Chapter 13: The Scar He Kept For Me

The safe house Singh gave us was a two-bedroom above a bakery on Westbridge Avenue. 

It smelled like cinnamon and old paint. There were no windows that opened all the way. Roman said that was good. It meant Julian’s men could not climb in.

It had been three days since we left the Kade estate. Three days since we saw his father alive and heard the voice of the Roman who was supposed to be dead.

Roman had not spoken about it. Not once. 

He stood at the small kitchen counter now, unwrapping fresh gauze. His stitches had pulled during the escape. Blood spotted the white bandage, then soaked through his shirt. Again.

“You need to sit,” I said. “Let me.” 

“I can do it.” His voice was flat. CEO voice. The one he used when he was afraid and did not want anyone to see. 

“No,” I said. “You cannot. You are shaking.” 

He looked down at his hands. They were. 

I crossed the room and took the gauze from him. My fingers brushed his. He flinched. Not from pain. From me. 

That hurt more than it should have. Because I wanted to touch him. God help me, after everything, I still wanted him.

“Sit,” I said again, softer this time. 

He did. He dropped into a chair at the tiny table and pulled his shirt over his head in one motion. The movement tore something. He hissed and went still. 

The scar ran from his left ribs to his hip. Angry. Red. Fresh. Below it, older ones crossed his back. Thin white lines I recognized from changing his dressings in the ICU. 

I used to think they were from the crash. Now I know better. And seeing them made my chest ache. Not with pity. With rage. For every time someone hurt him for choosing me.

“Victor?” I asked. 

He did not answer. 

I wet a cloth and knelt in front of him. Close. Close enough to see the pulse in his throat jump. Close enough to smell antiseptic and soap and him. 

I pressed the cloth to the fresh wound. He sucked in a breath but did not pull away. 

“Talk to me,” I said. “You have been quiet since the panic room. You do not sleep. You do not eat. If that infection gets worse, I will have to take you to a hospital. Julian will find us.” 

“I know.” 

“Then tell me what is going on in your head.” 

He closed his eyes. When he did, I let myself look. At the lashes I used to count when he was comatose. At the mouth I had kissed in ICU Room 7. At the man who was a boy I once hated and now could not imagine losing.

“If I tell you, you will leave,” he said.

“You do not get to decide that for me.” 

His eyes opened. Green, like the lake in the memory he told me about. The one where he apologized at seventeen. “I lied to you,” he said. 

I stilled. The cloth paused against his skin. I could feel the heat of him through it. “When?” 

“Vegas.” 

My heart did a slow, painful thud. “About why you married me.” 

“Yes.” 

I set the cloth down and reached for the antiseptic. I needed to do something with my hands before I touched him for the wrong reasons. “You said it was to protect me. To put your money between me and your father.” 

“That was part of it.” He watched me. “It was not all of it.” 

The room felt smaller. “Then tell me the rest.” 

He exhaled. “I loved you. Even then.” 

The antiseptic bottle almost slipped from my grip. 

“I was eighteen and stupid,” he went on. “My father told me to make you disappear. He said if I did not, he would. I thought if I married you, he could not touch you. You would be a Kade. Legally. Protected.” 

I dabbed the antiseptic on his wound. This time my fingers touched his skin. He did not even wince. But I did. Because touching him still felt like coming home to a house that burned down.

“That sounds like protection,” I said. My voice was not steady. 

“It was also selfish.” His voice was rough. “I wanted to keep you. I knew you hated me. I knew I did not deserve you. But I thought if you had my name, you could not leave. That someday you might look at me and not see the boy who shoved you into lockers.” 

I sat back on my heels. My knees touched his. I did not move away. “Roman.” 

“I know,” he said. “It was wrong. I took your choice away. I told myself it was for you. It was for me too.” 

Silence filled the kitchen. The bakery oven beeped downstairs. 

“Why tell me now?” I asked. 

“Because you deserve the truth before you decide anything else.” He looked at me straight. No mask. No CEO. Just Roman. “And because I cannot stand you looking at me like I might still be him. The boy who hurt you.” 

“You are not him.” The words came out before I could stop them. “You have not been with him since you woke up and looked at me like I was the answer to a question you forgot you asked.” 

His breath caught. 

“The man in that video was my brother,” he said. 

The world stopped. 

“What?” 

“His name was Adrian. He was born a year before me. My father sent him away when we were six. He said Adrian was weak. That he cried too much. That he would ruin the Kade name.” 

I could not breathe. “You never told me you had a brother.” 

“No one knew. Victor erased him. Told everyone he died of pneumonia. I thought he did. Until three days ago.” 

Pieces snapped together. The voice on the monitor. The way Roman’s face broke. 

“Victor raised him to replace you,” I said. 

Roman nodded. One jerk of his head. “In case I would not hurt you like he wanted.” 

My stomach turned. “Did Adrian know about me?” 

“Yes.” Roman’s jaw worked. “Victor told him I was the reason he was sent away. That I had everything he should have had. Including you.” 

Jealousy. That was the motive. But hearing it now, with Roman’s bare chest inches from me, with his blood on my hands, it did not feel like a plot point. It felt personal. Like someone wanted to rip us apart because we found each other anyway.

“Roman,” I whispered. “If Adrian is alive, then the car crash—” 

“Was meant for me,” he finished. “But Adrian took my car that night. He wanted to prove he could be me.” 

And died instead. Except he did not. 

I stood so fast the chair scraped. “He thinks you stole his life. He thinks I was part of it. He has my mom.” 

Roman stood too. He swayed, then caught himself on the table. “I know.” 

“You knew and you did not tell me?” My voice rose. Fear and anger, tangled. And hurt. Because he was still choosing for me. “She is with a man who wants us dead, Roman.” 

“I was trying to find her first. I did not want you to run in alone.” 

“You do not get to manage me. Not anymore.” I stepped back from him. “You married me without asking. You bullied me to keep me safe without asking. Now you keep this from me too?” 

“It is not the same.” 

“It feels the same.” My eyes burned. “You decide what I can handle. You always have.” 

He looked gutted. “Isla, I am trying to keep you alive.” 

“I am not a child. I am not fourteen with a flash drive I do not understand. I am a trauma nurse. I kept you alive. Me.” 

“I know that.” He stepped toward me. Close enough that I had to tip my head back to see him. “You are the strongest person I know. That is why I am terrified of losing you.” 

“Then stop lying. Stop omitting. Stop protecting me from the truth.” 

He reached for my face. I did not move away. His thumb brushed my cheek, then my bottom lip. The touch was feather light. It undid me.

“I love you,” he said. “I loved you at seventeen when I was too much of a coward to say it. I loved you at eighteen when I married you. I love you now when I do not know if you will forgive me. That is the truth.” 

My breath caught. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted him to never stop looking at me like that.

Attraction was not the problem. It never had been. Not when he looked at me like I was the only good thing he ever had. Not when his hands were gentle on wounds he helped cause. 

Trust was the problem. 

And he knew it. 

“I want to believe you,” I said. “But every time I do, someone else gets hurt. My dad. My mom. You.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“We stop letting Kade men run the game.” I put my hand over his, on my cheek. His skin was warm. Callused. Real. “We tell each other everything. Starting now. No more secrets. No more half-truths. If we are doing this, we do it as partners. Or we do not do it at all.” 

He searched my face. “Partners,” he said, like the word was new. It tasted like hope. 

“Partners,” I confirmed. “So tell me. Where is my mom?” 

His phone buzzed on the counter. We both turned. 

Unknown number. 

Roman picked it up. Put it on speaker. His other hand stayed on my waist. Anchoring me. Or himself. 

“Hello, wife,” Adrian’s voice said. He was not talking to Roman. He was talking to me. 

Ice ran through my veins. But I did not step back. Not with Roman’s hand on me. 

“I have your mother,” Adrian said. “And I have something you want. The rest of that flash drive.” 

My knees locked. Roman’s grip on my waist tightened. 

“Why are you telling me?” I asked. My voice did not shake. I was proud of that. 

“Because you are the only one Roman ever protected,” Adrian said. “I want to see if you will protect him.” 

“What do you want?” Roman said. 

“You,” Adrian said. “At the chapel in Vegas. The one where you married her. Come alone. Or Diane dies. Then Isla dies.” 

The line went dead. 

Roman looked at me. I looked at him. My hand was fisted in his shirt. I had not realized I grabbed him. 

“He wants you to choose,” I said. “Me or her.” 

“No,” Roman said. His eyes were dark. Resolved. But he did not let go of me. “He wants me to choose between the boy I was and the man I am now.” 

He reached for his keys. 

“Roman, you cannot go alone. It is a trap.” 

“I know.” He pulled his shirt back on, wincing. Then he cupped my face with both hands. “This is not a partnership decision. This is me ending what my father started.” 

“Do not you dare say I cannot come.” 

“I need you alive. I need you to trust that I can do this.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “And if I do not come back, I need you to know that loving you was the only thing I ever did right.” 

He kissed my forehead. Quick. Desperate. Like he was memorizing me. 

Before I could answer, the lights went out. 

The bakery downstairs went silent. 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slow. Deliberate. 

Roman pushed me behind him and reached for the gun Singh left us. His body was a wall between me and the door. 

The door handle turned. 

It was not locked. 

The door opened, and a silhouette filled the frame. 

“Hello, brother,” Adrian said. “You did not come alone after all.” 

He was not alone either. 

He had my mom. And the gun was not pointed at her anymore. 

It was pointed at me. 

And Roman was already moving to step in front of it.