Chapter 7

The master bedroom was dead silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning vent above them.

Gaines sat on the edge of the mattress. His spine was completely rigid. He looked like a statue carved out of tension.

Jaclyn lay behind him. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the windows. She stared at the broad expanse of his back, her gaze slowly moving upward.

Her eyes stopped at the collar of his dress shirt. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons.

Just below his collarbone, a harsh, angry red scratch marred his tanned skin. It looked fresh.

The memory hit her like a physical strike.

On their wedding night, when he had tried to carry her into this very room, she had fought him like a wild animal. She had taken the massive diamond engagement ring Bradford had given her and dragged it violently across Gaines's chest.

A suffocating wave of guilt crashed over her.

Jaclyn slowly let go of his sleeve. She lifted her trembling hand, reaching out toward the red scratch on his skin.

Gaines felt the shift in the air.

Just as her fingertips were about to brush his skin, he violently jerked away. He shot up from the bed as if he had been burned.

He spun around. His large hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, stopping her hand in mid-air.

His grip was brutal. Jaclyn gasped in pain, her eyebrows pulling together.

Gaines stared down at her. His dark eyes were burning with a mixture of suppressed rage and the humiliating sting of his wounded pride.

"What are you doing?" Gaines sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "Checking to see if you cut deep enough to hit an artery?"

Jaclyn shook her head frantically. Fresh tears spilled over her lashes.

"No," she choked out, her voice thick with tears. "I just... I wanted to see it. I wanted to apologize for what I did."

Gaines let out a harsh, barking laugh. The sound was completely devoid of humor.

He shoved her hand away and took a large step backward, putting a safe physical distance between them.

"Your acting is pathetic," he spat, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Yesterday, you couldn't even stand to look at my face without gagging. Now you want to touch me?"

Jaclyn pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the spinning in her head.

"Gaines, please listen to me," she pleaded. "I see everything clearly now. Bradford is a liar. The Lesters are-"

"Shut up."

Gaines cut her off. His voice was like a whip cracking in the silent room.

He glared at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

"I don't care if you're playing hard to get, or if you've completely lost your mind," Gaines stated, his voice turning to absolute ice. "I am never signing those divorce papers."

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his hips.

"You can hate me. You can try to run. But you will die in this penthouse as Mrs. Acevedo."

It was a cruel, possessive declaration. But underneath the brutal words, Jaclyn heard the desperate, bleeding insecurity of a man terrified of losing her.

She didn't scream back. She didn't throw a pillow at him.

She sat up slowly, resting her back against the headboard. She looked at him with nothing but deep, unconditional pity and warmth.

"I won't ever ask for a divorce again," Jaclyn said quietly.

The calmness of her response hit Gaines like a physical slap. It completely derailed his anger. His eyes narrowed, his suspicion skyrocketing to dangerous levels.

He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, trying to dissect her soul.

Then, he spun around and marched toward the door.

He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He didn't look back.

"Dr. Alan will be here in thirty minutes," Gaines said coldly. "Be ready."

He walked out and slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him. The loud bang echoed off the walls, rattling the windows.

The room fell silent again.

Jaclyn slumped back against the pillows. She covered her face with both hands. A muffled, broken sob ripped through her fingers.

Outside the room, Gaines didn't walk away.

He leaned his back against the cold wood of the door. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands curled into tight fists, his fingernails biting painfully into his palms. He fought every instinct in his body screaming at him to open the door and pull her into his arms.

He forced his eyes open. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.

He pushed off the door and walked toward his study. He needed facts. He needed to find out exactly what the Lester family had done to her brain.