Arminda POV
The silence in the elevator was heavy, thick enough to choke on.
Charly was humming, tracing the frame of the lavender painting she didn't even like, her finger moving in slow, mocking circles.
Coleton stared straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth.
When the doors slid open, I wheeled myself out first, desperate for the sanctuary of my room.
"You embarrassed me tonight," Coleton said to my back.
"You embarrassed yourself," I replied, not stopping.
"Hey!"
Charly stepped in front of my wheelchair, blocking my path to the hallway. "Don't talk to him like that. You're just a glorified maid with a degree."
"Move, Charly," I said, exhausted.
"Or what?" She smirked, leaning down until her perfume clogged my senses. "You'll break another bone?"
She stood at the top of the three steps that led down into the sunken living room. She looked at Coleton, who was taking off his jacket, then looked back at me. A wicked idea sparked in her eyes.
"Oops," she whispered.
Then, she threw herself backward.
It was a clumsy, theatrical fall. She landed on the carpeted steps with a thud that wouldn't even bruise a peach, but she screamed like she'd been shot.
"Ow! My back! She pushed me!" Charly wailed, clutching her spine. "Cole! She rammed me with the chair!"
Coleton spun around.
He saw Charly on the ground. He saw me sitting right above her.
He didn't pause to ask what happened. He didn't check the security cameras.
He crossed the room in two strides.
He seized the handles of my wheelchair and yanked it backward, spinning me away from her with such force that my cast slammed into the doorframe.
"Enough!" he roared, his face inches from mine.
He shoved the wheelchair again, pinning me against the wall. "You touch her again, Arminda, and I will forget every debt I owe you."
"I didn't touch her," I said, my voice trembling. "She threw herself down."
"Liar!" Charly sobbed from the floor, her voice a practiced tremolo. "She's jealous! She's obsessed with you, Cole!"
Coleton looked at me with disgust. "You're pathetic."
He turned and scooped Charly up into his arms, carrying her bridal style toward the master bedroom—his bedroom. The sanctuary I had never entered, except to change his dressings.
I sat there, pinned against the wall, listening to them.
"I can't stay in the guest room, Cole," Charly whimpered. "I'm scared of her."
"You're not staying in the guest room," Coleton said, his voice carrying through the open door. "You're moving in here. With me. Where I can keep an eye on you."
I watched as Charly’s head rested on his shoulder. She looked back at me and winked.
I managed to wheel myself into my room. I closed the door and locked it, though a lock meant nothing to a man like Coleton Barron.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of movers.
I opened my door to find boxes everywhere. Charly's clothes, Charly's shoes, Charly's gaudy art. They were filling every corner of the penthouse.
Coleton was standing by the kitchen island, drinking espresso. He looked at me as I maneuvered out on my crutches.
"Charly is moving in officially," he stated, as if discussing the weather. "For her protection."
He pointed a finger at me.
"Don't talk to her. Don't look at her. And don't you dare touch her," he warned. "You stay in your room until your contract is up. Then you get the hell out."
I looked at the man I had saved. I looked at the space that had been my home, now invaded by the woman who was poisoning him.
"You don't have to worry, Coleton," I said, feeling a strange, cold peace settle over me. The hope was gone. The anger was gone. There was only nothing. "I won't touch her. I won't touch anything that belongs to you ever again."
I turned back to my room.
"Where are you going?" he asked, irritated by my lack of a fight.
"To pack," I said softly. "Properly, this time."
I closed the door. I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. I didn't cry. I was done crying. I was a ghost in this house now, just waiting for the moment to fade away completely.
