Chapter Fourteen: The Lion’s Den

The return to the Reynolds mansion feels less like a homecoming and more like a slow march toward an altar.

I am tucked into the backseat of the Bentley, wrapped in a cashmere blanket that smells faintly of the hospital’s antiseptic and Ethan’s heavy, sandalwood cologne.

Arthur sits beside me, his hand resting over mine with a gentle, paternal warmth that is supposed to comfort me. But under the weight of the secret I’m carrying, his touch feels like a brand.

"You're safe now, darling," Arthur whispers, leaning in to kiss my temple. "The doctors say it was a severe allergic reaction. Some rare preservatives in the tea. I’ve had the entire pantry cleared out. Nothing will hurt you again."

I nod weakly, but my eyes are fixed on the rearview mirror.

Ethan is driving. He hasn't spoken since we left the hospital. His eyes are hidden behind dark aviators, his jaw set so tight I can see the muscles leaping in his cheek. He doesn't look like a man who believes in allergic reactions.

When we pull up to the grand entrance, Ethan is out of the car before the engine even stops. He doesn't wait for the valet. He rips my door open and reaches in, lifting me into his arms before Arthur can even unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Ethan, really," Arthur chuckles, though there is a sharp, jagged edge to his tone. "I can help her into the house."

"She’s weak, Father," Ethan says, his voice a flat, dead rasp. "And the stairs are steep. I’ve got her."

He carries me through the foyer, past the line of bowing staff members. I feel his heart thudding against my ribs - not the slow, steady beat of a calm man, but the frantic, heavy rhythm of a soldier in a minefield. 

He carries me to the master suite and places me on the bed, tucking me in with the blanket as if I am made of porcelain.

Arthur stands in the doorway, his eyes narrowing. The gentle mask slips for a fraction of a second, revealing a cold, calculating void. "She is my wife, Ethan. This is highly unorthodox. Can I have a moment with her without you overcrowding her?"

Ethan turns, shielding me with the sheer breadth of his shoulders. He stares at his father with a look of such pure, concentrated loathing that the air in the room seems to freeze.

"You said you wanted her to have the best care," Ethan says, his voice dropping an octave. "I’m making sure she gets it. Unless you have a problem with your son ensuring the Reynolds legacy stays... healthy?"

The two men stare at each other. A silent battle is being fought over the very blankets covering my legs. Finally, Arthur lets out a soft, dry laugh.

"Of course. You always were overprotective of things you consider yours." Arthur steps into the room, leaning over to pat my cheek. His skin feels warm. 

"But then, Zola isn’t yours. She is mine. I can carry her. I can tuck her into bed. You should focus on the family business and Althea. You can leave my room now, Ethan."

I see Ethan’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare a special broth for you. Something to build your strength," Arthur adds, kissing my forehead.

"I'll handle the food, Father," Ethan snaps. "Go. You have a press conference in an hour."

Once Arthur leaves, the silence in the room becomes heavy, suffocating. Ethan doesn't move. He stands by the door, locking it with a soft, ominous click.

"Ethan?" I whisper, struggling to sit up. "Why are you locking the door? Arthur will be so angry..."

Ethan is across the room in three strides. He doesn't answer. He grabs my face in his hands, his thumbs digging into my cheeks as he forces me to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot, frantic, and filled with a terrifying possessiveness.

"You don't eat anything in this house unless I give it to you," he hisses, his breath hot against my skin. "You don't drink a drop of water that doesn't come from a sealed bottle I opened. Do you understand me?"

"You're scaring me," I whimper, the pressure on my jaw blooming into pain. "Is it because of the tea? It’s just an allergic reaction... you exhaust me, Ethan. I was already weak before I collapsed."

"You will obey me, Sapphire," he growls, pulling me against his chest and burying his face in my hair. 

He is shaking. The arrogant, cruel heir is trembling against me. 

"If you ever disobey me, I will make the spanking I gave you at the gala look like a caress. I will chain you to my bedroom headboard if I have to."

He pulls back, his gaze dropping to my lips. "You're mine, Zola. And I am the only person in this world who isn't trying to put you in the ground. Remember that."

He leans down, crushing his lips to mine in a kiss that tastes of salt, copper, and desperation. It isn't a "tax." It is a claim of territory.