“This isn’t about what you want right now, Andreas,” I say sharply.
The hurt on his face is immediate. His eyes widen as though I’ve struck him.
“Are you mad at me?”
I pause. Am I? Maybe. Or maybe I’m just angry at the entire situation, and he’s the easiest target right now.
“What’s going on with Isabella?” My voice cuts through the tension, sharper than I intended. Apparently, I’m mostly angry at him after all.
His expression shifts instantly. His jaw clenches, and his teeth grind audibly. “What did Noah tell you?”
“I can’t believe that after everything I just endured, you’re still going to make me spell it out for you. You ask me questions instead of answering them? Tell me the truth, Andreas. What the fuck is going on between you two?” My voice rises with frustration, my body trembling with adrenaline. I’m tired of all the secrecy and want to know everything!
“Don’t curse at me!” he roars, his voice booming in the small space.
“I have every right to curse! Goddammit!” I fire back without hesitation.
The silence that follows is deafening. My chest heaves as I wait for his response, the tension unbearable. Finally, he exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever confession he’s about to make.
“There’s nothing between Isabella and me. Not anymore,” he starts, his voice low and gravelly. “We had a brief fling, but I made it clear from the start it wasn’t serious. When I found out what kind of woman she really was—a junkie, a dealer—I ended it immediately. She means nothing to me, Nora. You have to believe that.”
Aside from the drugs, it’s not hard to spot some similarities between Isabella and me. It wasn’t serious, he made it clear from the start. A cold shiver runs through my entire body. I hate Isabella with every fiber of my being. The thought of another woman with Andreas makes me sick to my stomach. Do I trust him? Does she really mean nothing to him anymore? The hatred seems genuine, though.
“What does Noah have to do with all of this?”
He exhales sharply, clearly reluctant to revisit this. “He’s sleeping with her now. It’s not serious, at least not romantically. She supplies him with drugs, and he’s started dealing on the side. They’re tied to each other because of their habits and their business.”
I swallow hard, trying to push past the nausea rising in my throat. “And the lawsuit against her? Is it related to all of this?” I remember a phone call from some time ago about this.
“I’m doing everything I can to get her and Noah off the streets. Anthony, my lawyer, is building a case, but they’re slippery. It’s hard to pin them down.” His voice carries a mix of determination and frustration.
I understand why he wants those junkies-slash-dealers off the streets. Especially now that we know what Noah is capable of, I’m relieved he’ll be taken in. At least, that’s what I hope.
“Okay,” I sigh.
I’m too exhausted to ask any more questions. I need to let all the information sink in and sort it out. The fatigue hits me like a ton of bricks. We’re still standing in the hallway downstairs, and I wonder how on earth I’m supposed to make it up the stairs. Now that the last bit of adrenaline has drained from my body, I feel like I can barely stand. I sigh and start to sit down on the bench in the hallway, but Andreas beats me to it. He picks me up and carries me up the stairs. He goes all the way to the top floor and lays me down on the bed.
“Stay here for a bit. I’ll run a bath for you, and then you can wash up and rest.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips before disappearing into the bathroom. His affection feels like an anchor in a storm, but I’m too drained to fully absorb it.
Curled into a ball I let the day's events overwhelm me as tears stream silently down my cheeks. I want to sleep, to shut out the world, but the sensation of Noah’s hands lingers on my skin like a ghost. I need to wash myself first. Andreas returns and scoops me up again, carrying me to the bathroom. His face is taut with tension as he begins to undress me gently, his hands trembling as they skim over my bruises and scratches. He curses under his breath as his fingertips brush the darker marks around my throat and chest. His eyes glisten with unshed tears. I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze, and I refuse to look in the mirror—I don’t want to see the evidence of what happened.
He helps me into the warm water, his hands steadying me. “Can I stay with you?” he asks softly. I nod, unable to speak. He climbs in behind me, pulling me close. He washes my body, my hair, and then rinses it all out again. His touch is so tender, so full of care, that it soothes me. I lean my head back against his chest and cling to his arms wrapped around me. I cry until the last tear has fallen and the water has turned nearly cold. With the same gentle concern, he dries me off and dresses me in my pajamas. The way he treats me now makes me feel like a little girl again, but I don’t mind, in fact, it’s just the opposite. What he’s doing feels like a warm embrace for my soul. He’s everything I never had when I was truly little, and with every touch, I feel him filling that void, piece by piece.
Over the past few weeks, Andreas has made me feel desired and wanted, but tonight, there’s no desire in what I feel. For the first time, I feel truly loved. It’s a silver lining to an otherwise pitch-black event. He lays me down on the bed with the promise to come back as soon as possible with something to eat and drink. I’m starving, and I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen downstairs, but before I see any food, I fall into a deep, much-needed sleep.
When I wake up the next day, the sun is already high in the sky. I check my phone and see that I’ve indeed slept until noon. I hear Andreas busy in the kitchen again, and my stomach starts growling spontaneously. Since I skipped dinner yesterday, I’m incredibly hungry by now. I brush my teeth and wash my face, but everything else can wait until after eating. I go downstairs and see Andreas cutting fruit. He’s wearing loose gray sweatpants that barely hang on his hips. His appearance makes me pause for a moment. Barefoot, shirtless, and with his hair deliciously tousled, he looks like every sinful thought I’ve ever had, brought to life.
“Hey, good morning! How are you feeling?” he asks, concern etched into his voice.
He stops cutting, turning to assess me as if scanning for any signs of distress. I can tell he’s worried, but I manage a reassuring smile. Compared to last night, I feel infinitely better.
“Good, my muscles still feel a little sore, but I’m okay, really.”
I sit on a barstool across from him. His shoulders visibly relax, and he sets the knife down to wash his hands before approaching me. He wraps his arms around my waist and plants a soft kiss on my neck, his head resting there for a moment as he holds me tightly.
“Good. You look better,” he says finally. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “By the way, Noah was arrested yesterday and won’t be released anytime soon. Eric’s been on it the whole time.”
