Chapter 394:
Zaylee’s lips turned bloodless. Every fantasy she’d clung to crumbled into dust.
The butler rushed in, drawn by the raised voices. Brad grabbed a coat from the closet and threw it toward her. “Take her,” he told the butler. “And tomorrow, move her things to the house next door.”
The butler bowed quickly. “Yes, sir.”
He glanced at Zaylee, and it didn’t take long to understand the mess she’d made. His tone turned stiff. “Please, Miss Cullen. Don’t trouble Mr. Morgan any further.”
Zaylee pushed herself off the floor, clutching the coat to her chest. Her cheeks burned with shame. She didn’t look back. Her sobs echoed down the corridor as she fled.
The room finally fell silent as the sobs faded, replaced by a calming stillness. Only the soft patter of rain outside and the gentle crackle of candle flames remained.
Brad’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed. When he turned around, the cold look on his face had softened into quiet worry, and his features became more relaxed.
He walked over and sat beside Rylie on the bed.
“Why didn’t you dry your hair after the shower?” His voice was low and gentle now, a stark contrast to how he had treated Zaylee. With rough fingers made tender by care, he brushed a wet strand from her cheek.
“I’m too tired. My head hurts a little,” Rylie murmured, rubbing her temples. Brad was silent for a moment before standing up.
“Finish the honey water. I’ll be right back.”
Rylie didn’t know what he was planning. She slowly finished the water, the fresh, cool flavor easing her discomfort. Just as she set the empty glass aside, the bedroom door opened again.
Brad entered, took the glass from her hands, and placed it down. He brought a soft, clean blanket that carried his scent. Wrapping it around her, he gently lifted her into his arms.
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“The power station got hit by lightning. The generator’s down too. We won’t have electricity tonight,” he said quietly.
Rylie leaned into him, her eyes barely staying open. “Where are we going?”
She felt the warmth before she saw it. The living room glowed with firelight. Flames danced in the stone fireplace, casting golden hues across the room. Thick white candles flickered on the low table and in nearby holders, pushing back the darkness and filling the room with soft, wavering light.
The scent of burning pinewood, sweet candle wax, and Brad’s familiar mix of pine and medicine filled the air around her.
Brad didn’t place her on the nearby sofa. Choosing instead the intimacy of the floor, he sat directly on the thick carpet and cushions in front of the fireplace. He settled her comfortably between his bent legs, allowing her to rest against his broad, warm chest.
She could feel the steady beat of his heart through the thin fabric, its quiet rhythm syncing with her own.
.
.
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