Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Wait.
What?
I thought he was going to say I would never be the type to go after another woman’s man like that, but no.
I guess what he finds more striking about me was how—I don’t know—unseductive I am?
“In any case, the choice on what you wish your future to be is in your hands. We can still offer you a new identity, but you will be alone in your new life. You can also choose to resume the life that you were born with, and we will instead help you to deal with the woman who sold you off.”
There’s only one way to go, isn’t there?
So why am I still hesitating?
I try to think of an answer, but my head throbs the moment I do, and a small cry escapes before I can stop it.
My rescuer frowns. “We’ve been talking too much. You should rest.”
“I—”
“Should simply do as I ask like a good girl.”
My heart does a strange little flip.
Why am I secretly thrilled that he thinks of me as a good girl? Why does that single phrase make warmth bloom in my chest when this man has done nothing but grunt at me and insult my seductiveness and pin me to a car seat like I was a misbehaving child?
You’ve clearly lost your mind, Mirabella de los Reyes.
“If you need anything,” he says, rising from the chair, “just press this button.” He indicates a small panel on the bedside table before turning to go, and my chest feels strangely tight as I watch him walk away.
He is nothing but a stranger to me.
So why do I care that he’s leaving?
Why?
My rescuer’s almost to the door when he pauses, his back still to me as he says—
“You clearly have something on your mind. Speak.”
Questions race through my mind, but with none of them appropriate to even think of, I simply blurt out the first thing that comes to me.
“W-What’s your name?”
Silence.
And then—
“If it turns out you need to know, I’ll tell you.” He still doesn’t turn, but he does glance over his shoulder as he says, “For now, call me whatever you want.”
So if I call him mine then—
“It seems you’ve already thought of a name.”
Heat floods my face, and I find myself clumsily yanking the covers up to my chin before he can see me blushing. “Good night, sir.”
Grunt.
The door clicks shut.
Phew.
I sit up slowly, pressing my palms to my burning cheeks. That was absolutely mortifying. He probably thinks I’m an idiot, or worse, that I have some kind of childish crush on him, which I absolutely do not, I’m just—
“Why are you blushing?”
A strangled cry slips past my lips.
How—what—
My rescuer is standing by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking like he just stepped out of a luxury menswear catalog.
“I thought you left!”
“And that’s why you blushed?”
No, obviously not.
But since I can’t admit that—
“It...it, um, it just sank in that I’m alone in a room with, um, an unmarried man—”
I can’t believe I’m fishing for information like this.
“—and it just seemed so improper all of a sudden,” I finish weakly.
His expression doesn’t change. “I have no designs toward you, Mira.”
Ouch.
But also...confusing?
Because him having no designs on me doesn’t confirm whether he’s single or not.
“But I will take your reservations into account,” he says, “and have you transferred to a hospital—”
The realization that I’ve gotten myself kicked out of my rescuer’s home has me desperately backtracking.
“But it’s fine now,” I clarify hastily. “I’m happy where I am—”
He straightens off the wall, and the rest of my words die in my throat as he crosses his arms over his chest. Every time I see him take that stance, it always feels like he’s about to hand out a verdict on my life.
“Keep in mind that you are recovering from a bullet wound—”
“I know.”
“—that requires regular cleaning.”
Oh, right.
I did make it seem like I have really delicate sensibilities, didn’t I?
So I clear my throat and manage to croak out, “I realize I’m, um, fine with you checking my wound.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I promise.”
He only grunts, but since I’ve been hearing variants of this sound for some time now, I think I’m starting to decode them, and this last one?
I think it means ‘suit yourself’, although I’m sure the more accurate translation is less...polite.
My rescuer leaves for real afterwards, and I fall back against the pillows and stare dazedly at the ceiling.
Now what?
My side throbs dully under the bandages.
Trina sold me out, and my rescuer wouldn’t mind getting rid of me, a.s.a.p.
Where do I go from here?
My body screams for rest, but sleep evades me. The room feels too quiet and still, and my mind won’t stop spinning. I don’t want to remember—
Wait.
I strain my ears, and the voice outside the hallway gradually becomes clear.
It’s my rescuer speaking in French.