Chapter 235
[ 501 words ]
Chapter 235:
“Put on the high-necked white silk shirt,” Jarrod ordered. His voice was a freezing, absolute command. “Button it all the way to the top. Cover every mark on your skin. I will not let those vultures downstairs look at what belongs to me.”
Caroline slapped his hand away from her face.
“I don’t need your permission to dress myself,” Caroline snapped coldly.
She turned her back on him and walked deep into the closet.
Jarrod stood in the bedroom, his chest heaving. He reached across his body with his left hand and grabbed the hem of his sweat-stained tactical T-shirt, wrenching the fabric upward, maneuvering it over his head and carefully down his immobilized right arm before hurling it onto the floor. The motion exposed his heavily bruised, muscular torso — and the dark, rigid outline of the field splint still bracing his right shoulder.
𝗔𝖽𝗱𝗂c𝗍𝗶𝘃𝖾 𝗻ov𝘦𝘭ѕ 𝘰ո 𝗀𝖺lո𝗼𝘷𝘦ls.𝗰𝘰𝘮
He marched into the master bathroom and slammed the glass shower door. He turned the heavy metal dial all the way to cold, letting the freezing water shock his overheated system.
Fifteen minutes later, Caroline stepped out of the closet.
She wore a pristine, high-necked white silk blouse and wide-leg black trousers. The outfit was elegant, conservative, and completely concealed the dark red marks on her skin.
Jarrod walked out of the bathroom.
He had changed into a custom-tailored, pitch-black suit. The sharp cut of the fabric highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His right arm rested in a discreet black sling beneath the jacket, barely visible. The wild, feral soldier was gone, replaced by a cold, untouchable aristocrat.
He looked at Caroline. His dark eyes swept over her conservative clothing. A flash of dark satisfaction settled in his gaze.
He walked up to her. He didn’t ask. He extended his left arm, and Caroline reluctantly placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He pressed her arm firmly against his side.
“Let’s go,” Jarrod said, his voice hard as steel. “Time to face the wolves.”
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind them. The dull, metallic sound severed the charged, intimate atmosphere of the bedroom completely.
The third-floor hallway was long and quiet. The antique brass wall sconces cast a dim, yellowish glow over the thick carpet. Massive oil portraits of Romero ancestors stared down from the walls, their painted eyes radiating generations of cold judgment.
Caroline felt the suffocating weight of the house instantly pressing down on her shoulders.
Jarrod held her arm tightly against his side. His grip was rigid and unyielding.
Caroline hated the physical restriction. It made her feel like a prisoner being escorted to an execution. She subtly twisted her wrist, trying to slide her arm out from his elbow.
Jarrod felt the shift immediately.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he clamped his bicep down harder, trapping her hand flush against his ribs. The solid wall of his muscle offered zero give.
“I know how to walk, Jarrod,” Caroline muttered, keeping her voice low so the security detail at the end of the hall wouldn’t hear. “I don’t need to be dragged.”
Jarrod stopped walking.
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