Chapter 22: Wounds and Warmth
Chapter 22: Wounds and Warmth
(Samantha’s POV)
The grand entrance to Hector’s estate felt both welcoming and intimidating. As we approached the door, Hector paused at an elegant shoe cabinet nestled in the entryway. He pulled out a pair of brand new designer wool slippers and placed them carefully in front of me.
“What are these for?” I asked, eyeing the plush slippers with surprise.
Hector’s lips curved into a subtle smile. “They’re for you. I anticipated we might be collaborating frequently in
the future.”
The gesture caught me off guard. Such thoughtfulness was unexpected, especially from someone as powerful as Hector Grayson. Thesitated, but only briefly.
“Thank you,” I said, removing my troublesome high heels and slipping my feet into the wool comfort.
Hector helped me with my coat, hanging it on a nearby rack before leading me inside. The interior was tastefully decorated, with warm earth tones and elegant furnishings that spoke of wealth without
ostentation.
“Water?” he offered, already pouring a glass from a crystal pitcher.
I accepted gratefully, taking a small sip before he addressed the elephant in the room.
“You want a divorce?” His directness was refreshing after Marcus’s hedging.
“Yes,” I confirmed, meeting his gaze steadily. “Ethan has contacted every law firm in Ravenwood City. He’s made it clear that anyone representing me will face consequences.”
Hector’s expression remained neutral, but I detected a flicker of something in his eyes–disapproval, perhaps. “I don’t want a messy public battle,” I continued, “I just want a fair division of property and a clean break.”
I paused, studying his face. “I understand if you don’t want to get involved. Helping me would mean risking Ethan’s wrath, and your alliance with the Northern Territory is valuable.”
The wind outside picked up, a chilling autumn gust that seemed to emphasize the coldness of my situation. Hector moved to close the door, shutting out the draft with a decisive click.
Warmth spread through the room, mirroring the small flicker of hope that kindled within me às Hector dismissed my concerns with a casual wave of his hand.
“If you want a divorce, no one can stop you,” he stated matter–of–factly. “Not even Ethan Blackwood.”
Sunlight broke through the clouds outside, streaming through the windows and transforming the room. The shift in lighting seemed symbolic of the change in my prospects.
“Tell me,” Hector said, his voice carrying a compelling intensity, “do you really want to leave him?”
His eyes studied me with careful consideration, as if my answer would determine something important.
I felt caught between two powerful forces: the fear of Ethan’s reaction and my determination to reclaim my life. The options lay bare before me–a path forward, uncertain yet liberating, or a return to the suffocating
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Chapter 22 Wounds and
grip of my marriage.
Freedom called to me, its siren song impossible to resist.
“I want to,” I declared, my voice growing stronger with each word. “I want to divorce him. Can you help me?
Hector nodded without hesitation, his confidence unwavering. “Of course.”
“But what about the consequences?” I asked, worry creeping into my voice. “Ethan won’t take this lightly. He my voice. “Ethan won’t take this lightly. He could make things difficult for you, for your business interests in the Northern Territory.”
Hector’s posture remained relaxed, yet he emanated a natural confidence that was both calming and impressive. “Don’t worry, he can’t touch me.”
I blinked in surprise at his dismissiveness of Ethan’s power. Before I could voice my astonishment, Hector’s expression changed, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on something below my waist.
“You’re bleeding,” he stated, pointing to a small but growing red stain on my white skirt.
I glanced down, dismayed to see that the cut on my thigh from my earlier confrontation at home had reopened. “It’s nothing. Just a small scratch.”
Hector was already moving, retrieving a sleek black case from a nearby cabinet. He returned and knelt beside my chair, opening what I now recognized as a medical kit.
“Really, it’s fine,” I protested weakly.
“Let me see,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Reluctantly, I shifted my skirt slightly, revealing the angry red gash on my outer thigh. It wasn’t deep, but it looked worse than I’d realized.
Hector’s expression darkened momentarily before returning to professional detachment. He took my hand in his, steadying me as he prepared to clean the wound.
The intimacy of his touch caught me off guard. His skin was warm against mine, and the subtle scent of sandalwood that surrounded him was a stark contrast to the coldness I had experienced with Ethan in recent
months.
“This might sting,” he warned, dabbing antiseptic on a cotton swab.
As he touched it to my wound, a sharp pain shot through my leg. I couldn’t suppress a cry of discomfort.
“Hector, it hurts…” I gasped, my fingers instinctively tightening around his.
His eyes met mine, filled with a gentleness that belied his powerful presence. “I know. But sometimes healing requires pain first.”
The double meaning of his words wasn’t lost on me. I nodded, biting my lip as he continued to clean the wound with careful precision.
“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “I had a… disagreement with Margaret Blackwood. Ethan’s mother.” Hector’s hands paused momentarily before resuming their work. “A disagreement that resulted in p..,ical injury?”
“She brought divorce papers,” I explained, wincing as he applied more antiseptic. “Said I should sign them and
< Chapter 22 Wounds and
disappear quietly. I may have lost my temper and thrown some crystal at her.”
A ghost of a smile touched Hector’s lips. “I see.”
“She dodged,” I continued, finding it oddly easy to talk to him. “But I caught myself on the broken glass
afterward.”
Hector nodded, applying a healing salve to the cut. “Your mother–in–law sounds charming.”
The dry comment surprised a laugh out of me. “Oh, she’s delightful. Especially when she’s telling me how inadequate I am as Ethan’s Luna.”
Hector’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Some people mistake cruelty for strength.”
He finished bandaging my wound with expert efficiency, his touch clinical yet somehow comforting. When he was done, he remained kneeling, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected intensity.
“No one has the right to make you feel inadequate, Samantha,” he said quietly. “Especially not when you’ve shown such remarkable strength.”
Something in his gaze made my heart skip a beat. Not attraction, exactly, but recognition–as if he saw something in me that others, including myself, had missed.
“Thank you,” I whispered, suddenly aware of how close we were.
Hector nodded once and stood, returning the medical supplies to their case. The moment passed, but something had shifted between us–a connection formed in this quiet moment of vulnerability.
“Now,” he said, his tone becoming businesslike again, “about your divorce. I know several attorneys in the Eastern Territories who would be more than capable of handling your case.”
I listened as he outlined a strategy, explaining how we could bypass Ethan’s influence by filing in another territory. His confidence was contagious, making me believe that freedom might actually be possible. As he spoke, I found myself studying his profile–the strong jaw, the dignified bearing, the careful way he chose his words. Hector Grayson was everything‘ Ethan was not: measured where Ethan was impulsive, thoughtful where Ethan was demanding.
“Samantha?” Hector’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Are you alright?”
I nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude. “Yes. I just… thank you for helping me. For not dismissing me like Marcus did.”
“Marcus Bennett?” Hector asked, his eyebrow raising slightly.
“Yes. He refused to take my case,” I explained. “Said I was seeking vengeance, not justice.”
Hector considered this. “Perhaps there’s truth in that. But sometimes justice requires a measure of vengeance.”
His words resonated with something deep inside me. For the first time since discovering Ethan’s betrayal, I felt understood.
“The wound on your leg will heal,” Hector said softly, his eyes meeting mine again. “And so will the can’t be seen. But first, you need to be free.”
s that
The conviction in his voice made me believe it was possible. As he returned to explaining the legal strategy. ! felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: hope.
<Chapter 22: Wounds and
The pain in my leg throbbed dully, a reminder of the cost of standing up to the Blackwoods. But sitting here in Hector’s warm, sunlit study, I found the strength to face whatever came next.
“Hector, it hurts…” I had said of my wound, but the words applied equally to the ache in my heart.
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