Chapter 6

Cedric stared at me, his cheek red. He was stunned.

His eyes flickered to my bruised face. The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by something I couldn't quite read. He took a deep breath.

"If that makes you feel better, Eleanor." His voice was quiet. "If that's what you need to move past this."

He reached out. His fingers brushed against my temples, tracing the dark bruise. "Are you still angry, Ella?"

"No," I said. My voice was calm. Flat. "I'm not angry."

A sigh of relief escaped him. "Good. That's good." He even smiled a little. "I knew you'd understand."

For the next few days, Cedric was a model husband. He brought me flowers. He sat by my bedside. He fetched me water. He read me stories.

"You have such a wonderful husband," the doctor remarked, smiling warmly at Cedric. "Always here. So attentive."

Cedric puffed out his chest, a proud flush on his cheeks. "I learned from the best. My Eleanor taught me how to be a good partner." He squeezed my hand.

I watched him. My lips curved into a tiny, humorless smile. I didn't correct him. What was the point?

He leaned over. He gently massaged my temples, his fingers soft against my skin. "Still a bit of a headache, my love?"

He stood up. He carefully draped a blanket over my legs. He was still performing.

Then the door burst open. A frantic nurse stood there. "Mr. Hopkins! It's Cassidy Caldwell! She's bleeding! She needs a transfusion! Now!"

Cedric was on his feet in an instant. He was already halfway out the door. He didn't even look back.

He stopped. His eyes met mine. I was watching him. My smile was still there. Cold. Unmoving.

He hesitated. He took a step back into the room. "Her injuries are severe, Eleanor. She needs me." His voice was defensive. Almost angry.

Then he was gone. The door swung shut behind him.

That night, my bandages felt too tight. My skin burned. The pain in my side flared. I drifted in and out of consciousness. The nurse said it was a fever. From infection.

The door creaked open again. It was late. Cedric stood there. His shadow stretched long and distorted across the floor.

"Eleanor," he whispered. "They need your blood. Cassidy's blood type is rare. Yours matches."

My hand, resting on the bed, clenched into a fist. The sheet crumpled in my grip.

He came closer. He sat on the edge of my bed. "Please, Ella. Just a little. For Cassidy. She saved my life once, you know." His voice was soft. Begging.