Chapter 5 5

POV Katherine

I couldn't sleep that night.

I didn't close my eyes for even a second. My cheek still stung — not just from the force of the slap, but from the humiliation of having stayed still, without returning it, without even having the courage to respond to him.

What the hell was wrong with me? Had I really changed that much?

We had changed.

It had been so long since we’d argued like that — with shouts, with blows, with words that couldn’t be taken back. But this time… it was different. Not just because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. I saw my husband completely unhinged. A man out of his mind. And worse still, I knew he was telling the truth.

I sat up slowly. My body felt heavy, as if I’d fallen five stories. I walked to the bathroom without looking at myself in the mirror. I washed my face, but the dark circles were still there, deep and shadowed. My lower lip trembled without permission.

Everything I touched fell apart.

Andrew, my marriage, my son.

I was a magnet for destruction.

And though I told myself I shouldn’t blame myself, I couldn’t help it. Something in me felt like I’d caused it all. That if I’d been different — stronger, gentler, happier — maybe Ethan would still be alive. Maybe Andrew wouldn’t hate me. Maybe I wouldn’t be here, alone, with marked skin and a soul like wet paper.

I spent the morning without eating. I just sat on the sofa like a ghost, with my robe loosely tied and my mind adrift. The curtains were still drawn, as always. The house felt like a mausoleum.

I heard the doorbell ring while I was lost in thought.

I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Maybe if I didn’t answer, they’d leave. But the bell rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. And then came the knocks.

I got up, annoyed, walking like an automaton to peek through the small window in the hallway. And my blood froze when I saw him.

“Elliot!” I exclaimed.

He was sprawled on the porch, half-curled up, his face to the ground, his shirt stained with something red. Blood.

My first instinct was to run for the phone, but my body moved before I could think. I opened the door and crouched down beside him.

“Elliot! What happened? Say something!” I shook him gently. “Elliot!”

He was breathing, though with difficulty. Conscious, but barely.

“I have to call emergency services,” I said, almost breathless.

“No,” he whispered, grabbing my wrist with unexpected strength. “Take me yourself. To the hospital. It’s faster.”

“You’re not okay! You’re bleeding!”

“Just… help me get up.”

I hesitated. But he was already trying to sit up, wincing in pain. I grabbed him under the arm, feeling almost his entire weight on me.

“Lean on me,” I ordered.

Somehow, we staggered toward his car, parked by the curb. I opened the passenger door with difficulty, helped him sit, and ran around to the driver’s side. My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum.

God, he was hurt.

When I sat behind the wheel, panic overwhelmed me.

“How do I start this thing?”

He, gasping, pointed to a button.

I pressed it.

The engine roared with such a savage rumble that I jumped in my seat.

“Jesus!”

I pressed the accelerator nervously. The car lurched forward as if it wanted to take off. I screamed.

“Damn it!”

I slammed on the brakes, the screech of tires shaking my whole body.

“You’re insane! This is a spaceship, not a car!”

Elliot laughed. He actually laughed.

I turned my head — but the face of that young man was no longer the same as in the house.

Smiling. Looking at me as if he’d just won a bet.

“What… what’s so funny?”

He leaned in slightly, his body still tilted from the supposed wound, and murmured:

“Does this count as getting you out of the house?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You got in a car, you left the house, you’re driving…” He grinned, shamelessly. “Did I do it? Did I win?”

I looked at him closely.

There was no wound.

No real blood.

There was a broken lipstick smudge on his collar, though.

And a poorly disguised stain on his shirt.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I shouted, taking my hands off the wheel. I braked hard, right in the middle of the street. “Were you faking this?”

“Mmm…”

“You little shit!” I yelled.

I yanked the engine off, opened the door, and got out, slamming it behind me. I stormed down the sidewalk, my heart about to burst. How dare he? How could he play with something like this?

“Mrs. Ellis!” he shouted behind me. “Hey! A deal’s a deal!” I didn’t turn around. I walked faster. But I heard him, loud and clear: “You promised that if I got you to leave, you’d accept the deal!”

I stopped dead.

I spun on my heels, furious.

He was already out of the car, approaching. He’d taken off the stained shirt and walked toward me as if nothing had happened.

“What kind of sick person does that? What if I’d had a heart attack? What if I’d called the police?! What if—?! I could’ve crashed your spaceship of a car!”

“But you didn’t,” he said calmly, so close I could feel the heat of his body. “Look at us — we’re out. You have to be my teacher. I held up my end; now it’s your turn.”

“You turned this into a game, which gives me even more reason not to accept.”

“A game?”

“Look at what you did! I thought something had happened to you.”

“I played my cards. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s the way you did it, Elliot.”

“Mrs. Ellis.” His eyes — a piercing olive green — held mine with an unsettling firmness. There was no arrogance there, just a strangely serene confidence. “I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. Don’t disappoint me. I want to learn everything… every single thing you can teach me. I know you’ll be a great teacher… and I’ll be your most dedicated student.”

He smiled faintly, turned around, and walked back to the car while I watched his back tense with each step.

What the hell…?

Ah. I can’t believe what I’ve gotten myself into.

But he’s right.

A deal’s a deal.