Christopher didn’t let go. He pulled me toward the door.
The hospital corridor was too bright and I was being dragged through it by a man who looked like he was one inconvenience away from losing his last shred of patience.
His hand was around my wrist, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough that I’d have to make a scene to break free. He was walking fast, long strides that I had to half-jog to keep up with.
Nurses stepped out of the way. An orderly pushing a medication cart flattened himself against the wall. A woman in scrubs looked at us, noticed Christopher's face, and immediately ducked into a nearby room.
I tried to pull my arm back. He didn’t let go.
“If you don’t let go of my wrist in the next three seconds,” I said, loud enough for the entire corridor to hear, “I am going to scream.”
Christopher slowed, but didn’t stop. He steered me through a side exit into the parking garage, where the fluorescent light gave way to dim concrete and the distant rumble of the air system.
He let go.
I yanked my wrist back and rubbed it. He turned to face me. His expression was controlled but his eyes were not. There was something wild in them, an emotion he usually buried under so many layers of performance that I'd started to wonder if it existed at all.
It existed. It was standing in front of me in a parking garage, breathing hard, looking at me like I’d betrayed him in a way I still didn’t understand.
“I don’t want you around my brother,” he said.
“You don’t get to decide who I spend time with. You don’t own me,” I shot back.
His eyes flashed. “Dominic is off limits.”
“Off limits?” I stared at him. Then, I scoffed. “I’m not a child and you are not my father. Eleanor asked me to come. Your grandmother, the woman I work for, invited me to accompany her to visit her grandson who is in the hospital. What was I supposed to say? No, sorry, your other grandson has unresolved family trauma and I’ve been forbidden from existing in the same room?”
“You don’t understand the situation with Dominic.” His voice sounded hoarse.
“Then explain it.”
Nothing. He just looked at me with that burning expression, and the silence told me everything. Whatever had happened between these brothers went deeper than business, deeper than rivalry, deeper than anything he was willing to hand me. I thought, standing there with my wrist still warm from his grip, that this was none of my business. These were his wounds. His brother. His family. I was a contract wife with seventy-six days remaining and no right to his secrets.
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But you had no right to drag me out of that room like some property.”
He said nothing, so I continued.
“I want to go home,” I said. “My home. My apartment. I’m done with this whole arrangement.”
“You signed a contract.”
“I don’t care about the contract.”
“Seventy-six days left, Miley. That’s what you agreed to. That’s what the document says. We live together. It’s non-negotiable.”
“The document also doesn’t include a clause about being dragged through hospitals against my will.”
“You signed?—”
“You lied to me!” It burst out before I could stop it. Fueled by the kiwi incident, the slap, the weeks of cold silence, folded napkins and plates returned to the sink without a word. “You lied about the kiwi. You manipulated me. And now you’re manhandling me through a hospital because I had the audacity to be kind to your grandmother. Is that really all you have, Christopher? A piece of paper?”
I was breathing hard. I turned and walked toward the garage exit, scanning the street beyond as I raised my hand to hail a cab.
I heard his footsteps behind me, fast and closing distance.
"Miley. The incident wasn't planned. Please, just listen." He called after me, but I kept walking.
"Miley, wait."
