Chapter 7: Endearing

“I have an urgent matter to attend to,” Rafael informed Marceline, already reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a neat stack of bills and pressed it into her hand with care. “This should be enough for the groceries.”

His thumb lingered just a second too long against her palm.

“I want to have dinner with you tonight,” he continued lightly, as if this were an ordinary day, as if nothing had fractured between them. “So get dressed. I’ll come pick you up, hm? Don't do anything stupid. You know what I can do.”

Before she could respond, before she could even think, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Then he turned and left, already moving on to what he called work matters.

Marceline stood there long after the door closed.

She knew where he was going.

The image came unbidden. She could see that woman, the child, the life he had hidden so easily. Her fingers curled slowly yet she said nothing.

She only exhaled and stared at the money in her hand as if it weighed far more than it should have. Even now, even when he wasn’t there, he was still arranging her movements, deciding how far she could go, how long she could be gone.

He was making sure she never strayed too far from him.

Marceline went back upstairs in silence. The house felt larger than usual, every step echoing too loudly. She bathed carefully, avoiding her reflection for as long as she could, washing away the lingering scent of him, the touch she could still feel on her skin. She dressed slowly, choosing clothes that wouldn’t draw attention, that wouldn’t provoke questions, that wouldn’t invite suspicion...habits she hadn’t realized she’d already learned.

When she finally stepped outside, the world felt unreal.

She paused on the porch and drew in a deep breath.

The air was cool. For a fleeting second, it was intoxicating. Her legs tensed, instinct screaming at her to run, to keep running until the streets blurred and the house became nothing more than a distant memory.

It would have been so easy to try.

But she knew better.

If she ran, he would look for her. And he would find her. He always found what belonged to him. And when he did, there would be consequences...worse ones, meant to teach her never to forget her place again.

So Marceline tightened her grip on her bag, lowered her head, and walked.

She headed towards the direction of the nearest grocery shop with slow, measured steps, keeping her eyes forward, and her shoulders slightly drawn in.

Marceline took the narrow path without thinking. The alley shortened the walk. It was a slim passage between tall buildings where the morning light thinned and dulled, turning everything muted and still. Her cardigan hung loose around her shoulders as she moved forward.

But as she was passing by, something... or someone caught her eye.

At the far end of the alley stood a man who was half swallowed by shadow and slightly caught by the pale spill of daylight. He was tall, impossibly so, and his build was lean and composed.

She felt somehow confused about why he seemed distant and tired. He simply stood there with his head slightly inclined, like someone waiting for time to catch up with him.

For a heartbeat, her mind snagged on a useless thought. The man was striking and out of place.

She would have kept walking.

But then the light shifted and her sight narrowed to something that horrified her.

A knife.

A knife was buried deep in his shoulder. Blood was seeping slowly and darkening on his white dress shirt. Marceline’s breath hitched, and without a second thought...

“Oh—”

The sound escaped her before fear could stop it.

Her feet moved on instinct. She crossed the distance too quickly while her heart hammered loudly in her chest, and the warning voice in her head was swallowed whole by panic.

“Sir—wait, you’re hurt!” she blurted, the words tripping over each other as her hand reached for him as if help might simply appear at her touch.

The man stiffened the instant she rushed toward him. He was caught off guard by her sudden appearance.

Frantic and breathless, Marceline was already at his side, eyes locked on the knife lodged in his shoulder. She spoke quickly, nervously, her voice tumbling over itself as though silence might make the situation worse or it might make him worse.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” she asked, words spilling out in a rush. “Oh my God… you’re bleeding. We should get you to a hospital—no, wait, you need to be treated right now.”

But the man said nothing.

He simply watched her in shock.

If it had been anyone else, any stranger reaching for him so suddenly, so carelessly...he would have reacted without thinking. His defensiveness would have taken over. But this woman stood in front of him looking pale and shaking, with eyes wide in worry, and hands hovering like she was afraid of doing the wrong thing.

It made him calm.

She fumbled through her small bag, fingers clumsy until she finally pulled out a handkerchief, already unfolding it with trembling hands.

“I—I’m going to pull it out, okay?” she said, swallowing hard. “Don’t scream. Just...just come here.”

Before he could respond, she reached for him, guiding him gently back against the wall as if she were afraid he might collapse. The gesture was awkward and unpolished.

Her hands shook as she gripped the handle of the knife.

She moved slowly and carefully. As though the smallest mistake might hurt him.

Unbeknownst to her, the man barely felt it.

Pain like this was familiar. A dull inconvenience at best. In his world, wounds were measured by survival, not sensation. A knife like this was nothing.

And yet...

He didn’t stop her.

He didn’t tell her it was unnecessary.

He stood there, allowing her to do what she thought was saving him, watching the way her brows knitted together in concentration. The way she bit her lip in fear of hurting him, the way her entire focus narrowed to him alone.

When the knife finally came free, she let out a shaky breath she seemed to have been holding the entire time, quickly pressing the handkerchief against his shoulder, with panic still etched across her face.

“There...there,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Just… just hold this, okay?”

Her concern was so earnest it bordered on reckless.

And for the first time, he felt something unfamiliar stir beneath his calm exterior.

It was impossible to be merely interested.

No.

It was something far more dangerous.

Her reactions weren’t the only endearing thing.

She was.