“That you only have a few non-life-threatening bruises.”
A small, relieved breath escaped me.
He didn’t know. Thank Goddess.
I quickly scrambled for a reason to keep him at bay. “It’s not my injuries,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “I’m on my period. I really can’t tonight.” I glanced at him, hoping that would be enough. He had seen me bleeding earlier—it wasn’t a complete lie.
Darius’s gaze lingered on me, unreadable for a moment, but then he stepped back. “Alright.” He walked over to the table, pulled a small jar of ointment from his pocket, and placed it down. “Put this on your bruises.”
I stared at him, stunned. His tone wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t cold. It was almost... considerate. I couldn’t remember the last time he had shown me any kind of care, and now, after everything that happened, and years of neglect—he was acting like this?
“Thanks,” I managed to say as he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
I stood there for a moment, completely confused.
Thinking about it, it was strange that he was suddenly begging me for intimacy. I was so desperate for a scrap of his attention that I didn't even question it. But, even with my head clear, I didn't understand what he was playing.
Why was he being considerate now, after years of treating me like I was nothing? And why had he started sleeping with me again, even getting me pregnant?
My head hurt from trying to figure him out.
I climbed into bed, ignoring the ointment on the table. I was too tired, too broken to care.
The next morning, I woke to the unsettling sight of Darius leaning against my door frame, watching me. My heart leaped in my chest as I sat up, startled.
“You like strawberry shortcakes, right?” His voice was casual like it was normal.
I blinked at him. “What?”
He held up a slice of cake. “I got you a slice.”
I couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped me. It was ridiculous. “Are you trying to kill me now?” I asked, shaking my head. “It’s been years. Of course, you’d forget that I’m allergic to strawberries.”
Darius looked annoyed, his jaw tightening. “Stop making a fuss. Do whatever you want with the cake. I don’t care.”