Chapter 5 FALL IN LOVE

Cyrus's mood changed in an instant. One moment, he was happy and carefree; the next, his face darkened at the mention of his cousin attending the same art exhibition. Charlotte noticed him staring at her hands, his face reddening with anger.

"Did you get that from the accident?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Charlotte hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Why was he only noticing the scar now? The scar her husband, Nicholas, had left her. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled that day-when Nicholas had tried to take advantage of her, but she had refused. In retaliation, he had tied her hands with rope and forced her to watch him with another woman. Afterward, he had wiped his hands on her, leaving her with the scar.

She quickly withdrew her hands from Cyrus's prying eyes, but he wasn't deterred. He moved closer, his face inches from hers, and lifted her hands to examine them more closely. "This doesn't look like it came from an accident. Who did this to you?" he demanded, his voice trembling with anger.

Charlotte was stunned, unsure of what to say. She didn't want to relive that moment or reveal the truth about her past. "It's nothing," she stammered, trying to pull her hands away.

But Cyrus held on tight, his warm hands enveloping hers. For a brief moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by a spark of electricity between them. But reality quickly returned, and Charlotte yanked her hands free, fleeing upstairs to escape the memories that threatened to consume her.

Later that night, sleep evaded her. She woke up drenched in sweat after a nightmare where Chloé was in danger, and an overwhelming sense of fear gripped her. Unable to shake the feeling, she went downstairs to get a glass of water, hoping it would calm her nerves.

As she turned around, she was startled to find Cyrus standing behind her, his eyes fixed on her like a predator eyeing its prey. She shivered, feeling exposed in just a tee with her hair in a messy bun. Cyrus's blue eyes, usually so piercing, now burned with a different intensity.

Trying to ease the tension, Charlotte raised the bottle to her lips, but her hands trembled. One moment she was sipping water, and the next, Cyrus groaned and closed the distance between them, kissing her. At first, she didn't respond, but soon found herself melting into the kiss, losing track of time until they both pulled away for air.

"Couldn't sleep?" Cyrus asked, his voice still husky.

Charlotte could only nod, still processing what had just happened.

Cyrus led her to his room, and they cuddled together. She felt safe and warm in his arms, and before long, they both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Charlotte woke up in Cyrus's bed, wrapped in his embrace. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind. As she lay there, she took a moment to observe him. He was so handsome, with firm lips and a sharp jawline. But there was something familiar about him, something she couldn't quite place.

She dismissed the thought, convincing herself he was probably someone she had seen in the tabloids. He was wealthy, after all. Not wanting to wake him, she carefully unwrapped herself from his arms and tiptoed back to her room.

Just as she reached the door, Cyrus's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Leaving without saying good morning?" he called out, his voice echoing through the room.

Busted, she muttered to herself. She quickly turned around and said, "Good morning!" before rushing back to her room. She heard him laugh, but all she wanted was to escape the awkwardness.

As she closed her door, Charlotte couldn't shake the way Cyrus had looked at her, the way he had kissed her. It was as if he could see right through her, as if he knew her on a deeper level. She tried to dismiss the feeling, chalking it up to paranoia, but the thought lingered, haunting her like a ghost.

The silence of the big house enveloped her once again, filling her with a sense of dread. Cyrus had left for work, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The art exhibition was later that day, but Charlotte wasn't sure she could make it. A pounding migraine had taken hold, and all she wanted was to curl up in bed and disappear.

Just as she started to drift off to sleep, the sound of the door opening startled her. Cyrus was back, and he looked worried. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked, sitting down beside her on the bed.

Charlotte tried to brush off her discomfort, but Cyrus saw right through her. He checked her temperature and frowned. "You're burning up," he said, concern lacing his voice. "I'm going to call the doctor."

But Charlotte objected, insisting that she just needed to rest. Cyrus looked uncertain but eventually relented. He wanted to stay home with her, but Charlotte knew he couldn't. He had to represent his mother at the art exhibition.

Before leaving, Cyrus made sure she was comfortable, bringing her water and blankets. A small part of her wished he would stay, to care for her and make her feel better, but she knew it wasn't possible.

As the door closed behind him, Charlotte's mind began to wander. She thought about her parents, her sister, and wondered how they were doing. Were they looking for her? And what about Nicholas? Did he still want her? The mere thought of it sent chills down her