“No.” His voice gentled, but only barely. “For several moments…” He shook his head. “You were not there with me.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Gideon stared ahead at the winding path, though what he truly saw was that narrow backstage corridor again. The darkness. Her frantic breathing. The blind terror in her movements.
“When I spoke to you, you did not hear me.” His brow furrowed faintly at the memory. Beatrice remained silent.
“And when you looked at me…” His voice lowered further. “You were seeing something else entirely.”
That finally made her glance toward him again.
Not defensive. Uneasy, though.
At least she was actually listening to him now.
Gideon exhaled slowly through his nose.
“It was as though you had gone somewhere else in your mind,” he said carefully. “Somewhere frightening enough that even after you should have recognized me—you still believed you were in danger.”
Her fingers tightened upon his sleeve.
He could feel it, even now. The violent trembling in her body. More than fear. Rage.
Someone had forced fear beneath her skin so deeply that the wrong touch, the wrong moment could drag her back into it before reason ever had a chance to intervene. What kind of man inflicted that sort of terror upon another human being and continued walking the earth afterward?
Gideon’s hands curled at his sides.
The instant she’d told him someone had harmed her, something inside him went cold with fury. But even then, some selfish corner of his mind had resisted the full horror of it.
He had not allowed himself to picture her…
Not truly. Not Beatrice.
He had accepted the knowledge without fully knowing it.
Last night had stripped any illusion completely.
And God. It devastated him in ways he had not anticipated.
Not simply because someone had hurt her. But because someone had altered her.
And he saw it now.
Not weakness. Survival. The sort that clawed and fought and struck before thought could even form.
And now, the memory would not leave him. The sheer violence of her panic.
“I… am sorry,” she said, voice almost a whisper. “I thought you were… It just… happened.”
“I don’t want your apology.”
“Well, I’ll… I’ll be more careful next time. I’ll make sure?—”
“Listen to me. There won’t be a next time, Beatrice,” he said more quietly. “It took all my strength to contain you. And I am considerably larger than you.”
Beatrice’s lips parted faintly, though no words emerged.
“If you aren’t upset about…” she gestured towards the scratches on his face. The bruise around his eye. “Then, I don’t understand what the problem is. You make far too much of a moment’s panic.”
