Page 23 of Fallen Heir

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that noticeable.”

“I like it.”

His words weren’t flirtatious—just honest. And somehow, that made them feel heavier.

We made small talk after that. He asked about my work, and I gave careful, surface-level answers. He talked a little about his company and the charity events they were involved in. I nodded, I smiled. I laughed once or twice. But I never fully relaxed. I couldn’t.

By the time we stood to leave, I was still picking at my food. He grabbed the check before I could reach for it, and I didn’t fight him. To be honest, he’d unknowingly put me through enough anxiety today—so I’d let him foot the bill.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, standing and holding my chair again. I moved slowly, looping the strap of my bag over my shoulder, swinging my leg out without thinking—And that’s when I felt it.

A shift in the air.

Jaxson’s eyes dropped for a fraction of a second, then flicked back to my face.

I followed his gaze and felt the blood drain from mine. The hem of my dress had lifted just enough to expose the scar running down the side of my thigh—still pink, still angry-looking.

His expression shifted. Just slightly—but enough to knock the air out of my lungs. His jaw flexed. Brows drawn. It was subtle. But it was there.

A look I didn’t understand.

Anger? Disgust?

My pulse jumped as I yanked the fabric down, heart hammering. Maybe he hadn’t expected me to be… ruined. Maybe he thought I was pretty enough—until now.

But he didn’t know what lived beneath the surface. Didn’t know this was just one scar. Didn’t know how many more I carried beneath soft dresses and fake smiles. How many were half-stitched in places no one could see. How many hadn’t healed at all.

A flash hit me then. The sound of my own breath as he’d raised his hand that night. The cold tile. The blood on the floor. The silence when I realized no one was coming.

I avoided his eyes. “Sorry,” I muttered, voice tight.

Jaxson didn’t say anything. Didn’t look away, either.

And somehow… that was worse.

Because part of me wanted to disappear.

And the other part of me wanted him to keep looking.

But when he finally moved, when he opened the door for me without a word—I felt it.

Something had changed.

And I didn’t know if it was him.

Or me.

Or everything in between.

Chapter 10

Jaxson

“Fucking bastard.” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, venom rolling off my tongue as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My fists clenched at my sides, jaw tight.

That scar.

It had been days, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head. The jagged, angry mark on Savannah’s thigh had been burned into my memory. It wasn’t just the scar itself—it was what it meant. What it hinted at. And I knew there was more. No one gets a scar like that without a story. Without other wounds. Without pain stitched together behind closed doors.