Chapter 6
Charlotte's POV:
I fought to keep myself composed, but cold sweat had already broken out across my forehead beneath the burlap sack, and my body trembled no matter how hard I tried to stop it.
Crippling my hands — that was so much more than just losing the ability to paint.
I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't.
"Oh, double the price?"
Another man's voice cut through the dark, and a hand landed on my shoulder, sliding slowly down to my waist. His tone dripped with something filthy.
"Not bad. I'll give you a chance — keep us all happy, and maybe we'll let you walk."
Crude laughter rippled through the van, layered with comments I didn't want to understand. My stomach dropped.
The hand that had touched me grew bolder. Shameless. Then another hand pushed beneath the hem of my skirt—
Revulsion flooded through me. I kicked out blindly, no aim, no control.
My ankle was caught mid-swing. A sticky, low voice hovered above my head. "Feisty. I like that."
"Boss, we're trashing her hands anyway. Why not break all four limbs first? Easier to have fun without her fighting back."
"Too messy. Just shoot her up — we'll all have a better time."
"..."
Through the laughter, a hand clamped hard around my wrist. Panic surged.
A shot? What shot?
All rational thought evaporated. I thrashed like a wild animal, every instinct screaming — not to negotiate, not to reason — just escape. Get out of this van. Get out now.
A slap cracked across my face, snapping my head sideways. My ears rang, the voices around me breaking into fragments.
"...behave yourself, if you know what's good for you!"
Something cold slid into my veins.
Fear swallowed me whole.
I didn't care anymore. I fought with everything I had left, even as my body started to betray me. Death first. Anything but this.
The van lurched to a violent stop, throwing me hard against the seat. The driver exploded from the front.
"What the hell?! You trying to get us all killed?!"
"Why are we stopped?"
Cursing erupted on all sides. Through the chaos, I forced myself to stay focused, fingers searching blindly around me.
Chaos means opportunity.
"Driver — go handle it. No confrontation, just get us moving — hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
"You grabbed someone on the Windsor Group's turf. Who gave you the nerve?"
Robert?
I'd spent long enough talking to him in that office. I would know his voice anywhere.
The panic drained out of me in one breath.
Even if it was only for the Windsor Group's reputation, he would get me out of here.
Shouting. Crashing. The sounds blurred together as the drug pulled at the edges of my mind. I clawed at the sack over my head, but my arms had gone heavy and useless, and the world tilted every time I moved.
Then a strong hand steadied me. The sack was ripped away.
Light poured in, sharp and blinding, and through it — a man's face. Striking. Almost surreal, like something haloed in light.
"Robert..."
His name barely made it past my lips before everything went dark.
Robert caught me as I fell, pulling me against his chest. The beauty of his face had gone cold and hard.
"Make sure they're dealt with," he said, his voice like a blade. "Then hand them over to the police."
Charlotte's POV:
Ice-cold liquid. Filthy hands. The rip of fabric. A speeding van.
I snapped awake, staring up at the ceiling light, chest heaving.
My mind was still trapped in that van. My heart hammered. Sweat soaked through my gown.
"You're up."
The voice cut through the haze.
I blinked, turning toward the window.
Mason?
Why was he here?
The last face I remembered was Robert's.
The questions crashed in all at once, and for a disoriented moment I couldn't tell if any of it had been real — the kidnapping, the van, the needle — or just a nightmare.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, my voice coming out rough. "What are you doing here?"
"Don't play dumb."
Mason let out a short, humorless laugh and crossed the room toward me. "Qiana twisted her ankle because of you, and I have to take care of her. So what — you threw yourself into the hospital to compete for attention? Haven't I warned you about pulling stunts like this?"
Hospital.
Competing for attention.
His words landed like blows, and I came fully awake.
I remembered exactly what had happened before the hospital. I remembered the look on his face when Qiana got hurt. And now I could see clearly what was in his eyes as he stood over me.
Contempt.
Three years. More than three years of loving this man, and this is what I got.
I really was an idiot.
I closed my eyes for a moment, steadying my voice. "I was kidnapped. They almost destroyed my hands."
A scoff cut me off. Short. Sharp. It hit something deep.
He didn't believe me. Not even a little.
Mason leaned down, close enough that his breath warmed my face — but it did nothing to touch the cold spreading through my chest.
"Charlotte." His voice was almost amused. "Did you write this whole thing yourself? Direct it too?"
"If it was so dangerous, why are your hands still fine?"
"If you're going to play the martyr, you need to commit. Next time, hurt yourself for real."
He straightened, meeting my hollow gaze without a flicker of remorse. If anything, there was a lightness in his tone that made it worse.
"I know you love me. I know you hate how I treat Qiana. But I told you from the beginning, didn't I?"
"Don't touch Qiana. You're still Mrs. Scott."
One hand in his pocket. Eyes dark and unreadable, except for the mockery underneath.
Helpless, total despair rose in me like a tide.
I had thought that even if he loved Qiana, he was at least a decent person at his core.
In this moment, everything I thought I knew about him collapsed.
I opened my mouth — and his phone rang.
I watched his expression shift in real time. The contempt dissolved. Softness replaced it, instant and complete. His voice, when he answered, was gentle in a way I hadn't heard in a long time.
"What's wrong? Okay. I'm on my way — don't worry."
He didn't glance back at me. Not once. He was already moving toward the door when he tossed the words over his shoulder.
"Qiana's scared. I'm going to her. Stay put."
The difference was staggering.
I closed my eyes and let the ache settle.
Good. The crueler he was to me, the easier it would be to walk away without looking back. If he'd left me even a thread of warmth, I might have convinced myself he still cared.
I almost laughed at myself.
I got up and made my way to the nurses' station. "Hi — I'm in bed twelve. Did the person who brought me in leave a contact number?"
The nurse found it quickly.
Damon's number. That made sense — someone like Robert wouldn't hand out his personal cell to a hospital.
I thanked her and dialed.
"Mr. Gray — please pass along my gratitude to Mr. Windsor for saving my life. And thank you, too, for bringing me here."
"I'd love to take you both to dinner sometime, as a proper thank-you."
The voice on the other end was warm. I was smiling as I spoke.
Then my gaze drifted — and stopped.
My breath caught.
