Chapter 3

The next morning, Heather woke to the sound of activity in the kitchen. Mitchell was back, bustling around with enthusiasm.

As Heather stepped out of the bedroom, Mitchell glanced up and greeted her with a bright smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "Come try the banana oat cookies I just learned to make. They say it's great for soothing cramps during your period."

Heather froze momentarily, her gaze lingering on the scene before her. Then, she slowly made her way to the dining table and sat down. Her eyes searched Mitchell's face, probing for answers.

"Where did you go last night?" she asked, her tone calm but pointed.

Mitchell's cheerful expression faltered for a split second before he quickly looked away. Regaining his composure, he sat beside her, taking her hand in his own with a look of genuine concern.

"There was an emergency at work," he explained softly. "I left for a bit while you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. Did you have a bad dream?"

The worry in his eyes was unmistakable, devoid of any pretense.

Heather's heart twisted. She couldn't understand how someone could compartmentalize love and desire, giving them to two different people. She didn't respond, letting Mitchell pull her into his arms as he whispered soothing words.

Soon, he was calling his assistant, instructing him to book an appointment and bring over her medication.

Since being rescued, Heather had relied on medication to sleep. Even then, nightmares frequently dragged her back to that horrifying night—the acrid smell of alcohol, hands stained with blood...

Mitchell, ever attentive, had spent countless nights on a makeshift bed in her room, staying close to comfort her whenever nightmares woke her. Yet, this same Mitchell, who had cared for her so deeply, had betrayed her.

Heather's gaze drifted to his face, where a faint, almost imperceptible kiss mark lingered near his jawline. Normally, Mitchell dressed casually at home and left the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the tantalizing hollow of his throat. But today, he'd buttoned up all the way to his collar.

As he moved while baking earlier, his rolled-up sleeves revealed a faint, unmistakable scratch.

Mitchell seemed oblivious to the clues that had already exposed him.

He picked out a few cookies and brought them to Heather. The buttery aroma hit her nose, but instead of comfort, it churned her stomach when she thought of the marks on Mitchell's body. Overwhelmed, she pushed him aside and bolted to the bathroom.

Mitchell followed, his face etched with concern. As he wiped the corners of her mouth with a tissue, Heather snapped, shoving his hand away.

"Don't touch me!" she cried.

Mitchell froze mid-motion, his hand suspended in the air. His voice was low and uncertain. "Heather, did I do something wrong?"

She steadied her breathing, forcing herself to calm down. "No, I just read a novel that hit a little too close to home. I ended up projecting the character onto you."

Relief washed over Mitchell's face. He stepped closer and gently wiped the water droplets from her cheeks. Smiling faintly, he teased, "What kind of novel got you that worked up?"

Heather met his gaze evenly. "It's about a couple everyone envies. But the man cheats on the woman when their relationship is tested by time. He wants to have both but ends up losing everything. Mitchell… would you ever be like him?"

Mitchell's hand trembled slightly before he quickly steadied it. Pulling her into a tight embrace, he murmured, "Novels aren't real. No one could ever come between us. I'd never fall for someone else, Heather. You have to trust in my love for you."

His words were resolute, though it was unclear whether he was trying to convince Heather or himself.

Later, Mitchell took Heather to the hospital for a checkup. Noticing her low spirits, he stayed close to her side for the following days, refusing to leave her alone for even a moment.

The charity gala arrived quickly. Mitchell took Heather to pick out a gown. She browsed disinterestedly until her gaze lingered on a dark, elegant dress.

Noticing her interest, Mitchell's voice softened. "Do you like it? Try it on. If it suits you, I'll have them send it to the house."

Before Heather could respond, a sales associate approached, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ms. Longstaff, but this dress has already been reserved. May I recommend another style?"

Mitchell's expression darkened as he fixed his gaze on the associate. "Check if the client is willing to give it up. If they agree, I'll provide them with a new dress for free."

The associate hesitated, glancing at Heather before leaning toward Mitchell and whispering, "This dress was reserved by Ms. Caldwell."

Though her voice was barely audible, Heather caught every word.

She turned to Mitchell and saw the flicker of emotions that crossed his face. It was almost laughable.

"It's just a dress," he said, trying to smooth things over. "I can convince her to let you have it, okay?"

Heather shook her head, her tone indifferent. "I was just looking. I'm not interested in taking something that someone else has claimed—whether it's a dress or anything else."

Mitchell stiffened at the double meaning behind her words. A fleeting sense of panic crossed his face before he quickly buried it.

Heather walked on, seemingly determined to choose a different dress. Suppressing the unknown feeling inside him, Mitchell hurriedly caught up to her.

Heather chose a different gown, a blue one Mitchell had suggested. While she was in the fitting room, her phone screen lit up with a notification. [Countdown: Seven days.]