Chapter 4

Cara Barlow POV:

Days bled into one another in the suffocating silence of my room. The confinement was a physical manifestation of my life: trapped, powerless, and slowly fading away. The wound in my side throbbed with a persistent, dull ache, a constant reminder of the night my world had completely fractured. My body grew weaker, the anemia draining the life from me drop by drop. This was how my last days would be spent-as a prisoner in the house of the man I loved, the man who was letting me die.

The thought was a cold, hard stone in my gut. He was taking away the little time I had left.

One afternoon, the lock on my door clicked. Ambrose stood there, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. My breath hitched. He looked tired, the sharp lines of his face softened by shadows, and for a moment, he seemed like the man I used to know.

When his eyes landed on my pale, gaunt form, I saw his throat work, a flicker of something-pity? remorse?-in his gaze. The sight of him, the familiar scent of his cologne that still lingered in the room, was enough to make my eyes burn with unshed tears. My traitorous heart still yearned for him.

"Ambrose..." a woman' s soft voice called from the hallway. Katharine.

The spell was broken. Ambrose' s expression hardened instantly, the brief moment of vulnerability vanishing as if it had never been.

"Look at you," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Pathetic. Wallowing in here, trying to make me feel guilty. Is this another one of your little tricks?"

He stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming. "I brought you into this family, taught you how to behave. I gave you the name of an Aguilar. But you' ll never be one of us. You don' t have the breeding."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He had placed me in a world I never asked to join, dressed me up like a doll, and now condemned me for not being born into it.

Katharine appeared at his side, her arm looping through his. She feigned a gentle chiding tone. "Ambrose, don' t be so cruel. She' s been through a lot." She then turned to me, her eyes holding no sympathy, only a cold, calculating light. "Come, Cara. Let' s get you out of this dreary room. You need to eat something."

She instructed a maid to help me back to my real bedroom. It felt like a pardon, but I knew it was just another move in her twisted game. She followed me in, dismissing the maid, and sat on the edge of my bed.

"You must be starving," she said, her voice a soft purr. She held a spoonful of congee to my lips. "Here. I made this for you myself."

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, but I was too weak to fight. The warmth of the spoon against my lips, the simple act of being fed, was a comfort I hadn' t realized I craved. I ate the congee slowly, each spoonful a small surrender.

As I finished the last bite, a heavy, irresistible drowsiness washed over me. My eyelids felt like lead weights. The room began to spin, Katharine' s face blurring and distorting.

My last conscious thought was that her smile looked terrifyingly triumphant.

I woke with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs. The scent in the air was wrong. It wasn' t the light floral of my own room; it was the rich, masculine scent of sandalwood and leather. Ambrose' s scent.

Panic seized me. I was in his bed. In his room.

And I was naked.

A scream lodged in my throat. Frantically, I grabbed the silk sheet, clutching it to my chest. Ambrose was asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. How did I get here? What had she done?

I had to get out. I scrambled out of the bed, my movements clumsy and panicked. My clothes were in a heap on the floor. As I fumbled to pull on my dress, my weak legs gave out. I stumbled, falling forward, my hands landing on the mattress to catch myself.

My lips brushed against his.

It was an accident, a fleeting, ghost of a touch, but it was enough.

Ambrose' s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, his gaze was hazy with sleep, soft and unguarded. There was a flicker of something in their depths-a familiar warmth, a hint of the man I once knew, a whisper of deep affection.

The moment shattered as quickly as it came. I recoiled as if burned, scrambling to my feet and pulling my dress on properly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons.

A sharp, shattering sound came from the doorway.

Katharine stood there, a broken teacup at her feet. Her hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with a perfectly rehearsed look of shock and betrayal.

"Ambrose... Cara... how could you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before I could process what was happening, I was thrown sideways. Ambrose had launched himself out of bed, his face a mask of pure fury. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh like talons.

"You!" he roared, his voice echoing in the silent room. "You drugged me! You disgusting, manipulative little snake! I should have known you would stoop this low!"

The accusation, the sheer injustice of it, stole my breath. But what hurt more was the look in his eyes. There was no trace of the man who had looked at me with a flicker of warmth just moments before. He was gone.

A desperate, foolish question clawed its way out of my throat. I had to know. "Did you ever love me?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Even for a second? Was any of it real?"

His face contorted. For a split second, I saw a flash of agony, of conflict. But Katharine' s soft, broken sob from the doorway sealed my fate.

His expression turned to ice. "No," he said, the word a shard of glass in my heart. "Never."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a cruel, venomous whisper. "Let me be clear. Even if you were standing naked in front of me, begging, my answer would still be no. You are nothing to me."

The humiliation was a physical force, sucking the air from my lungs. I lowered my head, staring at the floor, fighting with every ounce of my being to keep the tears from falling. I would not give him the satisfaction.

"Get her out of my house," Ambrose snarled, not to me, but to the air. "I don' t want to see her face again."

Katharine rushed to his side, all comforting words and gentle touches. "Ambrose, darling, don' t be so angry. She' s still your sister, in a way..."

"Sister?" Ambrose laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "She is nothing. Get out." He turned to a servant who had appeared in the doorway. "Have this room sterilized. I don' t want a trace of her filth left behind."