Chapter 5
Joanna's POV
Fear shot through me like ice water, my heart hammering against my ribs. Frank's voice grew louder, mixed with Peter's attempts to stop him. "Sir, this is a private residence. Please leave!"
But Frank wasn't giving up, his curses getting louder and nastier. "Get out of my way!"
My whole body shook, my knees threatening to buckle.
The shouting was getting closer, right outside the living room door. I could hear Peter's strained voice on the phone—calling security, or maybe the police.
I bit my lip, a knot of fear and shame tightening in my stomach. I had to face him.
I came downstairs to find him with a flushed face, bloodshot eyes, and a vacant stare. The corners of his mouth curled into a vicious smile. The sour stench of stale liquor and sweat rolled off him, making my stomach churn.
He looked me up and down, sneering. "Well, well, living in a mansion like this, dressed all fancy—you're definitely being kept, aren't you? Slut, latched onto some rich guy, got too big for your britches, won't even come home anymore?"
Shame burned its way up my neck and into my cheeks. I whispered back. "I'm not... I'm working."
He burst into harsh laughter. "Working? Stop pretending! Living in a place like this, wearing clothes like that—you're just some rich man's whore! That old hag and the little brat are still in my hands, so you better behave! Give me money!"
My heart clenched—he was threatening Mom and Tommy.
My voice shook. "I don't have money... I just started working, haven't gotten paid yet."
His expression turned thunderous. He lunged at me, his breath thick with booze. "No money? Who are you kidding? Living in a place like this and claiming you're broke?"
The slap cracked across my face. My cheek blazed, ears buzzing as I stumbled back into the wall.
His rough hands shot out and grabbed my arm, nails digging into my skin as he shoved me, cursing. "You ungrateful piece of shit!"
I struggled to push him away, tears flowing uncontrollably. My breath hitched, trapped in my throat by a wave of fear and shame.
Then he raised his hand high. I closed my eyes, bracing for the next blow.
But the pain never came.
Instead, a voice, low and lethal, cut through the air. "Stop."
I opened my eyes to see Sebastian, his gaze so cold it felt like a physical blow.
He walked straight over and grabbed Frank's wrist with such force that Frank cried out in pain.
Sebastian said coldly. "Who are you? How dare you cause trouble in my house?"
Frank was stunned for a moment, still cursing. "I'm her father! Mind your own damn business!"
A dangerous light flickered in Sebastian's eyes, and the corner of his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Her father? Then you deserve to die even more."
He shoved hard, sending Frank tumbling to the ground in a pathetic heap.
Sebastian turned to look at me, his gaze sweeping over my swollen cheek and disheveled hair, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low.
I dropped my gaze to the floor, a sob caught in my throat as tears streamed down my face.
He moved to stand between us, and a strange, forgotten feeling washed over me. Even though he was usually cold and cruel to me, in that instant he was a wall, standing between me and all harm.
He snorted coldly and told Peter. "Throw him out, call the police, don't let him set foot here again."
Frank was still cursing as security dragged him away, but the sound faded. I just stood there, shaking, wrapped in a cold blanket of humiliation.
Sebastian walked up to me and raised his hand. I instinctively flinched, thinking he would hit me too, but he only gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him.
His touch was gentle, his fingers clean and careful—nothing like Frank's brutal hands. His expression was unreadable, a mix of something I couldn't name as he said quietly, "Next time something like this happens, tell me immediately."
I froze, my heart taking a frantic leap.
This was dangerous. A warning bell screamed in my head. I couldn't afford this feeling, this flicker of reliance on him. But my traitorous heart had been pounding since the moment he appeared.
Sebastian released his hand, his tone returning to its usual coldness. "Look at the state of you," he said, his tone sharp again. "Go to my room. Shower. Change. Don't stand here making a scene."
I was stunned. Go to his room to shower? What did that mean? I said quietly. "I... I can go back to my own room."
He cut me off impatiently. "Don't argue. My bathroom has a first aid kit."
I didn't dare argue further and followed him into his bedroom with my head down.
I hesitated at the bathroom door until he tossed me a clean towel and one of his white shirts. "Wear this after you wash," he said coldly. "Come see me when you're done."
My face went scarlet. I nodded and closed the bathroom door.
The hot water couldn't wash away the sting on my cheek or the shame eating at me. Looking at my swollen face in the mirror, fresh tears fell.
After showering, I put on his shirt—the oversized hem reached my knees, the sleeves covering my palms. The clean, masculine scent of the fabric clung to me, and my heart hammered against my ribs.
When I emerged from the bathroom, he stood at the window with his back to me, swirling a glass of whiskey.
Hearing my footsteps, he turned around. The moment his gaze fell on me, the glass stopped swaying in his hand.
The color drained from his face. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Elodie..." The name escaped him, barely a whisper, but it hit me like a punch.
He stood up and walked over to me, saying quietly. "Come sit. I'll put medicine on it."
He was going to put medicine on my face? The thought was so unexpected I couldn't move.
I hesitantly sat down as he brought the first aid kit, sitting beside me. His fingers dabbed ointment and gently applied it to my cheek.
He was unexpectedly gentle, so close that I held my breath. But his gaze seemed to look straight through me, fixed on a memory. My pulse was a frantic drum against my skin as I whispered, "Thank you..."
He didn't respond, just stared at my face in a long silence that made the air between us feel thick.
After applying the medicine, Sebastian stood up and said coldly. "You can go now. I'm giving you tomorrow off. I don't need someone with a swollen face ruining my company's image."
I stood up awkwardly, but a surprising warmth spread through my chest. Maybe he wasn't entirely made of ice.
Just as I turned to leave, a silver photo frame on the nightstand caught my attention. It was a faded childhood photo—a little boy and a girl holding hands by a lake, the girl's smile as brilliant as sunshine.
My heart lurched. That girl... there was an impossible familiarity in her smile. I instinctively reached out to pick up the frame.
"Don't touch it!" Sebastian's voice lashed out like a whip. I was so startled my hand shook, nearly knocking the frame over.
He strode over and clutched the frame to his chest, his expression a mask of pain and anger.
"Sorry, I just thought it looked familiar..." I apologized frantically.
His stare was so intense it felt like he was trying to peel back the layers of my memory. "Familiar?"
"I... I don't know. For a second, it felt... familiar." I lowered my head, not daring to meet his eyes.
He was silent for a long time, finally saying coldly, "Get out."
Back in my room, I tossed and turned in bed. That little girl in the photo haunted me. Why did looking at her feel like looking in a mirror?
