Chapter 6 An Unbidden Entry Into the Bath
Alison’s hand jerked at his voice. The bloodstained sheet felt like a ticking bomb, her heart pounding at the thought of exposure.
“Why… why did you finish so fast?”
“Your turn. Since you’re awake, go clean up. Leave the sheet—I’ll have staff handle it tomorrow.”
“No...it’s okay. I’ll take it to the laundry myself.”
“Emily, you better behave. I’m not as soft as I was. Shower now! I’m tired and need a massage.”
Jack’s abrupt order made her flinch, her voice trembling, “Y-yes...I’m going.”
In her haste, she dropped the sheet. Jack sprawled on the bed, watching as she fled to the bathroom.
“Look at you, pretending to be shy? I’ve seen it all—many times. This is kind of weird. You seem more bashful now.” He taunted, though a flicker of softness crossed his eyes as he watched her go.
He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Nothing beats this, he thought, flicking the lighter. Then his gaze fell to the floor—the sheet, stained dark red.
What the hell…?
He snatched the linen, staring at the bloodstain. Confusion swirled. Cigarette hanging from his lips, he marched to the bathroom door.
But Alison had locked it.
“Emily, open up!” Jack shouted, piecing together small clues. Could she not be Emily? But resemblance was remarkable.
“I’m… bathing,” Alison called weakly.
“I know. Open now!” He pounded the door, ready to kick it in.
“W-what do you want?” Her voice was tiny, raw with fear.
“Just to talk.!” Jack’s mind spun. Had he hurt her? He’d hurled insults, but never physical harm. Strangely, the crueler he spoke, the more he wanted to protect her.
Alison wrapped a towel tightly, hiding every inch, then fumbled with the knob, dread knotting her gut. In his world, she was a rabbit in a snare.
She looked like Emily, but carried a quiet dignity, nothing like Emily’s brazen recklessness.
“Who are you?” he blurted, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Had he been with a stranger this whole time?
Alison’s fingers quivered, but she buried her panic. She forced a smile, voice light, “I’m Emily.”
“Are you?” Jack’s eyes narrowed, raking over her. She shrank under his stare—hated how he objectified her.
His gaze lingered on her chest, frowning.
“You’re thinner. And this?” He threw the stained sheet at her, demanding answers.
Calmly, she turned, plucking a fresh towel from the rack. Wrapping it with deliberate sensuality, she met his gaze. The move was calculated, but it sent desire flaring in Jack’s gut.
He squeezed her wrist, fingers digging in.
“Don’t trick me. Who are you?”
She looked up, eyes clear and innocent, “Trust me. I’m Emily. Happy now?”
His grip was bruising, pain shooting up her wrist.
“Not until you answer my other questions.”
“Fine. If you insist. My boobs...I haven’t slept with anyone in ages. Something’s changed. As for the blood… two options. Not sure which you’d prefer.”
“Spit it out,” he snapped. Without the stained sheet, he'd never have chased her in here, losing his cool.
“One: when your arm hit my face, I bled; maybe some got on the sheet.”
“Bullshit. Not enough blood for that.”
She smiled—the first smile of the night, serene and effortless, as if she’d glimpsed through life and death and found both trivial.
“Two: my period ended this morning. You’re seeing leftovers.”
It was a plausible lie—post-period spotting was common. Alison silently praised her quick thinking.
She had to be Emily now. Even though she was clueless about the real woman’s identity, she had no choice but to hide behind that name to survive.
Otherwise, she couldn’t imagine how she’d survive three months in his bed, her shame compounding by the day.
Water dripped from her hair, each drop nearly drowned out by her trembling breaths.
At last, his grip loosened, but the ache lingered—a sharp reminder: this man was dangerous.
“Emily,” he murmured, voice raspy, “your story is believable, but you’re different. Tell me—what the hell happened to you while you were gone?”