Longing Beneath Blossoms

Crash!

The sound of a glass shattering on the floor cut off Wyatt before he could finish speaking.

Vera jolted like a startled rabbit, springing out of his arms.

"Rhea, you’re awake!" She rushed to the hospital bed, tears spilling instantly. "How do you feel? Does it still hurt? This is all my fault—"

Rhea tugged her pale lips into a cold smile. "With you being an eyesore here, how could I possibly get better?"

Vera’s tears fell harder. Her shoulders trembled as if she had been grievously wronged. She bit her lip, cast Wyatt one last look, then turned and ran out of the room.

Wyatt instinctively took a step after her, then forced himself to stop. He turned back to Rhea, his voice low. "Miss Vaughn, everything happened so fast that day. I did not have time to react—"

Rhea said nothing. She only turned her head and looked out the window. She did not want to hear it.

For three full days, Wyatt stood guard outside the hospital room like a model bodyguard. She did not say a single word to him. Not until the day she was discharged.

Rhea walked on her still-unhealed leg straight into the study. She pulled open a redwood drawer and took out a black leather whip, glossy and cold.

It was the Vaughns' inherited disciplinary tool. One strike was enough to split skin.

"Go get Wyatt," she told the housekeeper, Dorothy Kline.

When he entered the room, she was slowly wiping down the whip.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows beneath her lashes.

"Wyatt," she said calmly, lifting her eyes to him. "You are my bodyguard. You failed to protect your principal. I am punishing you. You shall have no objections."

As he stood where he was, his pupils tightened almost imperceptibly. Rhea saw it clearly.

Blackridge’s so-called crown prince had probably never imagined that someone would dare enforce household discipline on him.

After all, he was the Wren family’s only heir. People tripped over themselves to curry favor with him. Who would dare lay a finger on him?

Yet here she was, about to whip him.

Rhea studied his expression and suddenly laughed.

He was hesitating. He could turn around and walk away. He could resign, yet he was hesitating.

For Vera. To stay by her side. To keep getting closer to her.

Her eyes burned, the laughter almost spilling into tears.

Wyatt clenched his jaw. At last, he said quietly, "No objections."

At that moment, Rhea’s heart seized violently. She gripped the whip and raised her arm.

"Don't!"

A slender figure suddenly threw herself forward, blocking him completely.

Vera stood in front of Wyatt, tears filling her eyes, her voice shaking. "Rhea, if you want to hit someone, hit me. This has nothing to do with Wyatt!"

"Move." Rhea’s voice was ice-cold.

"I won't!" Vera shook her head, crying openly. "I'm the one who caused you to get hurt. If there must be punishment, punish me—"

Wyatt reached out, trying to pull her aside. "Vera, this has nothing to do with you."

She refused to move, stubbornly shielding him with her body.

Rhea watched the scene, fury surging up as she lashed out.

Crack!

The whip split the air with a shrill snap.

She had aimed for Wyatt, but Vera lunged forward instead, taking the strike for him.

"Ah—!" Vera cried out. Her slight frame swayed, then collapsed.

Wyatt caught her instantly, lowering his head to check her injuries. When he looked up again, Rhea met eyes colder than ice. There was killing intent in them, as if he might rush forward and snap her neck in the next second.

Her body went rigid, plunging into an icy abyss.

"Get out," she heard herself say, her voice trembling.

Wyatt picked up the unconscious Vera and turned away. The study door slammed behind him with a deafening crash.

Rhea stood there, realizing her hands were shaking so badly she could no longer hold the whip.