As my hand brushed against Lewis’s skin, heat rushed up my arm before I could pull away.
It startled .
Not just the warmth but how solid he felt.
I had always assud that because he used a wheelchair, his body would be fragile. Thin. Easily broken. That was the picture my mind had built without asking permission.
But the truth sat right in front of .
Beneath the open shirt, his fra was firm and controlled. His shoulders were strong, his arms lean, shaped by discipline rather than show. There was no excess, no weakness. Every line looked earned. Like a body trained to obey instinct and restraint at the sa ti.
He didn’t look like soone to be pitied.
He looked dangerous in a quiet way.
My breath hitched. I turned my face away at once.
"I... I didn’t an to," I said, my voice uneven.
I heard him exhale, slow and deep, as if calming sothing inside himself.
"Riley," he said softly, "we’re husband and wife."
The words landed heavier than they should have.
I froze.
It wasn’t that I’d never seen a man without a shirt. I had beaches, events, work functions where beauty was treated like decoration. But seeing was different from feeling.
Touch was different.
I had never been good at it.
Back in college, I had been cautious. Afraid of crossing lines I didn’t understand. The one ti I did, alcohol had blurred the edges and left behind more confusion than mory.
After that, life moved fast.
Work. Pressure. Expectations.
Julian and I stayed together for years, but sowhere along the way, the closeness faded. We talked. We argued. We existed side by side. But we stopped reaching for each other.
By the last two years, even a hug felt awkward. Like sothing borrowed from another couple’s life.
So yes, I understood just a little why Julian had been tempted by attention that felt new.
But understanding didn’t an forgiveness.
Still, standing here now, I felt how unprepared I was.
If you can’t even look at , Lewis said quietly, how will you ever
He stopped.
I stared hard at the armrest of his wheelchair. The smooth tal. The safe distance.
"How will I what?" I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he slipped his shirt back on with calm, steady movents. One button. Then another. No rush. No pressure. As if he were giving space without making it obvious.
"It’s nothing," he said at last. "Did you need sothing?"
When he finished, I finally looked up.
His eyes were steady. Dark. Watching in a way that felt patient, not demanding. Like a presence that didn’t chase, but waited.
"Yes," I said. "I wanted to ask about the investigation."
I swallowed and continued, forcing myself to focus.
"You have connections. Influence. I was hoping you could check how far the police have gone with Elena’s case. Those statue fragnts they should’ve led sowhere."
I hesitated, then added quietly, "She looked so much like . And the way she died... it was cruel. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about it."
Lewis didn’t interrupt.
He studied for a long mont, as if weighing not just my words, but the feeling beneath them.
Sothing unreadable flickered in his gaze.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt like he already understood more than I’d said out loud.
"The case is being handled as a top-level kill," Lewis said quietly. His voice was calm, but there was tension beneath it, like sothing held tightly in check. "There have been developnts. I’m not sure you’ll want to hear them."
"I do," I said at once. My fingers curled into my palm without thinking. "Tell ."
I had already crossed death once. I didn’t believe anything could truly scare anymore.
Lewis leaned forward slightly. The air between us felt heavy, charged."The investigators traced the statue," he said. "It was produced at a large sculpture factory. But when demand spiked, they outsourced part of the work to a smaller studio. By the ti the police got there, the place was empty. Cleared out."
A dull ache spread through my chest.
Of course it was gone.
Camilla was never careless. She never left loose ends where they could bite her back.
"But that isn’t the key detail," Lewis went on.
My pulse sped up, loud in my ears.
"They examined what was left of the statue. Inside, deep where the heat didn’t fully reach, they found traces. Flesh. Skin."
My throat tightened. "And?"
Lewis looked straight at . He never looked away when things turned ugly.
"There were no organs," he said. "None at all. Only skin and muscle. Everything else was removed."
The room tilted.
I clapped a hand over my mouth as my body shook, a sharp, instinctive reaction I couldn’t control. Sothing deep inside recoiled, like a wounded animal curling in on itself.
Images flooded in without rcy.
Fingers severed and shaped into trinkets.Skin stripped and stretched, turned into sothing ant to be admired.A body taken apart piece by piece, not in rage but with planning.
What had she done with the rest of ?
Thrown it away?Fed it to sothing that didn’t know better?Or worse served it, smiling, to people who once called family?
The thought ripped through my chest, raw and savage.
How much hatred did it take to do sothing like that? What had I done to deserve being reduced to spare parts by soone who shared my blood?
My breathing broke apart.
Before I realized it, Lewis’s arms were around . Firm. Steady. His presence wrapped around my panic like a wall. The heat of him anchored , pulled back from the edge.
"It’s over," he murmured near my ear. His voice was low, grounding. "That suffering belongs to the past. I won’t let anyone touch you now. Not while you’re under my protection."
I pressed my face into his chest and nodded, unable to speak. His heartbeat was slow and strong beneath my cheek. It settled sothing inside that had been thrashing wildly.
After a mont, he spoke again.
"There’s sothing else," he said. "And this part... explains a lot."
I lifted my head slowly.
"Figuring out what she did with the organs may not be difficult," he continued. "Camilla has a serious heart condition. She’s been deteriorating for years. Her best chance of survival would be a transplant."
The words slamd into .
My heart.
Cold spread down my spine, sharp and sudden. Everything clicked into place with cruel clarity.
So that was it.
I hadn’t just been in her way. I hadn’t just been inconvenient.
I was a match.
A solution.
A body she could harvest to keep herself alive.
I stared at Lewis, my mind racing, instincts screaming as if they had finally spotted the true enemy.
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t soften the truth.
Camilla hadn’t only wanted dead.
She wanted to live as by tearing apart from the inside and claiming what was mine.
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