Chapter 4: Thunder and Turning Points

That day—

I heard Grant Evans and Natalie had a fight. I didn’t know the details, but the next day, they both came to visit.

Natalie noticed Caleb and I had our own sides of the house. She piped up, "Grant and I are like a normal couple—we share a room. You and Caleb should, too!"

A crack formed in Caleb’s usual calm.

I could tell this was Natalie testing us—to see how far Caleb would go for her.

I imagined that if Natalie told Caleb to sleep with me just to prove a point, he’d do it.

That night, everything was quiet.

When I crawled into bed, I ended up a little closer to Caleb than usual.

He turned away, putting more distance between us, then frowned. "Lillian, I won’t restrict your freedom, but you’re the lady of this house. I hope you remember that!"

I couldn’t help but laugh.

He really thought I had someone on the side!

Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered. But maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe I just couldn’t swallow my irritation. I shot back, "Relax, husband, I’m not into that!"

Caleb looked stunned, like he never expected me to snap back.

His eyes went cold. He grabbed my wrist, his voice sharp. "What happens between Natalie and me is none of your business. Don’t go spreading rumors about her."

Pain shot through my wrist and I gasped.

"I didn’t use much force..."

Before he could finish, blood was already soaking through my thin pajama sleeve.

"What’s going on?"

What else could it be? My dad was angry he’d lost control over me and didn’t get anything from this marriage. He’d locked a bracelet on my wrist—gold on the outside, lined with spikes. He’d said I’d get the key only if I gave him what he wanted.

All that talk of being the “most talented girl in town” or “noble lady from a good family”—it was just about boosting the Mitchell name.

It had always been this way.

Now, that bracelet was exposed in front of Caleb. His grip had pushed the spikes through the cotton bandage I’d hidden underneath, right into my skin.

"Who the hell..."

"Can you let go now?"

We spoke at the same time. Once he let go, I got up to patch myself up. Caleb never asked about it again, and I figured he didn’t care.

I thought I’d have to wear that bracelet for a while, but things changed fast.

A torrential rain triggered a mudslide—Caleb and Natalie were caught in it!

When they were found, Caleb was shielding Natalie, blocking a fallen tree. Half his white shirt was stained red and black, blood at the corner of his mouth. He was hunched over, protecting her, while she was unscathed.

The scene was silent for a moment—

Until Grant yelled, "Natalie!"

Natalie snapped out of it and scrambled out of Caleb’s arms, rushing to Grant, stammering excuses. She’d gone up the mountain as a couple, but I’d left for a bit, leaving her alone with Caleb. Her words were a mess.

Caleb’s eyes lost all light.

Natalie turned to me. "Lillian, isn’t that right? It’s all Caleb’s fault, insisting on this trail in such bad weather..."

I ignored her and went to Caleb. The once untouchable golden boy was now a mess. He looked up at me, his pupils shrinking. The sunlight after the rain shone on the clean side of his face. I reached out my hand.

After a moment, he slowly took it. His hand was slick with blood, but he squeezed mine like he needed an anchor. For a second, I forgot about Natalie. It was just him and me, and the storm outside.

Paramedics lifted the tree, and I pulled Caleb out. As I led him away, Natalie was still calling my name, wanting me to back her up.

I raised my brows and smiled, "The Evans family’s drama isn’t for us to get involved in!"

I’ll admit, I had my own little schemes that day. But I never thought it would work out so well.

A locksmith came and unlocked my bracelet. All my bridesmaids were sent home by Caleb. My dad got caught in a scandal and lost his city council seat.

It looked like Caleb had finally given up on Natalie.

For the next two years, I lived pretty comfortably. Caleb’s way of paying back kindness surprised me.

I did my best to play Mrs. York. Caleb treated me better and better. Once, on my birthday—

He came home just to make me a bowl of birthday noodles.

He stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, flour dusted on his jeans. The noodles were a little lumpy, but the way he watched me eat—like he actually cared—made them taste perfect.

After two glasses of wine, Caleb told me he’d learned to make noodles from his old nanny. His parents were both important people, never around when he was a kid. I could just picture it: three statues standing together in the living room.

But what was he doing now? Telling me about his childhood traumas?

We weren’t that kind of couple! Still, I let him talk. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe something was shifting between us, soft and uncertain. I sat at the kitchen island, slurping up noodles, thinking this was the closest we'd ever come to normal.

I rolled over, listening to the storm fade. For the first time, I wondered if Caleb York was starting to see me at all.