I wanted to ask her what kind of "pressure" could make a man dangerous enough to trap strangers in his room, but I couldn't find the courage. Instead, I watched her work, elegant even in the simple act of cleaning a wound.
When she finished, she cupped my chin and studied me with eyes the same deep gray as her son's when it wasn't switching colours. "Come, darling. You'll rest upstairs."
I followed her up the staircase, the same staircase I had been shoved off of, my fingers brushing the banister.
"Could you do me a favor? Could you lie on the bed and prop a pillow beneath your legs?" I hesitated, my fingers trembling slightly.
"Of course," I murmured, forcing a polite smile. "But… why?"
Her lips curved, just faintly. "To help with the dizziness, dear. You lost a bit of blood."
Before I could ask more, the door to the room opposite Mr Blackwood's room opened and Benedict stepped out.
"Go on in, sweetie," he said softly. I obeyed, because disobedience seemed like a dangerous game in this house. If I followed their orders exactly, maybe I could leave. Maybe I could get home to my mother and pretend none of this ever happened—the mansion, the wolfish eyes of Eric Blackwood.
The room was warm. I could hear Benedict's deep voice murmuring to Mrs. Blackwood outside the door.
I eased onto the bed and positioned the pillow beneath my legs as instructed. The mattress was far too soft, far too inviting. I closed my eyes for a moment, my body heavy. The faint scent of rain drifted in through a half-open window.
The darkness tugged me under before I could resist.
I don't know how long I was asleep before the pain started. It began as a flicker, a heat deep in my chest that spread outward until it felt like my skin couldn't contain me. My ribs ached as if something alive inside me was pushing, clawing, fighting to get free. My breath came out ragged.
I tried to move but my limbs felt heavy, pinned by invisible hands.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears—too fast, too wild. The world spun in streaks of silver and red behind my eyelids. Then came the burn, deep and brutal, spreading from my sternum to my throat. I gasped, clutching at my neck, desperate for air, for anything.
I jolted upright, gasping for breath, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal. The remnants of that dream , the unbearable heat in my veins—still clung to me. I blinked hard, trying to clear the haze, only to slam straight into something solid. Hard. Warm. Alive.
I froze. My nose brushed against bare skin, and a deep, steady heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear. When my eyes adjusted, I realized I was pressed against a man's chest—his chest. Eric Blackwood sat beside me on the edge of the bed, his hand gripping my arm.
Before I could recoil, his arms came around me. My body betrayed me. I melted into him for a heartbeat too long, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way his breath caught against my temple. My fingers twitched, aching to touch more, to explore the heat radiating through his skin.
Then his voice cut through the haze, laced with warning.
"It won't happen again, no matter how hard you try."
I stiffened, pulling back. "What… what won't happen again?"
His gaze found mine—sharp, silver-edged, dangerous. "I won't fuck you again."
"Again?" I echoed, blinking. "When did you ever—f… you know—?" My tongue stumbled over the word, and his lips twitched, just slightly. A cruel, almost amused curve that made my cheeks burn hotter.
"How hard did you hit your head?" he asked, leaning closer. His breath brushed my cheek.
"I was shoved down the stairs by your girlfriend, so yeah… pretty hard." I glared up at him.
His brow furrowed. "I don't have a girlfriend." The way he said it—clipped, irritated—didn't sound like a lie.
"Can I go home now?" I asked, tired.
"You're not going anywhere."
"What?"
He stood, towering over me. "This little plot of yours—whatever game you and your mother think you're playing—isn't going to work. You'll stay here until I'm absolutely sure you're not pregnant."
"Why does everyone keep saying that? I am not pregnant!" I yelled. The storm outside cracked answering my fury. My heart pounded, my palms trembling, my chest heaving so violently it hurt. Every nerve in my body screamed for escape, for control, but in this house—his house—both were impossible.
"Okay," he drawled. "Then you're trying to get pregnant. Why else would you prop yourself up with pillows? You want my swimmers to hit the spot?"
My jaw dropped. "What the—" I shut my eyes, forcing calm that refused to come. Mrs Blackwood tricked me? "How would your swimmers get inside me?" I demanded, glaring at him. My face burned. God, he was infuriating.
Eric's lips curved into a smirk that made my pulse skip for all the wrong reasons. "Of all the women in town," he said, taking a step closer, "my mum brought me the crazy one."
"Who are you calling crazy?" I snapped.
"You," he said simply, pointing at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Do you even know who I am?"
My blood boiled. "I know exactly who you are." I shot to my feet, the room spinning slightly but I didn't care. "I'm just tired. Tired of being abused. Since the moment I entered this godforsaken place, you've tried to rape me, I've been lied on, shoved, slapped, tied down—So no, I'm done being polite just because you're a Blackwood."
His smirk disappeared. "I tried to rape you?" he repeated slowly, dangerously calm. "That's what you're going with?"
"Yes!" I shouted back, chest rising and falling too fast. My pulse roared in my ears. Then he stalked toward me. My breath hitched as the distance between us disappeared.