CHAPTER 4: Blood on the White Sheets
CHAPTER 4: Blood on the White Sheets
The penthouse overlooked the glittering skyline of Manhattan, but Clara never once walked to the windows.
She checked every lock.
Every hallway.
Every exit.
Nathaniel noticed she counted under her breath.
"One... two... three..."
She stopped at twelve.
Always twelve.
Daniel quietly approached Nathaniel.
"Military habit?"
Nathaniel shook his head.
"No."
"What then?"
"A survival habit."
Emma fell asleep almost immediately after eating her first hot meal in two days.
She curled up on the oversized living-room sofa with the worn stuffed rabbit pressed beneath her chin.
Nathaniel watched the little girl for several seconds.
"How old is she?"
"Six."
"Your daughter?"
Clara looked away.
"No."
"Then who is she?"
"The only promise I haven't broken."
Nathaniel waited.
She didn't explain further.
Later that evening, Nathaniel's longtime housekeeper, Margaret, entered carrying folded clothes and a medical kit.
She smiled gently.
"You must be Clara."
Clara instinctively stood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Margaret frowned.
"Child..."
The older woman carefully touched Clara's cheek.
"No one who apologizes this much is usually the one causing trouble."
Something in Clara's expression cracked.
Only for a moment.
Margaret pretended not to notice.
"Bathroom's ready."
She handed Clara fresh clothes.
"And after your shower, I'm looking at that wound."
Twenty minutes later, Clara emerged wearing one of Nathaniel's oversized white dress shirts and gray sweatpants.
Her wet hair fell loosely over her shoulders.
For the first time, she looked less like someone running...
...and more like someone exhausted.
Nathaniel almost didn't recognize her.
Not because she was beautiful.
Though she undeniably was.
It was because fear had hidden her face all day.
Without it, she looked heartbreakingly young.
Margaret carefully removed the blood-soaked bandage.
She inhaled sharply.
"Nathaniel."
He crossed the room.
The wound beneath Clara's ribs wasn't fresh.
It had reopened.
Someone had stitched it weeks earlier.
Poorly.
Around it stretched old burns.
Thin scars.
Circular marks.
Nathaniel stared.
"Who did this?"
Clara's shoulders stiffened.
"I fell."
Margaret looked at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel looked back at Clara.
Neither believed her.
Later, after Emma had been tucked into bed, Nathaniel found Clara standing alone on the balcony.
She hadn't noticed him.
Her eyes were fixed on the city lights.
"You're wondering whether to leave," he said.
She didn't deny it.
"If I stay..."
"They'll come."
"If I go..."
"They'll stop coming here."
Nathaniel stood beside her.
"No."
She frowned.
"They'll follow you."
She looked at him.
"You sound very certain."
"I know predators."
A long silence settled between them.
Finally she asked—
"Why are you helping me?"
Nathaniel answered honestly.
"I don't know yet."
She gave a tired smile.
"That's the strangest honest answer I've heard in years."
He almost smiled back.
Near midnight, Daniel entered quietly.
He carried a thick file.
"I found something."
Nathaniel opened it.
Inside was a photograph taken twenty-three years earlier.
A charity gala.
Richard Cross stood in the center.
Beside him...
A young woman holding a newborn baby.
Nathaniel frowned.
"I've never seen this picture."
Daniel turned the page.
The birth certificate had only one visible line circled in red.
Infant's Name: Clara Rose Bennett.
Nathaniel's heartbeat slowed.
Then stopped.
The father section had been completely blacked out.
But in the corner...
Barely visible beneath the ink...
...was the unmistakable seal of Cross Industries.
Before Nathaniel could process what he was seeing—
A muffled scream echoed from the guest room.
He ran.
Clara was sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat.
Emma stood beside her crying.
Nathaniel reached the doorway just as Clara gasped—
"They found us..."
She tried to stand.
Instead, she collapsed.
Nathaniel caught her before she hit the floor.
Warm liquid spread across his hands.
He looked down.
Fresh blood seeped through the bandage beneath her ribs.
He carried her to his bed while Margaret called the doctor.
Hours later, dawn crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Nathaniel hadn't slept.
He sat in a chair beside the bed, watching Clara breathe.
Then sunlight touched the white sheets.
His eyes narrowed.
A dark crimson stain had spread beneath Clara's side.
Small.
But impossible to ignore.
Nathaniel stared at the blood blooming across the white cotton.
For the first time in years...
The billionaire CEO wasn't thinking about billion-dollar deals.
He was thinking about one wounded woman.
May you like
And he made himself a silent promise.
Whoever had put that blood on his sheets... would answer for every drop.
