CHAPTER FOUR: THE COPPER EYES.

AVERY'S POV:

His voice cut through me, sharp and cold, and I didn’t need a second reminder to obey. As Katie, the maid who introduced herself in a low, calm tone, led me down a quiet, lavish hallway, my mind was fixated on one thing: his left eye. The one I could see.

Axel Blackwood’s left eye was a smoldering, molten copper—alive with an inner fire that seemed to light up the very air around him. The iris, polished like burnished penny, radiated an intense warmth and depth that made the gaze hypnotic, magnetic. Flecks of gold glinted within that coppery storm, as if shards of sunlight had taken residence there, restless and burning. The cream-toned skin around his eye only served to make its color more striking, like the contrast of fire against pale ember. And his lash, thick and dark, framed his eye like brushstrokes on a masterpiece, accentuating the dangerous gleam within them.

As he’d looked at me, his eys had held a glint of mischief, laced with something far darker—command, authority. It wasn’t just his; it was his power, his weapon. It could make you question your place, make you feel small or helpless, as if just a glance was enough to strip away any defiance. And then there was that eye patch, concealing the other eye as if what lay behind it was even more lethal. I couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath.

“Katie…why does he have an eye patch?” The words left my mouth before I had time to filter them.

Katie’s face remained an impassive mask, her steps measured and brisk. She hadn’t dared to look directly at Axel when he summoned her earlier, and she’d looked visibly relieved when he’d dismissed us. Now, she merely arched a brow at my question. “Who?” she asked, her voice flat.

I held back an eye roll. Right. They probably didn’t have multiple eye-patch-wearing men brooding around here.

“Mr. Blackwood,” I clarified, though I already anticipated her response.

Her posture stiffened slightly, and she stopped in her tracks. “Mrs. Blackwood, we aren’t at liberty to discuss certain things. I suggest you ask him directly.” She cast me a quick glance, one that warned me she wouldn’t be saying anything more on the subject.

Yeah, like he would actually answer me. I still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d nearly strangled me just for demanding an explanation. Not that I was new to abuse; Chase, my ex-husband, had made sure I was well acquainted with violence. I’d been his punching bag, the one he’d choke, slap, and raped whenever he wanted. He called it love, and he made sure the world thought it was too. Outside, we were the “it couple.” People saw my flawless makeup, my designer clothes, the smile I forced whenever a camera turned our way. They envied me. Little did they know that all the jewels in the world couldn’t cover the bruises and the love everyone thought I had? It was never real. Just a mask. 

As Katie opened a set of double doors, my breath hitched. We’d stepped into a bedroom, vast and elegantly appointed, with clean lines and soft lighting. The walls were painted a warm, soft gray, somehow both welcoming and grand. It felt like stepping into a tranquil oasis, miles away from the chaos that had just engulfed my life. A large bed sat in the center, with white sheets and a textured throw blanket draped at the end. Everything looked expensive, perfectly coordinated in shades of cream and beige that hinted at restraint yet whispered of decadence.

Katie motioned for me to follow, leading me to another set of doors on the far left, which she pushed open to reveal a bathroom fit for royalty. The centerpiece was a massive, oval bathtub positioned under a skylight, framed by tall, frosted glass panels that kept the space both open and private. In the corner, a rainfall shower was bordered by sleek marble walls, while a glass divider separated it from the rest of the room. A vanity mirror, illuminated by soft, warm lights, hung over a marble sink, while a wardrobe fitted with a sliding full-length mirror stood against the wall. Every detail, down to the chrome fixtures and the meticulously folded towels, felt meticulously designed and painfully beautiful. 

Katie placed a set of toiletries—soaps, toothbrush, toothpaste, and fresh towels—on the counter. “There will be clean clothes and fresh undies waiting for you when you’re done.” With a nod, she excused herself, leaving me to process…all of this.

I slipped into the bathtub, letting the warmth of the water soak into my skin, hoping it could wash away the reality that was sinking in. The spot where the door had scraped me earlier throbbed, as water touched it. But it was the emotional ache within that truly stung, surpassing the physical discomfort.

The dirt and grime of the past hours swirled down the drain, but the pain clung to me, rooted deeper than mere skin. The water turned murky, my skin raw, but I scrubbed harder, trying to erase every remnant of Chase’s touch, his memory. Yet, as much as I tried to shove it away, I couldn’t help but remember everything that led me here.

The betrayal, the heartbreak, it all felt so fresh, like a wound that hadn’t yet scarred. After everything I’d done for Chase, he’d discarded me like trash, moving on without a second thought. And my family—my own mother—giving my sister my place in the life I was supposed to have, as if I’d never mattered at all. I thought they loved me, or at least needed me. Now, I wasn’t sure they’d ever cared at all.

As I sank deeper into the bath, the tears came. Hot, stinging tears that wouldn’t stop, spilling over as everything—the years of hiding bruises, the nights spent convincing myself I was happy, and now this…this nightmare—closed in around me. I sobbed for what I’d lost, for the woman I used to be, for the girl who’d once believed love meant safety.

But it was more than grief. Anger bubbled up, fueled by the memory of Axel’s hand around my throat, his indifferent gaze as if he had every right to control my life. And now, because of some twisted deal Chase struck with the devil himself, I was “Mrs. Blackwood.” A pawn in yet another man’s game.

When the bathwater turned cold, I climbed out, wrapping myself in one of the luxurious towels. I knew I couldn’t let this break me. Axel Blackwood might think he owned me, that I was another possession to add to his wealth and power. But he didn’t know me. He didn’t know that I’d survived the worst hell could throw at me. And if he wanted a fight, I was ready. 

By the time I’d dried off and slipped into the fresh clothes left on the bed—a soft, elegant dress that fit perfectly—I had resolved one thing: I was going to find out exactly what Axel wanted from me and just how much control he thought he could wield. And if he wanted a wife, a mother for his daughter, then he would have to learn that I wouldn’t play the role of obedient doll. 

I was done being anyone’s prisoner.