Broken Then Desired のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 121 - チャプター 129

(POV - SCARLETT) I woke up slowly, the way you do when you’re floating up from a very deep, dark place. The first thing I felt was a warm, heavy weight on my hand. I opened my eyes, my lashes fluttering against the soft pillow. It was his head. Victor had fallen asleep in the chair he’d pulled right up to my bed, and his head was resting on top of my hand. I could feel the softness of his dark hair against my skin. I could feel the warm, steady puff of his breath on the back of my hand with every slow, even breath he took. It was the most peaceful feeling in the world. I raised my head a little from the pillow. The room was dim and quiet. A soft, golden afternoon light seeped in from around the edges of the thick, dark curtains. I could tell it was late afternoon. The frantic, scary energy of the morning was long gone, replaced by the quiet, sleepy light of a day that was almost over. I turned slowly onto my side, moving like I was made of glass. I winced a little. A deep, bruised

(POV - JACK COLE) The feeling was pure power. It tasted like expensive whiskey and sweet, sweet victory. It warmed my chest and made my head feel light. Victor Blackwood was in handcuffs. He was locked in a cold, concrete cell deep in the county jail, right where he belonged. The arrest had been messy, dramatic, perfect for the cameras. And the entire thing had been captured by the news helicopters I had tipped off, hovering over his big, gloomy house like angry birds. I made sure of it. The whole city needed to see him taken down. Now, I stood at a polished wooden podium in the City Hall press room. Bright lights from a dozen cameras made the room hot and bright, like a stage. The air buzzed with the low sound of reporters murmuring and the clicking of camera shutters. This was my stage. My finest moment. My moment to bury Victor Blackwood forever under a mountain of evidence and public shame. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press," I began, my voice calm and strong, amplified by th

(POV - VICTOR BLACKWOOD) On getting home, the place was as silent as a graveyard. Jaxon and I walked through the front door, which was still busted and hanging loose from the police raid. No one came to greet us. No sound of a TV. No footsteps. Nothing. Which was very, very odd. Even in trouble, this house had a pulse. Now, it felt dead. It felt wrong in my bones. We moved carefully through the downstairs, our own footsteps too loud in the heavy quiet. The living room was a mess from the cops, overturned chairs, papers scattered. The kitchen was empty, a single cup left in the sink. Not one other human in sight. My men should have been here. Leo, at the computers. A guard at the door. Someone should have been guarding her. A cold finger of fear traced my spine. I looked up toward the second floor, my eyes scanning the dark windows. That’s when I saw it. The window in Scarlett’s room, the one overlooking the big backyard, was broken. Not just cracked. The glass was completely gon

(POV - SCARLETT) I’d been watching the news, alone in the big, quiet house. The press conference was live on every channel. My hands were clenched together so tight my knuckles were white. I saw Victor get arrested, the cameras crowding around him, and my heart cramped in my chest like a fist was squeezing it. Then I saw the crazy chaos, the other video that proved he wasn’t driving the truck, the men rushing in to break him out… and then he was gone from the screen. The news reporters were shouting, the camera was shaking. I didn’t know if he was safe or if he had been caught again. The not-knowing was a dull, constant ache inside me, worse than the bruises on my neck. That’s when I heard a noise downstairs. A heavy thump. Like a piece of furniture being knocked over. Or a body hitting the floor. My whole body went stone still. I muted the TV. The silence in the house felt thick and dangerous. “Jaxon?” I called out, my voice still rough and painful from the bruises on my thro

(POV - VICTOR BLACKWOOD)The hospital was a blur of white lights and hurried voices. Doctors and nurses moved around us, asking questions, checking her vitals, cleaning her wounds. I stayed by her side the whole time, my hand wrapped around hers, not letting go for a single second.They said she was lucky. Concussion, bruises, rope burns, a lot of blood loss. But no permanent damage. She would heal. She needed rest, intense bed rest, they said. And she needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere safe.I brought her home.Her own room was still a disaster scene, broken glass, overturned furniture, blood on the sheets. So I carried her into my room. My bed. The biggest, safest place in the house. I laid her down gently, pulling the soft blankets up to her chin.On the mantel across the room, I placed a small box. Inside was a new phone, still sealed, still unused. Her old one was smashed on a city street. She would need this. She would need to be able to reach me, always.I pulled a chair r