected him to get angry. Men with his level of power and control usually exploded when their desires were denied. She had prepared herself for a fight.

But he hadn’t fought. Faced with a choice between his own overwhelming physical need and her apparent terror, he had instantly chosen her.

He had abandoned his own bed. He had surrendered his absolute authority just to give her peace.

Caroline looked at the folded cashmere blanket resting on the footstool.

A cold, calculated sense of confirmation settled in the center of her chest. It was a realization of absolute leverage. She had just confirmed that she could manipulate his deepest emotional triggers. Faced with her constructed “vulnerability,” he had completely yielded. It was a unique kind of power, a psychological dominance she had never possessed in the Thompson household.

In the cold, sterile silence of the penthouse, the sharp satisfaction of knowing she had discovered his fatal flaw took root in her mind.

The bright morning sun pierced through the gaps in the heavy blackout curtains. A sharp beam of light hit the dark gray carpet.

𝗗𝘪ѕ𝘤o𝘃e𝘳 𝗻𝗲𝘸 s𝘵o𝘳𝗶𝖾s 𝗼𝗇 𝗴𝘢𝗹𝗇o𝘃𝗲𝗅ѕ.сo𝗆

Caroline slowly opened her eyes. The massive bed was incredibly soft. Despite the violent emotional rollercoaster of the previous night, she had slept in a deep, dreamless state.

She sat up and stretched her arms. The torn blue shirt slipped off her shoulder. The memory of the ripped buttons instantly flooded her brain. She looked down and gently touched the dark purple bruise on her thigh. It throbbed slightly under her fingertips.

She pulled the thick cashmere blanket off the footstool and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.

She walked barefoot across the carpet. She took a deep breath, grabbed the brass handle, and slowly pulled the bedroom door open.

She peeked her head out into the hallway.

The massive living room was bathed in sunlight. Jarrod was lying on the modern, low-profile sofa. His long legs hung awkwardly over the armrest. His broad shoulders were cramped against the back cushions.

He heard the click of the door. He shot up from the sofa like a coiled spring.

He stood in the center of the living room. His dark hair was messy. The crisp white shirt he had worn yesterday was deeply wrinkled. His gray eyes were heavily bloodshot.

He had stayed awake all night, guarding the door.

Jarrod looked at her. His posture was incredibly stiff. He looked like he was walking on a minefield, terrified that one wrong word would trigger another panic attack.

He cleared his throat.

“Did you sleep well?” Jarrod asked. His voice was a harsh, gravelly rasp.

Caroline looked at his exhausted face. The warm flutter in her chest returned, stronger this time.

She offered him a small, genuine smile. She nodded. “I slept perfectly.”

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