\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 15\u00a0<\/p>\n
I dropped to my knees with him, clutching him so tight my chest hurt. \u201cNo, baby. No. Mama\u2019s here. Mama\u2019s alive. You don\u2019t have to say sorry anymore.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He cried harder. I cried harder. We shook together like two people pulled out of the\u00a0<\/p>\n
same grave.\u00a0<\/p>\n
For the first time since hell swallowed me, I knew it was over.\u00a0<\/p>\n
We were alive.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt stood a few steps away, silent. Watching. Letting us have this.\u00a0<\/p>\n
When Ryle finally calmed, he still clung to me like he was afraid the ground would open again.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt spoke quietly. \u201cHe\u2019s under treatment.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked up, my eyes burning. \u201cTreatment?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cFor the abuse,\u201d he said, his voice hard now. \u201cYour son was broken down piece by piece. He still kneels when adults raise their voice. He apologizes hundreds of times a day. Sometimes for breathing.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My heart cracked open.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wakes up crying,\u201d Colt continued. \u201cCalls for you. Says sorry in his sleep. It\u2019ll take at least a year of therapy. Maybe more.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t breathe. I pulled Ryle closer, my tears soaking his hair.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI failed him,\u201d I whispered.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Colt said firmly. \u201cYou survived. That matters.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I turned to him then. My whole body was shaking. I wrapped my arms around him without thinking.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I cried into his chest. \u201cThank you for saving us. For everything. For not letting us die.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt didn\u2019t hug me back.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He placed his hand on my shoulder instead. Heavy. Possessive. Real.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cBella,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI didn\u2019t do this for free.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I nodded.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I already knew.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know the price,\u201d he continued. \u201cDavid is finished. Completely. His name erased.\u00a0<\/p>\n
His empire burned. And when the dust settles, you don\u2019t walk away.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:09 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
My throat tightened. \u201cI will become your wife.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked down at my son\u2026 At his small hands clutching my shirt\u2026 At that life Colt dragged out of the sea.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I nodded again. \u201cOkay.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
That night, Colt summoned his assistant.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Documents were laid out on the table like contracts with the devil.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNew names,\u201d Colt said. \u201cClean. Untraceable.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He looked at Ryle. \u201cFrom now on, you\u2019re Clyde.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ryle blinked, confused, then nodded like he always did.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt turned to me. \u201cAnd you.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He slid the papers forward.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNadia Joseph.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I stared at the name. Isabella was dead. The woman who begged. The woman who trusted. The woman who was handed to hell.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I signed. I held my son\u2019s hand. And somewhere deep inside me, the broken pieces stopped bleeding and started sharpening.\u00a0<\/p>\n
David and Roxanne buried me once. Next time, I would be the one standing at the\u00a0<\/p>\n
grave.\u00a0<\/p>\n
A year passed since Colt pulled me and my son out of the sea, and some mornings I still wake up thinking I am drowning again, thinking my lungs will burn, thinking I will hear David\u2019s voice somewhere close, cold and disappointed, like it always was at the\u00a0<\/p>\n
end.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Ryle is better now, not healed, not fixed, but better, and that matters more than anything. Therapy almost every day at first, then slowly less, and he still apologizes too much and still flinches when voices rise, but he laughs again, real laughs, the kind that shake his shoulders, and sometimes he sleeps through the night without crying for me. The doctors say trauma lives deep in children, and I nod, because I already know that. Trauma lives deep in me too.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt never treated us like fragile things.\u00a0<\/p>\n
One afternoon he placed a knife in my hand and said, calm as if we were talking about weather, \u201cHold it like this, Bella. If your grip is weak, your fear will travel straight to your wrist, and fear gets you killed.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:09 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
My hand was shaking and I hated myself for it. \u201cI have never hurt anyone,\u201d I said, my\u00a0<\/p>\n
voice thin.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He looked at me for a long second and then said quietly, \u201cYou have been hurt enough\u00a0<\/p>\n
for ten lifetimes. This is balance.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Gun training came next. The sound made my ears ring, my heart slam, and I dropped it the first time. I expected him to snap, to yell, to mock me. He didn\u2019t.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He crouched in front of me and said, \u201cBreathe, and look at me. You survived worse than this. Don\u2019t let metal scare you.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Later, with the arrows, he stood close behind me, adjusting my arm, his voice low. \u201cDistance teaches patience. Patience wins wars.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
That was when I understood who he really was.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Not just powerful. Not just rich.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt Blackwood ruled the west. Real power. The kind that doesn\u2019t need to shout. Bigger than David. Bigger than everything David thought he owned.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
I asked him one night, after Ryle was asleep, \u201cIf you are this strong, why didn\u2019t you just\u00a0<\/p>\n
end him?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colt smiled slowly, like the idea amused him. \u201cBecause I want you to,\u201d he said. \u201cI want you to look him in the eyes when it\u2019s done. I want him to know exactly who destroyed him. And I want to enjoy that.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t argue. I didn\u2019t need to.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then one night he came home bleeding and smelling like alcohol and iron. His shirt was ruined and his knuckles split open.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I panicked. \u201cColt, you\u2019re hurt. Sit down. Please.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d he muttered, but he let me help him anyway.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I cleaned his wounds with shaking hands and he watched me like I was something precious, like I might disappear if he blinked.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to do this,\u201d I whispered.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He touched my cheek gently and said, \u201cI want you to.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
That night, he didn\u2019t touch me like I was owed. He touched me like I was chosen. Slow, careful, almost reverent, and I cried into his shoulder because for the first time in years, I wasn\u2019t afraid.\u00a0<\/p>\n
After, he fell asleep.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I went back to my room quietly, my heart heavy and light at the same time.\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:09 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
The next morning, he was himself again. Cold, composed, untouchable.\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
He slid an envelope across the table. \u201cThere\u2019s a banquet,\u201d he said. \u201cMafia families.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Peace talks. Lies dressed in suits.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
11:09 Wed, Jan 28\u00a0<\/p>\n
87\u00a0<\/p>\n
Prepare the divorce and ruin your husband by Mark Twain 15 \u00a0 Chapter 15\u00a0 I dropped to my knees with […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[60],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23546","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-his-regret-my-victory-novel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23546","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23546"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23546\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23546"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23546"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23546"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}