Chapter 341:

Xavier flinched. The threat was subtle but sharp. If he abandoned her now, after a suicide attempt, the media narrative would be brutal. Billionaire Playboy Drives Savior to Suicide.

He slid off the chair and onto his knees beside the bed. The linoleum floor was cold and hard.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Xavier vowed. “I’ll protect you.”

“Then prove it,” she said softly.

Xavier looked up, hopeful. “Anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Zoe reached out with her bandaged hand and touched his cheek. The gauze was white and stark against his stubble.

“The Duchess’s Birthday Gala,” she said. “Next week.”

Xavier froze. The Gala was the event of the season. The guest list was locked. The Duchess had explicitly banned Zoe from the property.

“Zoe…” he hesitated. “Grandmother… she won’t allow it.”

Zoe pulled her hand back instantly, recoiling as if burned. “See? You’re ashamed of me. You want to keep me hidden in a hotel until I disappear. You want me to be a secret shame.”

She turned away, curling into a ball. “Just go, Xavier. Let the press write what they want. Let them say you killed me.”

“No!” Xavier panicked. He grabbed her shoulder. “Okay! Okay. I’ll take you. As my official partner. Grandmother will just have to deal with it.”

Zoe stopped crying. She didn’t turn around yet. She let the silence stretch, making him sweat.

“As your… future fiancée?” she pushed.

Xavier swallowed hard. He felt the trap closing, but he couldn’t see the exit. “As my partner. We’ll… we’ll talk about the rest later.”

𝗧𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 g⍺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀﹐ⅽ𝗼𝗺

It was enough for now.

“Okay,” Zoe sniffled. She turned back, offering a brave, watery smile. “Then I’ll eat. Will you feed me? My arm hurts.”

Xavier nodded. He picked up the spoon. He fed her the mashed potatoes like she was a child. He felt trapped, heavy, but also relieved that she wasn’t bleeding.

The door opened.

Aurora walked in holding a bag of fresh clothes for Xavier. She stopped dead. She saw Xavier on his knees. She saw Zoe opening her mouth for the spoon.

The dynamic was clear. The predator had recaptured the prey.

Aurora didn’t gasp. She didn’t roll her eyes. She just set the bag down on the chair with a deliberate thud.

Xavier jumped, looking guilty.

“I brought you a clean shirt,” Aurora said, her voice flat. “Yours smells like theatre.”

“It’s not theatre,” Xavier snapped, defensive because he knew he looked weak. “She’s eating. That’s what matters.”

Zoe looked at Aurora over Xavier’s shoulder. Her eyes were dry. She smiled—a cold, sharp, victorious smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I won, the smile said.

Aurora met her gaze. She didn’t smile back. She looked at Zoe like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating bacteria.

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