Chapter 7 You're Bleeding

Bradley POV

The key turned in the lock, and I pushed open the door to the apartment I'd purchased just this morning. The scent of roasted chicken hit me immediately—warm, homey, completely foreign to my usual existence.

"Mr. Booth is back," Suzanne's voice carried from the dining room.

I stepped inside and set down the shopping bags, closing the door behind me.

Then I saw her.

Dayna sat at the dining table, fork in hand, her head tilted as if listening for my approach. The white nightgown hung loosely on her small frame, the neckline revealing her collarbones. Even with the dark sunglasses hiding her eyes, she looked...

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Get it together, I told myself sharply. She's just a girl in a nightgown. You've seen plenty of women in far less.

"Mr. Booth!" Dayna's voice pulled me from my thoughts, her hands fluttering nervously to smooth her nightgown. "You're back. Was everything okay? Did the registrar give you any problems?"

"It's handled," I said, moving toward the table. Suzanne had already set a place for me. "Your spot and scholarship are secured."

"Really?" Her face lit up with relief. "Thank you so much. I know you had important work to do, and I interrupted—"

"Dayna." I cut her off, pulling out my chair. "Stop apologizing."

She bit her lip, a gesture I was beginning to recognize as her tell when she was nervous. "I just don't want to cause you any trouble."

Trouble. You've already given me plenty of trouble.

This morning's phone call with Martha replayed in my head. I'd barely finished reporting that I'm marrying Dayna before she'd launched into her demands.

"Bring her home," Martha had insisted. "To the Booth estate. She needs proper care, Brad."

"She's fine where she is." I'd scrambled for excuses. "I haven't told her who I really am yet."

"What do you mean you haven't told her?"

"She thinks I'm a manager at some company. If I suddenly bring her to the estate, she'll figure out the truth. She might..." I'd paused, choosing my words carefully. "She might feel overwhelmed. Pressured. She could refuse my help entirely."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Dayna did seem genuinely uncomfortable accepting assistance. But the real reason I'd refused Martha's demand sat like a stone in my chest.

What if this is all an act? What if she knows exactly who I am, and this innocent routine is just part of her plan?

Martha had been silent for a long moment. Then she gave in. "Fine. But you're not leaving her in some random apartment building. Buy a place. Live with her. Take care of her yourself."

"Martha—"

"I mean it, Bradley. That girl saved my life. The least you can do is ensure she's properly looked after. Unless you want me to do it myself?"

The threat was clear.

So I'd agreed. Parker had worked miracles, purchasing this apartment in Lakeside Heights within an hour. Close to Hudson Business School for when Dayna started classes. Close to my office, too, though I'd never admit that factored into my decision.

I'd been specific about the modifications—removing excess furniture that she might bump into, installing soft padding in the bathroom, and ensuring the layout was simple enough for her to navigate while blind. Parker had looked at me strangely when I'd rattled off the list, but he'd made it happen.

When he'd called this afternoon to confirm Dayna's arrival, I'd been in the middle of a board meeting.

"Mrs. Booth is settling in nicely, sir," Parker had reported.

"Miss Melgar," I'd emphasized. "She's not a Booth yet. Make sure everyone understands that."

"Yes, sir. Anything else you want me to do?"

"Yes," I'd said, my voice dropping. "I need you to investigate something. That debris that nearly hit Martha—find out which construction team was working on that building and if anyone paid them to 'accidentally' drop materials."

"I'll look into it immediately."

I'd barely returned to my meeting when my phone buzzed again. A call from Dayna, apologizing profusely for bothering me, asking if I could help with her scholarship paperwork.

The board members had watched with barely concealed curiosity as I'd grabbed my jacket and walked out mid-presentation. I'd never done that before. Not for anyone.

The registrar's office had been worse than anticipated. The woman at the desk had been suspicious from the start.

"Bradley Booth? You're Miss Melgar's husband? She never mentioned being married when she applied."

"It's recent," I'd said curtly. "Now, about the deferral papers—"

"We've been getting calls from her parents," she'd interrupted, expression hardening. "Very aggressive. They say they're going to 'bring her home' and mentioned a marriage arrangement with a Mr. Nathan Mitchell."

My hands had clenched into fists. "Dayna is not going anywhere with her parents. And she's certainly not marrying anyone else. She's my wife."

She'd studied me, then nodded slowly. "Good. That poor girl deserves better."

Yes. She did deserve better. Better than parents who'd tried to send her away.

But was I any better than her parents? At least they were honest about their mercenary intentions.

I'd left with everything squared away, but the conversation left a sour taste. The drive home took me past a twenty-four-hour supermarket, and I found myself pulling in.

Dayna would need things. The supplies in the newly-purchased apartment weren't complete yet. I walked through the feminine hygiene aisle feeling completely out of my element, grabbing everything that looked remotely useful. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotions, feminine products of every variety. I didn't know what she'd like, so I got one of everything.

The cashier had raised an eyebrow at my overflowing cart, and I'd glared at her until she'd stopped looking.

All this trouble because of Dayna.

But now, sitting across from her at the dinner table, watching her so well-behaved, I found myself thinking it wasn't trouble at all.

The realization irritated me. When did I start going to such lengths for a woman and pretend it was nothing? What's wrong with me?

I forced the thought away. "The chicken is delicious," I said to Suzanne, who beamed at the compliment.

"Thank you, Mr. Booth. Would you like more vegetables?"

I nodded, and she spooned more onto my plate. Dayna sat quietly, eating small bites, her posture perfect despite her inability to see.

I found myself studying her—the graceful curve of her neck, the way she navigated her plate with careful movements.

Then I noticed something else. A small dark stain was spreading on the white fabric of her nightgown.

My brain stuttered to a halt as I realized what I was seeing.

Blood.

She was bleeding.

And given the location of the stain...

Oh.

Heat flooded my face. I looked away quickly, my mind racing. Should I say something? How did one bring up something like this? This was absolutely not covered in any school course I'd ever taken.

"Dayna," I said, my voice coming out rough.

She looked up, her face turning toward me. "Yes?"

How the hell did I phrase this?

"You're... you need to... there's..." I cleared my throat. "You should probably change your nightgown."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Did I spill something?"

"No. It's just... you're..." I gestured helplessly, then realized she couldn't see the gesture. "You're bleeding."

The confusion on her face transformed into horror as understanding dawned. Her hands flew to her lap, and even in the dim lighting, I could see her face turn scarlet.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "I didn't... I'm so sorry. I should have—" Her voice cracked slightly. "I've caused you so much trouble already, and now this—"

"Dayna, it's fine—"

"It's not fine! Your furniture—the chair—"

"Suzanne," I said, cutting through Dayna's increasingly frantic apologies. "Could you help Miss Melgar change? I bought some supplies earlier—there should be what she needs in the bags."

"Of course, sir." Suzanne moved to Dayna's side, gently taking her arm. "Come on, dear. Let's get you sorted out."

Dayna stood shakily, her face still burning with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Booth. I didn't mean to—"

"Stop apologizing," I said, more gently than I'd intended. "It happens."

She nodded but still looked mortified as Suzanne led her away.

I sat alone at the table, listening to their footsteps recede. Then my phone rang.

Parker.

"Sir, I have the information you requested." His voice was grim. The construction team working on that building was hired through a subcontractor. I traced the payments back. They came from an account linked to Renata."

My jaw clenched. Renata. The adopted daughter of the Sullivan family, one of Bayville's wealthiest dynasties. She'd been taken in years ago, supposedly because she resembled their missing daughter. "Go on."

"It appears Renata told them to 'lose control' of some materials at a specific time."

Rage, cold and sharp, flooded through me. Renata had tried to kill my grandmother. And she'd nearly succeeded.

"Increase pressure on the Sullivan family in our current negotiations," I said, my voice deadly calm. "I want them to feel it. And Parker?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Keep investigating Miss Melgar. I need to know if there's any connection between her and Renata."

"Understood, sir."