Burned By Him, Reborn A Star

Julian froze. His hands stilled on his cufflinks. He turned around slowly, as if he hadn't heard Evelyn correctly. "What did you say?" Evelyn grabbed the handle of her suitcase. "I said, draw it yourself. I'm not your maid, Julian." She tried to walk past him, but he shot out a hand and grabbed her forearm to stop her. His grip was tight, landing directly on the patch of skin where the fire had licked her, right beneath the edge of her sleeve. "Ah!" Evelyn gasped, the pain sharp and blinding. She yanked her arm back, cradling it against her chest. Julian looked at his hand, then at Evelyn's wrist. She pulled up her sleeve, revealing the angry red skin, blistering at the edges of the gauze she had applied earlier. His eyes widened. "What is that?" He reached out again, but stopped short of touching her. "How did you get that?" "The fire," Evelyn said, stepping back. "The one you called a 'kitchen accident.'" "I didn't know you were hurt," he said, his voice dropping. A flicker of something that looked like guilt passed over his face, but he blinked it away instantly. "Why didn't you tell me on the phone?" "You were too busy asking about the hotel water pressure for Serena." His jaw tightened. "Stop bringing her up. She was hysterical. I couldn't just leave her alone at the hotel." "You could have," Evelyn said quietly. "You just didn't want to." She turned and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She needed a minute. Her leg was throbbing, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving behind a dull, aching agony. "Evelyn! Open the door!" Julian pounded on the wood. "We're not done talking!" Evelyn ignored him. She turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the room. She stripped off her clothes, wincing as the fabric peeled away from her skin. She looked in the mirror. Her neck, her forearm, her thigh. Patches of angry red, welts raised like brands. She looked broken. She stepped into the shower. The water was too hot. It hit her burns like liquid fire. Evelyn cried out, stumbling back. Her foot slipped on the slick tiles. She went down hard. Her hip slammed against the marble floor. The breath was knocked out of her. A cry of pain tore from her throat before she could stop it. CRASH. The bathroom door burst open. The lock splintered. Julian stood there, chest heaving. His eyes swept over the room and landed on Evelyn, curled naked on the floor, water streaming over her burns. For a second, nobody moved. He saw the horror in his eyes. He was seeing the extent of the damage for the first time. The raw, physical proof of his negligence. "Evelyn..." The word was a strangled gasp. He was on his knees in an instant, ignoring the water soaking his expensive suit pants. He reached for a towel, wrapping it around her with trembling hands. "Don't touch me!" Evelyn screamed, pushing at his chest. "Stop it!" He grabbed her shoulders, pinning her, but careful-so careful-not to touch the burns on her neck. "You're hurt. You're badly hurt. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" "Because you didn't ask!" Evelyn sobbed. The fight was draining out of her. He scooped her up. He was strong, effortlessly lifting her from the wet floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating the fact that his arms still felt safe, even though she knew they were the most dangerous place in the world. He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. He ran to the cabinet and grabbed the first aid kit. His hands, usually so steady when signing billion-dollar deals, were shaking as he opened the antiseptic. "I can do it," Evelyn said, trying to sit up. "Stay still," he barked. But there was no anger in it anymore. Just panic. He applied the ointment. He was clumsy, unsure of how much pressure to apply. He had never done this. Evelyn had nursed him through flu, through hangovers, through sports injuries. He had never so much as put a band-aid on her. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his eyes fixed on her leg. "I didn't know." "Ignorance isn't an excuse, Julian. It's a choice." He looked up at her. His blue eyes were storm-dark. "I am your husband. I take care of you. That's the deal." "The deal is over." Evelyn reached for the nightstand, where the folder Sarah had given her lay. She pulled out the document. DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT. She threw it on the bed between them. Julian looked at it. He read the title. His face went blank. The panic vanished, replaced by a cold, hard mask. The Julian Vance of the boardroom returned. "Is this a joke?" he asked quietly. "Does it look like a joke?" He stood up, towering over Evelyn. "You're divorcing me? Because of a fire? Because I helped a friend?" "Because I am alone in this marriage, Julian. I have been alone for three years." He laughed. It was a harsh, cruel sound. He picked up the papers. "You can't survive without me, Evelyn. You have no career. No family. No money. You think the world is kind to thirty-year-old divorcees with no resume?" "I'll take my chances." He stared at her, waiting for her to crack. Waiting for her to apologize and beg for forgiveness like she usually did when they fought. When Evelyn didn't blink, his pride snapped. He ripped the papers in half. Then in quarters. "I'm not signing these," he said, letting the confetti rain down on the bed. "You're upset. You're traumatized. You're not thinking clearly." "I have never been clearer." His phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension like a knife. He looked at the screen. Serena. Evelyn looked at him. "Answer it." "Evelyn..." "Answer it, Julian. Show me I'm wrong."