Reborn: Marrying My Ex's Comatose Uncle

The heavy acoustic doors sealed shut behind her, cutting off the rest of the estate completely.

Silence settled over the room except for the steady rhythm of the medical monitor.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Ciel walked slowly toward the bed.

This was the first time she had ever stood this close to Deacon Chavez.

Months of unconsciousness had left his skin pale and his body thinner than before, but nothing could erase the sharp structure of his features. His dark hair rested against the pillow in soft disarray. Thick lashes cast shadows over his face. Even trapped in complete stillness, he carried a dangerous presence.

He did not look weak.

He looked restrained.

Ciel stood beside the bed quietly for several moments.

Then memories surged through her chest all at once.

The collapse of the Miller family.

The humiliation.

The people who abandoned her.

And Deacon-already heavily injured himself-forcing his broken body into a boardroom just to defend her family one final time.

No one else had stood beside her.

Only him.

Emotion tightened painfully in her throat.

Ciel slowly pulled a velvet armchair closer to the bedside and sat down carefully.

She reached out.

Her fingers rested lightly against his hand atop the blanket.

Cold.

Far colder than a healthy person's skin should have been.

The sensation made her chest ache.

"Thank you, Deacon," she whispered softly into the quiet room. "I know you probably can't hear me. But I still have to say it."

Her shoulders slowly relaxed.

The hard shell she carried around Harry disappeared for the first time in weeks.

"I didn't just marry you because I owed you a debt," she admitted quietly. "I married you because I needed somewhere safe."

Her fingers tightened gently around his hand.

"Harry would have destroyed me eventually. I couldn't survive another life trapped beside him."

The confession left her chest feeling strangely lighter.

Ciel lowered her head slightly.

"I know using your name like this is selfish," she murmured. "But I promise I'll protect you while I'm here. I won't let them use you anymore."

Silence filled the room again.

Then she gave a soft, embarrassed laugh at herself.

"I probably sound ridiculous talking to someone who can't answer me."

Her fingertip slowly traced the blue vein across the back of his hand.

"If you actually woke up," she whispered teasingly, heat rising into her cheeks, "I'd even be willing to fulfill my actual wifely duties to repay you."

The moment the words left her mouth, embarrassment exploded across her face.

Then-

Movement.

A distinct friction brushed against her palm.

Ciel froze instantly.

Her eyes snapped down toward their joined hands.

Deacon's index finger twitched.

Not a random spasm.

A slow, deliberate movement.

The rough pad of his finger dragged clearly against her skin.

A violent shock shot up her arm.

Ciel jerked backward so hard the velvet chair overturned behind her.

Her pulse slammed wildly against her ribs.

She stared at Deacon's face desperately, searching for any change.

Nothing.

His eyes remained closed.

The monitors stayed stable.

The room looked exactly the same.

Only her breathing had changed.

Ciel backed into the wall, one hand pressed hard against her chest.

Was it a reflex?

A nerve response?

Or had he actually heard the shamefully intimate thing she just whispered beside his bed?