All Chapters of A Kiss For Every Bruise : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Gwen's POV The car door closed with a soft, expensive thud.Julian settled into the driver’s side beside the hired security detail, Dr. Weston took the seat across from me, her posture relaxed and satisfied. The spa had done its job, for them. I leaned back, letting my head rest against the cool leather, my lashes lowered, and my body arranged in the posture of pleasant exhaustion. A woman who had been cared for.Julian glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You did really well today.” I turned my head slightly, offering him a tired smile. “It was… nice. I forgot what that felt like.” That, at least, was true.Dr. Weston nodded approvingly. “Positive sensory reinforcement is important after prolonged trauma. You tolerated stimulation well.” As if calm were something inflicted.I ignored her as I watched storefronts blur together, familiar brands I used to own shares in, streets I once navigated without permission. I let the nostalgia show, just enough to look wistful, not resen

Adrian’s POV I knew the moment she stepped into the jewelry wing. Not because a screen lit up or an alert sounded, those came later, but because something in my chest loosened in a way it hadn’t in years. A quiet, dangerous hope unfurled, slow and cautious, like an animal testing unfamiliar ground. She was ready. I didn’t watch the feeds directly at first. That was discipline, Miguel’s voice in my head reminding me that observation without restraint is just another form of possession. I let my men do their jobs. I let the mall breathe. I let Gwen move. But when the report came through.“She asked for jewelry. Voluntarily.” I closed my eyes. Six years.. . Six years since I last held the sketches in my hands and told myself I was being ridiculous for designing a wedding gift like it was armor. I remembered that night clearly. Gwen had been curled up on the sofa in my penthouse, barefoot, hair loose, one leg draped over my thigh while I spread blueprints across the glass table. She’

Gwen’s POVNight fell gently over the estate, the way it always did, quiet, deceptive, and wrapped in silk and soft lighting meant to suggest peace. I had learned by now that silence here was never empty. It listened.The maids moved with practiced care as they prepared my room for the night. Curtains were drawn. Lamps dimmed. A glass of warm milk was placed on the bedside table because Dr. Weston had once suggested it helped with “emotional regulation.”I drank it every night. Not because it helped, but because compliance was currency. “Good night, Miss Gwen,” one of the younger maids said softly.“Good night,” I replied with a smile that didn’t ask questions.They lingered longer than usual. Adjusting pillows that did not need adjusting. Straightening blankets that were already smooth. One of them glanced briefly at the door, checking, I suspected, whether Camilla would appear, but she did not. Eventually, they left.The door closed with a soft click. I waited as I counted the secon

AdrianMiguel does not knock anymore. He has not since he came back from the Maldives and claimed the east wing like it was always his. Some habits never die. Sworn brothers don’t ask permission to exist in each other’s space.I hear his footsteps before I see him. Bare feet. He hates shoes indoors. Always has. “You’re pacing,” he says mildly, leaning against the doorframe. “Which means you’re thinking too much.” “I pace when I’m working.” “You pace like this when you’re scared,” he corrects.I do not look at him. My gloves are already on, black leather, fitted, familiar. I flex my fingers once, twice. The sound of skin against leather steadies me. Miguel’s gaze drops to my hands and in his gaze there is no judgment. Never that. Just quiet acknowledgment.“You held Kayla without them today,” he says. “For forty-three minutes,” I reply automatically. “Then I washed my hands.” “Once,” he adds. I finally look at him. “Th

AdrianKayla did not let go of me when we got home. That was the first thing I noticed. Usually, exhaustion sent her inward. She curled up, tucked herself away, made herself small again, as if joy cost too much to sustain for long. However, tonight is different, though. She stayed pressed to my side as Miguel unlocked the door, her fingers hooked into the hem of my coat like an anchor.I did not tell her to move. I did not tense, either, at least not enough for her to notice.Miguel glanced back at us, one dark brow lifting slightly. He said nothing. He never ruined moments by naming them.Inside, Kayla kicked off her shoes without being prompted. They landed crooked by the door, messy and careless. A small rebellion.She noticed them too, her eyes flicked down, then up at me, waiting.I smiled. Just a little. “We’ll fix it later.” Her shoulders dropped, relief soft and visible. She padded into the living room