BEATRICE'S POV
Fever makes my body ache. Lia rushed out to get medicine. And the disgust sitting in my chest won't leave no matter how many times I wipe my lips.
Adrien's taste refuses to go.
I stand before the bathroom mirror. Cheeks flushed. Eyes red and swollen. Lips raw — red from his mouth and redder from my scrubbing. I hate it. I hate how vulnerable and weak I was in that moment. How my hands couldn't push him off. How my voice cracked instead of commanding.
A choked sob escapes me. I wipe my lips again. The skin burns.
The pain in my ear is returning as the medication wears off — a sharp, hot throb that pulses with my heartbeat.
The doorbell rings.
I flinch. My hands grip the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles go white. My chest pounds. Fear floods my veins before logic can intervene.
Is it Adrien? Is it someone else who wants to hurt me?
Then — knocking. Soft. Repetitive. Patient.
I wipe my face. Pull a robe over my silk pajamas. Walk to the door on legs that don't feel entirely mine.
"Who is it?" My voice comes out firm. Giving away nothing.
"Sonnenschein."
My eyes widen. I unlock the door instantly.
Theodore stands in my hallway. Black baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. White shirt clinging to his frame like he ran here. Chest still rising and falling fast. Those violet eyes scanning my face with an intensity that strips away every layer of composure I'm trying to hold together.
He sees it all. The swollen eyes. The raw lips. The bandaged ear. The woman behind the door who looks nothing like the sharp-tongued advisor he's been pursuing.
I blink. Trying desperately not to shatter in front of him again.
"What are you doing here?"
His gaze traces my face — slowly, carefully, the way someone examines something precious that's been damaged. When his eyes reach my lips — red, scraped, wrong — his jaw locks so tight I can see the veins surface at his temple.
He knows. I don't know how, but he knows.
"I'm sorry." His voice is barely above a whisper. His hand reaches for my cheek — hovering, not touching, waiting for permission even now.
"I shouldn't have let you leave this morning. I shouldn't have assumed you'd be safe inside that building."
"I —"
His hand slips to the back of my neck and pulls me against his chest. Not roughly. Not possessively. The way you'd gather something fragile that's about to fall.
"Cry. You don't need to be strong around me."
Everything collapses.
A loud, painful wail erupts from somewhere deep inside me — muffled against his shirt, torn from a place I've been sealing shut since the gala. The fear, the pain, the disgust, the helplessness — all of it comes pouring out in a sound I didn't know I was capable of making.
Theodore's arms close around me. Tight but not crushing. I clutch his shirt with both fists like it's the only thing keeping me upright. Which it might be.
"I was scared. I was so scared, Theodore." The words choke out between sobs.
He rubs my back. His voice is raw. "I know. I know, Sonnenschein." His lips press hard against the side of my head. "I know."
"She pulled the earring like she wanted to rip my ear off — I hate pain, I hate being hurt —" I gasp for air, "— and then he came, he kissed me, I swear I didn't want it, I didn't — I feel so disgusted —"
"Stop." Theodore pulls back. Cups my face with both hands. Forces me to look at him.
The corners of his eyes are rimmed red. His voice drops — dangerous and tender simultaneously, a combination only he seems capable of.
"You don't get to call yourself disgusting because of something someone else did to you while drunk."
My breathing catches.
He's not questioning me. Not asking for details. Not looking at me like I'm contaminated or shameful.
"You don't... feel disgusted by me?"
Something behind his expression cracks open. He holds my gaze with a ferocity that makes my chest ache.
"You can never disgust me, Beatrice Kenz."
My full name. First time he's ever used it. The formality lands like a vow.
"I am far more tainted than you could ever be. You think I control myself around you because I'm a good man?" A bitter breath escapes him. "I control myself because I'm terrified that if you see what's underneath — the real thing behind every patient, decent gesture I've shown you — you'll run. And you should. Because someone as bright as you doesn't belong in my darkness."
His forehead drops against mine. I can feel his pulse through his temples — fast, unsteady, betraying everything his voice is trying to hold together.
"Yet I keep walking toward you. Despite the fear. Despite knowing I don't deserve this. Because I have learned to want and need you without any reason I can name."
This is the first time Theodore's composure has fully cracked. Not the controlled vulnerability he's shown before — the rehearsed honesty, the calculated openness. This is raw. Unscripted. The man behind every mask finally visible.
His scent wraps around me — agarwood, leather, something warm underneath — calming my nervous system more effectively than any medication.
Theodore Schweitzer is dangerous.
A beauty that feels like temptation and destruction. A vice I know I should run from — because what he gave me is the reason I was attacked today.
Yet I don't hate him. I don't resent him. I don't run.
The pull toward this man is dangerous, illogical, and completely irrational.
And I'm done pretending it isn't there.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING? ARE YOU BACK AGAIN, ADRIEN AURÉLIEN LAURENT —"
My eyes blow wide. Lia's voice shatters the moment like a brick through glass. Theodore turns instinctively and catches her wrist a half-second before her heel connects with the back of his skull.
"Lia —" I gasp, covering my mouth.
This girl. She is a violent little creature.
Theodore's eyes darken before flickering to me. "Your best friend?"
I nod. He releases Lia's hand immediately.
She pushes past him, shoves him away from me, pulls me behind her, and starts barking.
"Who are you, dickhead?" She points her heel at him like a weapon. "What are you doing to my baby chick?"
Theodore's eyes narrow. "You're loud."
"And you're a bastard touching my baby chick." She hisses at him with the energy of a feral cat defending territory.
A gasp of disbelief escapes Theodore. Probably for the first time in his adult life, someone has genuinely irritated him beyond his capacity for composure.
"Excuse me — you're comparing my Sonnenschein with a baby chick?"
Lia frowns. "Your what? What the hell are you talking about, dude?"
"Dude —" Theodore presses his lips tight. Breathes in through his nose. Slowly. The breathing technique of a man actively choosing not to lose his mind.
"You're Lia Scotts, aren't you?"
"No. I'm the daughter of the President."
"You're the daughter of Joseph Scotts, who imported wheat from Asia three decades ago. Your mother is Erika Scotts, a teacher at a local primary school. Your brother Joshua Scotts works as a chef at the Waldorf Astoria."
I look at him, reluctantly impressed. This man has run a full background check on my best friend. Of course he has.
Lia stands completely unimpressed. If anything, more furious.
"Are you done?"
Theodore frowns. "Huh?"
Lia swings the plastic bag of groceries directly into his face.
His cap flies off. His dark blonde hair falls across his forehead in a mess. He rolls his tongue inside his mouth, processing the fact that a woman half his size just hit him with a bag of medicine and snacks.
"Bloody stalking bastard."
"You should be grateful you're Beatrice's best friend, or else —"
"Or else what?" She pulls me further behind her, eyes blazing. "I've seen plenty of bastards like you. Stalking women, ruining pretty girls like my Betty for entertainment. And just a while ago, I dealt with another one exactly like you."
Theodore glances at me. Surprise on his face. "She beat Adrien?"
I nod.
His entire expression transforms — like someone flipped a switch from offended to delighted. A grin spreads across his face so bright it's almost blinding.
Lia looks between us, confused. "He knows that guy? Who is he?"
I whisper. "Theodore Schweitzer."
Her eyes go wide. Nearly bulging out of her skull. This is exactly why I didn't tell her sooner.
Even standing here — messy, feverish, in pain — I would never miss the chance to throw Lia Scotts off guard. I've been waiting seven years for this expression.
Theodore straightens, clearly expecting the revelation of his identity to produce an apology. Or at least silence.
He has severely underestimated my best friend.
Lia looks him up and down. Slowly. Judgmentally. The way a buyer inspects merchandise she's already decided to reject.
"You aren't as handsome as everyone says."
Theodore freezes.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I nearly draw blood.
"Excuse me?"
"Blonde. Too pale. Pretty-boy face. Too many muscles. Too tall." She squints at his eyes. "Why are your eyes purple? You look like a devil from a fantasy novel."
Theodore Schweitzer — patriarch of a 300-year dynasty, the most feared man in European high society, a man who has made world leaders sweat through their suits — stands in my hallway with his mouth open and no words coming out.
Lia nods, satisfied with her assessment. "You don't deserve my baby chick. Go away. Come again later."
She slams the door in his face.
I press both hands over my mouth, shoulders shaking. Lia turns to me with a smirk and whispers:
"He's a good catch, bitch."
I nod. Knowingly.
Lia has always done this — made men feel like the most undeserving creatures on earth while simultaneously placing me on a pedestal so high they have to look up just to see my shadow. She did it in university. She did it at every bar we ever visited. And she just did it to Theodore Schweitzer.
Now he won't try to act entitled.
"Now he'll work even harder," she flips her hair and walks toward the bedroom, chattering about the medicine she brought. I watch her disappear inside.
Then I open the door again.
Theodore is still standing there. His expression softens the instant he sees me.
"You have a tornado for a best friend."
A small smile surfaces on my lips. "She cares about me."
"I can see that." He murmurs it like he's adding her to a very short list of people he respects.
We stare at each other. Quiet. The hallway feels smaller than it is.
Theodore reaches down and picks something up from the floor — a brown paper bag I didn't notice in the rush. Heavy.
He rubs the back of his neck. "I cooked something. And there's medicine inside."
"You cooked again?" The playfulness in my voice surprises me — such a contrast from the girl who was wailing into his chest ten minutes ago.
He nods. Cheeks slightly flushed. "Yeah."
I take the bag. He opens his mouth to say something else.
"BETTY! WHERE'S THE CIGARETTE?"
He freezes. I smile apologetically. "I'll see you again."
My heart does that small, traitorous flutter as he nods and leans down to press his lips to my forehead. Lingering. Warm. The same gesture every time — never more than she's ready for, never less than she needs.
"I'll come by later. Take care, Sonnenschein."
He walks away. A promise I know he'll keep.
But something makes me pause in the doorway. His boots — they're caked in mud. Fresh. Dark. And slightly too large for his feet, like he grabbed the wrong pair on his way out.
I frown. He must have rushed here. Grabbed whatever shoes were closest.
I shake my head and close the door.
It's probably nothing.