Chapter 5

Collette stumbled back into her standard ward room.

Her legs gave out the second she reached the bed. She collapsed onto the thin mattress.

She grabbed the scratchy white blanket and pulled it entirely over her head.

Her body shook uncontrollably. The fever burned her skin, but inside, she felt completely hollowed out.

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The sound of expensive leather shoes hitting the linoleum floor grew louder, stopping right outside her door.

The door was pushed open.

"Mr. Lara," Marta's voice trembled with respect.

Hartwell walked in. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Collette kept her eyes squeezed shut. Under the blanket, her hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug deep into her palms.

Hartwell stopped next to the bed.

He looked down at the blanket, then his eyes caught the drops of blood smeared on the white sheets from where she had ripped out the IV.

The space between his eyebrows pulled into a hard, deep crease.

"Get a nurse in here to fix this line. Now," Hartwell barked. His voice was thick with raw anger and heavy irritation.

The nurse rushed in, her hands shaking as she re-inserted the needle into Collette's bruised vein. As soon as she finished, she practically ran out of the room.

Hartwell reached down and violently ripped the blanket off Collette's head.

Collette was forced to open her eyes.

She stared up into his pitch-black eyes. Her own eyes were completely dead, filled with nothing but defensive spikes and cold mockery.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hartwell demanded, towering over her. "Running out to the balcony in the middle of the night? Is this some pathetic attempt at a pity play?"

The words hit the exact center of Collette's trauma.

She let out a harsh, breathless laugh. Her chest heaved.

"A pity play?" Collette sneered. Her voice was weak, but the venom in it was lethal. "I wouldn't dare. After all, I'm not nearly as delicate as Miss Nielsen."

Hartwell's pupils contracted to pinpoints.

The air in the room turned dangerous.

He leaned down, his large hand snapping out to grip her jaw. His fingers pressed hard into her skin, forcing her to tilt her head back and look at him.

"Do not test my limits, Collette," Hartwell warned through gritted teeth. "You and she are not comparable."

Collette's heart physically ached, but she forced her chin up higher against his grip.

"You're absolutely right," she smiled, a hollow, ugly thing. "I'm just a whore you bought. She's your actual heart."

Hartwell's jaw ticked. The muscle jumped under his skin.

His fingers tightened on her jaw.

Collette sucked in a sharp breath of pain, but she didn't blink. She just stared at him, daring him to break her.

They stayed locked like that for ten agonizing seconds.

Hartwell stared at her flushed, feverish cheeks and her cracked, bleeding lip.

Slowly, he let go.

He let out a harsh breath, turned his back to her, and walked to the water dispenser in the corner of the room.

He filled a paper cup with warm water. He pressed the back of his hand against the paper to test the temperature, ensuring it was appropriately warm.

He walked back to the bed.

He slid his arm under her neck, easily lifting her upper body off the pillows. He pressed the cup to her lips.

Collette turned her face away. She kept her lips clamped shut.

"Drink it," Hartwell growled. "Or I will force it down your throat with my mouth."

Collette's eyes widened slightly. She knew he wasn't bluffing.

Humiliated, she opened her mouth and let him pour the water down her dry throat.

When he pulled the cup away, Collette tried to shift her weight. Her left arm, stiff from the IV, moved awkwardly. She let out a quiet hiss of pain.

Hartwell set the cup down.

He didn't say a word. He just reached out and grabbed her cold, stiff arm.

He placed her arm across his thigh. His large, warm hand wrapped around her wrist.

With perfect, calculated pressure, his thumb began to massage the tight muscles of her forearm, working his way up to ease the soreness from the IV fluid.

He kept his head down. His face was completely focused, his touch incredibly gentle, as if he were holding something made of fragile glass.

Collette stared at the straight line of his nose and his thick eyelashes.

The heavy block of ice in her chest cracked, just a fraction.