Charlotte had almost completely healed.
To her surprise, she hadn't been made to lift a finger around the house. Instead, Gérard had hired a maid to take care of everything. The sudden change still felt unreal to her.
Three days had passed, yet her thoughts refused to move on from that night.
It lingered his voice, his expression, the way he had let his guard slip just enough for her to see what lay beneath. That fragile, broken part of him had etched itself into her mind, replaying over and over like a quiet, persistent echo.
And she had noticed it the shift in him.
Gérard was not a gentle man. That much she knew.
But with her… he tried.
Every night, he changed her bandages himself, his touch careful, almost reverent as he tended to her wounds. There was no harshness in those moments. No cold distance.
Only quiet restraint.
She wanted to ask him about it.
About what he had said that night.
"Please… don't ever leave me. I'll die this time."
The words haunted her.
