And just like that, Estela was left standing alone.
Estela was used to being left behind. This wasn’t the first time–far from it. It was just one more to add to the countless others.
The sting on her cheek was still fresh, radiating heat that pulsed with every breath. No matter how she tried to ignore it, the pain demanded her attention.
Spencer’s usual lazy smirk had vanished. His gaze locked on the mark across her face, voice cool and flat. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the room? Why didn’t you go in?”
Sidney had just hurried back and stopped dead at the scene in front of him, instantly wishing he could crawl right back into the elevator.
‘Damn it,‘ he thought. ‘Mr. Rangel rushed all the way here and still missed the whole thing!‘
Spencer’s tone stayed light, but there was an edge to it. “You just stood there and took it? Didn’t fight back at all? Anyone watching would think you’re into that kind of thing.”
Estela bit down on her lip. Her nose stung out of nowhere.
She hadn’t cried when Rosalyn slapped her. Hadn’t cried when Vance took Rosalyn’s side–hadn’t even cried when he turned his back on her to chase after Phoebe right in front of her.
But somehow, it was Spencer’s words–thoughtless and sharp–that hit her the hardest. It wasn’t what he said, it was how it made her feel: like she was just a burden to him.
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She sniffed and looked away, eyes starting to burn.
And maybe he was right. Every time she crossed paths with him, it ended in a mess.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rangel,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
Spencer noticed her eyes starting to redden and swore under his breath.
‘Why the hell has he said that? What was she supposed to do in that situation? She hasn’t had a choice,‘ Sidney thought.
Sidney stood off to the side, practically jumping out of his skin.
‘Come on, Mr. Rangel! She’s upset, this is your chance! Step up! Say something comforting, for god’s sake!‘
Spencer took a breath and straightened his posture, shedding his usual nonchalance. After a beat, he finally spoke–awkwardly, “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Sidney thought, ‘What? Okay. Great. Wife’s definitely gone.‘
Spencer shot him a glare, and Sidney immediately got the hint.
“I’ll go get some medicine for Ms. Warren,” he said quickly.
Estela opened her mouth to say that’s not necessary, but Sidney was already gone–vanished in a blur of shoes on polished tile.
Spencer turned and pushed open the hospital room door, which had been left slightly ajar.
He clicked his tongue in irritation and let out a short laugh.
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So it wasn’t locked–she just didn’t come in. Too polite. Too distant Too stubbornly respectful of boundaries,‘ he thought.
“Charity show’s over,” he said without looking back. “You can come in now.”
Estela blinked, caught off guard. For a second, she almost laughed.
She quickly pulled herself together, picked up the soup, and stepped into the room.
Just like before, she carefully laid out the dishes one by one on the coffee table.
Spencer didn’t say another word. He just sat on the couch and watched her quietly.
The sudden silence made Estela feel awkward.
Sidney soon returned with the ointment for swelling and bruises.
Spencer rotated his wrist slowly, keeping his eyes on her as she applied the medicine.
She glanced over at his hand, now unbandaged. “How’s the injury?” she asked softly.
“Ruined,” he replied flatly.
Estela’s eyes widened.
Before she could say anything, he added, “Not completely.”
“Oh.” She blinked, not sure how to respond.
‘So Mr. Human Shield actually has a sense of humor?‘ she wondered.
Then he said, “It left a scar.”
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She tried to follow along. “Maybe it’ll fade?”
Spencer let out a quiet laugh, the kind that warmed the edge of his
usually sharp voice. His gray eyes–normally cold and distant–softened just a little.
Estela felt herself relax.
Until he spoke again. “Nope. It’s permanent.”
His long lashes dipped slightly, casting shadows over his eyes.
He opened his palm.
His hand was large, with long, well–shaped fingers and neatly trimmed nails–elegant, at first glance. The kind of hand you’d expect on someone used to a life of comfort.
But the calluses told a different story.
And across the base of his thumb, a deep, dark scar stretched almost the full width of his palm–angry, jagged, and unmistakable.
Estela froze.
He hadn’t flinched when he caught that knife. Hadn’t shown a flicker of pain. But this. this was worse than she’d imagined.
Her eyes turned red again, voice trembling with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.”
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