Page 96 of Ruined By Protection
I swipe open the message, my breath catching.
Hazel, baby. I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you run. I love you. I miss you. I just want you to come home.
My fingers grip the phone as I read, bile rising in my throat. Classic Elliott—apologizing without acknowledging what he actually did. Making it seem like I'm overreacting.
The message continues:
I'll wait for you, darling. Take the time you need. I know married couples always find their way back to each other. We took vows, remember? For better or worse.
I can almost hear his voice, that silky, reasonable tone he uses when he's trying to manipulate me. The same voice he used after the first time he hit me, when he brought me twelve dozen roses and promised it would never happen again.
Then my eyes catch the last part of his message and the room tilts around me.
Your father's next surgery is scheduled for Tuesday. Would be a shame if something went wrong. Your mother seems stressed at work lately—Montgomery Industries can be so demanding. And Jake... well, you know how dangerous sports practice can be for a fifteen-year-old boy. Accidents happen all the time.
I'll be waiting, sweetheart. Don't make me wait too long.
The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. I can't breathe. My chest feels like it's being crushed under an enormous weight.
He's threatening my family.
I press my hand against my mouth to stifle the sob that tears from my throat. The walls of the room seem to close in around me. I need air. I need to think.
Standing up too quickly makes my head spin. I stumble toward the French doors leading to the garden, fumbling with the handle before pushing them open. The cool night air hits my face but it doesn't soothe the panic clawing at my chest.
I pace the garden path, gravel crunching beneath my feet. Elliott's threats echo in my mind.
I stop abruptly, my hands balling into fists at my sides. What am I doing? I can’t leave this compound. Running away in themiddle of the night won't solve anything. Hiding at my mother’s house will only draw down more vengeance on my family.
For two years I've been reacting to Elliott—tiptoeing around his moods, anticipating his anger, trying to make myself invisible. Even now I'm letting him dictate my actions with his threats.
I take a deep breath, forcing my lungs to expand despite the tightness in my chest. I'm not that woman anymore. I was independent before Elliott. I supported my family. I made my own decisions. I survived.
Going back to him isn't an option. It would only lead to worse abuse—punishment for daring to leave. And next time he might not stop before putting me in the hospital. Or worse.
My family needs me alive and free, not trapped and broken.
I pull out the phone and stare at Elliott's message again. The threat is clear, calculated to hit me where I'm most vulnerable. He knows exactly how to manipulate me.
But I'm not alone anymore.
My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before I open a new message. I type Matteo's name then pause, considering what to say. Pride and fear battle inside me—pride that wants to handle this myself, fear of what might happen if I don't ask for help.
I think of my brother's face. Jake is just fifteen. He doesn't deserve to pay for my decisions.
I start typing.
Elliott texted me. He's threatening my family.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
The response comes almost immediately.
Where are you?
Garden.
Don't move.
