Page 132 of Claimed By The Other Brother

He storms to the door, yanking it open. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at Dax.

"She'll leave you too," he says.

"When she realizes what you really are."

Then he's gone, the door slamming behind him.

The silence that follows is deafening. I stand there, shaking, staring at the broken lamp and the scattered books and the blood on my floor.

Dax moves toward me. "Scarlett—"

I turn and walk into his arms. He holds me tight, one hand in my hair, the other around my waist. I can feel him trembling too, the adrenaline still coursing through both of us.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I pull back to look at him. His jaw is swelling where Miles hit him. There's blood on his lip. A cut above his eyebrow.

"I'm fine. You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

I lead him to the couch and push him to sit. Then I go to the bathroom and get the first aid kit from under the sink. When I return, he's still sitting there, looking at the destruction around us.

I kneel in front of him, opening the first aid kit. I clean the cut on his eyebrow first, dabbing it gently with antiseptic. He winces but doesn't pull away.

"That was awful," I whisper.

My hands are shaking as I press the bandage over the cut. Tears blur my vision, and I blink them back, but one escapes anyway, sliding down my cheek.

Dax catches it with his thumb. "Hey."

"I'm okay." But my voice breaks.

He pulls me onto the couch beside him, wrapping hisarm around me. I lean into his chest, and the tears come harder now.

"Miles can’t hurt you anymore. The hard part is over," Dax says quietly after a moment.

I nod against his chest. "I know."

We sit there in the wreckage, neither of us saying anything else.

Because there's nothing left to say.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Scarlett

It's Monday morning, and I'm supposed to be at the office. Instead, I'm on my couch in my pajamas, laptop open, trying to work remotely. I've been sick for days. Nauseous. I threw up once over the weekend and chalked it up to stress from the Miles situation. The fight. The destruction. The look on his face when he left.

Dax left for Philadelphia last night—client meetings that couldn't be rescheduled. He'll be back tomorrow.

I sip ginger tea and try to focus on the email I'm drafting, but my stomach churns uncomfortably.

My phone buzzes. A text from Jane.

Jane: SCARLETT CALL ME NOW!