Page 97 of No Longer Mine

The flame flickered to life, dancing along the matchstick as I brought it to the pile of ruined fabric. The fire caught quickly, eating away at the bloodstained clothes, turning them to ash. One less thing for anyone to trace back to her.

But my mind wasn’t on the fire—it was on what I’d just heard.

I clenched my jaw as I watched the flames curl around the last remnants of what she’d been wearing, devouring the evidence, but not the questions clawing at the back of my mind. She was clearly working with Oliver, but what exactly did he do?

Chapter Forty-Two

Scarlett

Pain thrummedthrough me as I woke in the early morning before the sun came up. My curtains were still open to the city view I’d come to love, and there was a soft snoring coming from the corner of the room. Any other time, I would have jumped from the bed and demanded answers, but I was in too much pain to care.

I tried to sit up, but the pain was unbearable. A groan escaped me before I could hold it back.

“Scarlett?” Dimitri was up and out of the corner chair before I could stop him.

“Just need some water and maybe some more pills.” My voice was clipped as I squeezed my eyes closed. I’d forgotten he was here. I wasn’t angry that he stayed. Now that I was a bit more coherent, I could remember what he said the night before. He’d apologized while I was just almost asleep?

That couldn’t be right.

He’d washed my hair and my body with tender care and apologized? I was certainly high.

“Don’t get up, okay?” I stared into the darkness around me and wondered what I’d done to actually get to this place. It wasobviously the pain that had lowered my inhibitions enough for me to call on Dimitri Cristof.

The last person I should have called.

But here he was, moving around my room like he belonged here. Like he hadn’t spent the last few months driving me insane with that infuriating smirk and those sharp, knowing eyes.

I listened as he grabbed a bottle of water, the cap twisting open with a soft pop. Then the telltale rattle of pills as he shook a couple free.

“Here,” he murmured, his voice low, careful. He pressed the bottle into my hands first, then the pills.

I swallowed them down without argument, too tired, too sore, too everything to fight him right now.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city skyline outside my window. The silence stretched between us.

I licked my lips, trying to find the right words. “Did you—” I hesitated. “Did you stay all night?”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound that could’ve been amusement or exasperation. “Obviously.”

I blinked up at him, my body too exhausted to react the way I normally would. Maybe it was the drugs, or the pain, or the fact that I could still feel the ghost of his hands in my hair, but I whispered, “Why?”

Something flickered across his face, there and gone. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, his touch gentle in a way I didn’t know he was capable of.

“Go back to sleep, Scarlett.” His voice was gruff, but the way he said my name? Soft. It almost broke my heart.

“Why are you still here?” I tried again.

“Because I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. You need me, now lie back and let me check your wound.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. You need me.

It wasn’t the words themselves that rattled me—it was the way he said them. Like they were a fact, an undeniable truth that he wasn’t going to let me argue with.

And worse? I couldn’t.

I let him ease me back against the pillows, my body too sore to fight him. He reached for the hem of my negligee, the same one he’d dressed me in, and carefully lifted it. His fingers barely brushed my skin, but the heat of his touch lingered. He peeled the dressing away from my skin, and I let out a pained noise as it pulled.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his apology from earlier in the night came rushing back. His jaw tightened as he examined the wound, his eyes darkening in that way that made my stomach flip. “No oozing or new blood, but it’s a nasty wound. You’ll definitely have a scar.”