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Chapter_63
The soft hum of the lights illuminated the room, casting a sharp contrast to the tension in the air. Alexander’s gaze remained fixed on Quinn as she winced under his touch. His fingers paused, the weight of her discomfort momentarily halting his movements. Gently, he grasped her wrist and rolled up the sleeve of her blouse. The sight of the scrapes and a bruise of concerning size caused a flicker of concern in his eyes. His fingers moved slowly, tracing the edge of her collar before pulling it down to reveal another bruise, this one marring her shoulder.
His gaze met hers, silent for a beat. Quinn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting slightly as she fought to steady her breathing. The silence in the room thickened before she gathered the strength to respond.
“Why didn’t you treat this?” Alexander’s voice was low, but his words cut through the stillness like a knife. He peeled back a bandage, revealing an untreated wound beneath it. Quinn’s eyes fluttered open, her face an unreadable mask, though the pain she felt was clearly written in her eyes. She signed, “It’s nothing. Not serious.” Her fingers trembled as she spoke, the words almost as if she were trying to convince herself.
The truth was, Quinn had hesitated to apply any medication, knowing it could harm their unborn child. The delicate state of the pregnancy made her more cautious than ever before.
Alexander rose from the bed and began rummaging through their drawers and cabinets. He returned moments later, his hands empty, a frown tugging at his features. “Where’s our first-aid kit?” he asked, a hint of frustration lacing his voice. He couldn’t help but find it ironic—Quinn had always kept their home in perfect order, yet now, when he needed it, he felt out of place in his own home.
Quinn simply shook her head in response. She had made the decision to forgo the treatment. Signing, “We don’t have a first-aid kit,” her movements were quick but quiet, resigned.
A frown deepened on Alexander’s forehead as he moved to guide her toward the door. “Let’s just go to the hospital then,” he suggested, his voice calm but tinged with concern.
Quinn paused, her hands moving in rapid gestures, dismissing his suggestion with frantic speed. “No need to trouble yourself. I’ve taken care of it. It’s really fine. It’s already scabbed over.” She hesitated before adding, “I’m tired. I want to sleep.”
Her words hung in the air, but the worry in Alexander’s eyes didn’t dissipate. He studied her for a long moment, trying to gauge whether she was truly alright. “You sure you don’t want to go?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.
Quinn’s head bobbed with quick, desperate shakes. “Okay, we won’t go,” he finally conceded, his tone softening. He settled back into bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist. The quiet comfort of his presence did little to ease the growing tension in the room, but Quinn allowed herself to relax, if only for a moment. The bedroom light remained on, a constant presence in the space, reflecting Alexander’s aversion to darkness. It was a subtle detail, but one that had become a part of their daily life. The light was almost always left on, a reminder of the things they couldn’t fully face.
It had been three years since their wedding. They shared this room now, and it was here, in this space, that Alexander had kissed her for the first time. Quinn had looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, while Alexander had stared back, a conflicted expression crossing his face. He had admitted, in a moment of raw honesty, that it felt like he was committing a crime. At that moment, Quinn had believed that this was how love was confirmed between a man and a woman—through intimacy, through a kiss.
But over time, she had come to realize it wasn’t love at all. It was something else—lust, perhaps. A duty that came with marriage. She had been told that such moments of intimacy could be just as sensual, even without love. She had learned that love and sex were not the same thing. They could exist separately, and in her case, they often did.
When Quinn woke again, the clock read noon. The weight of the silence in the villa pressed down on her, thick and suffocating. Her first instinct was to check her phone, but Abigail’s response was still absent. Quinn’s heart sank as she saw that her messages had seemingly vanished into a void. She understood why Abigail hadn’t replied. I’m the cause of all of this, she thought bitterly. How could someone like me ever have friends?
She sat on the couch numbly, the TV blaring in the background, but the noise did nothing to drown out the emptiness that clung to the villa. The volume of the TV was turned up as loud as it could go, yet it still couldn’t fill the silence that had taken over her world.
Oliver had agreed to Alexander’s terms, assisting with the customs issues, but the ordeal with Abigail was far from resolved. If anything, it was escalating. The Vanderbilt family’s stocks had taken a nosedive, losing billions in mere days. The strain had visibly aged her father, his hair now streaked with grey, as if the weight of it all had crushed him overnight.
Abigail stood at the threshold of her father’s study, her gaze fixed on his weary form. The distance between them felt insurmountable, as if no words could bridge the gap of all that had happened. But it only took a flick of Alexander’s finger to send ripples through the entire Vanderbilt family, and now, it seemed those ripples had become waves.
