Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The weight of the knife

"I have a surgery at 5:00 AM, Caspian," I said. I looked down at his hand on my sleeve. His skin was pale against the white fabric, his pulse visible in the tip of his thumb. He was vibrating. "But I haven't eaten since yesterday. If your chef is still as good as he was, I’ll stay for thirty minutes."

He let go immediately, as if he’d been burned. "I fired the chef three years ago. I’ll make something myself."

I blinked. The man who didn't know how to boil water was headed toward the kitchen, tossing his broken glass into a bin without looking. I followed him, the click of my heels the only sound in the tomb-like silence of the hallway.

"Since when do you cook?" I asked.

He stopped at the marble island and pulled a knife from the block. He didn't look back at me. "Since I realized that coming home to a house where everything is done for you just makes it easier to remember who isn't there to share it."

He started slicing an onion, his movements aggressive and uneven. I stood by the door, watching the way his broad shoulders bunched under the silk of his shirt. For a second, he didn't look like a billionaire. He just looked like a man trying not to fall apart in front of a woman who had already moved on.

Chapter 8: The Weight of the Knife

The kitchen was too quiet. In the old days, this room was a blur of staff in white aprons, the air smelling of clarified butter and expensive spices. Now, it just smelled of the rain drifting in through a cracked window and the sharp, stinging scent of the onions Caspian was currently mangling.

I sat on one of the high leather stools at the island, watching him. He was doing everything wrong. The slices were too thick, his grip on the knife was too tight, and he was standing with a tension that looked painful.

"You’re going to cut your finger off if you keep holding the handle like that," I said.

Caspian didn't stop. "I've handled worse than a kitchen knife, Jade."

"I’m a surgeon, Caspian. I’m the one who has to sew the finger back on. Just... move."

I walked around the counter. I didn't think about the proximity until I was standing right next to him. The heat coming off his body was a physical force, a wall of warmth that made the air feel heavy. I reached out, my hand hovering over his for a second before I took the knife from his grip.

Our fingers brushed. It was a small, accidental contact, but it felt like a jolt of static electricity. He didn't pull away. He stood there, looking down at me, his eyes dark and searching.

"Go sit down," I muttered, my voice sounding more breathless than I wanted. "I'll do it."

"I missed this," he whispered.

I stopped mid-slice. "Missed what? Me doing your chores?"

"The way you move. Like you have a purpose. Even when you were nineteen, you had this... fire. I spent years trying to put it out so I could keep you in a box. I didn't realize that the fire was the only thing keeping me warm."

I turned my head, looking up at him. He was too close. I could see the tiny lines of exhaustion around his eyes and the faint scar on his jawline I’d never noticed before. The "intimidating billionaire" was nowhere to be found. This was just a man, bleeding his regrets into the kitchen air.

"You didn't want the fire," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "You wanted a reflection. You wanted someone who would smile when you told her to and give you a son on a schedule. You got what you paid for, Caspian. You just didn't expect me to take the merchandise and run."

He stepped closer, his hand coming up to rest on the marble counter on either side of me, pinning me in. He wasn't touching me, but I was trapped.

"I thought I could control it," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. "I thought if I kept it professional, if I kept the contract between us, I wouldn't have to admit that I woke up every morning just to hear you breathe. I was a coward, Jade. I used that contract because I was terrified of what would happen if I actually loved a girl who had nothing to her name but a smile."

"And now?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Now I have everything," he said, looking around the multi-million dollar kitchen. "And it feels like a graveyard. Every room, every hallway... I see you everywhere. I see you leaving. I see you crying. I see the look in your eyes when you realized I was a monster."

He leaned in, his forehead almost touching mine. "I don't want the heir anymore, Jade. I don't care about the Vance name. I just want to know if there's any part of that girl left. The one who used to look at me like I was the sun."

I looked at his mouth, then back at his eyes. The "Rated 18" tension was so thick I could almost taste it. My body wanted to lean in, to find out if he still tasted like bourbon and bad decisions. But my mind was a fortress.

"That girl died in a rainstorm five years ago, Caspian," I said. I reached up, placing my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart thudding, a wild, erratic beat. "I’m a doctor now. I don't look at men like they’re the sun. I look at them like they’re patients. And you? You’re terminal."

I pushed him back, not hard, but enough to break the spell. I picked up the knife again and went back to the onions.

"Sit down, Caspian. Eat your dinner. Then we talk about Bianca, and then I leave."

He stood there for a long time, his chest heaving, before he finally pulled out a chair and sat. He looked like a man who had been sentenced to death and had just been told the execution was delayed.

We ate in a silence that was louder than any argument. The pasta was simple—garlic, oil, and red pepper—but it was the best thing I’d had in weeks. Or maybe it was just the company.

"I saw her today," Caspian said suddenly, his voice cold again. "After you left. I told her that if she ever went near the hospital again, I’d pull the funding from her father’s new shipping port. I told her the wedding was off. Permanently."

I put my fork down. "And what did she say?"

Caspian looked at me, his eyes as hard as flint. "She didn't say anything. She just smiled. That’s the problem with the Rossis, Jade. They don't scream. They wait."

My phone buzzed on the counter. A text from my neighbor, Sarah.

Jade, there’s a black car parked outside the apartment. It’s been there for an hour. Is everything okay?

I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at Caspian, and for the first time in years, I felt a genuine, cold-blooded fear.

"She’s at my apartment," I whispered. "She’s with Leo."

Caspian was on his feet before I could finish the sentence, the chair flipping over behind him with a crash. He didn't grab his jacket. He grabbed the handgun that was hidden in a drawer under the counter.

"Get in the car," he said.