Bound to my Enemy-Chapter 57.

Margaret doesn’t leave the dining room.

She comes back in carrying a small plate, something simple she must have forgotten the first time. Bread and butter, her movements are slower now, cautious in a way they weren’t before.

I’m halfway through standing when she stops beside me.

"Elaine," she says softly.

I look up at her.

Her eyes are fixed on my neck, looking intensely at the juncture between my neck.Like she’s making sure she isn’t mistaken,

"That mark," she says. "What happened?"

Zane stiffens across the table, I feel it without looking at him.

I don’t hesitate, I don’t weigh my words. I’m still tired, sore, and past pretending or trying to cover up for any asshole.

"He did it," I say, nodding my head ince toward him. "Last night. He grabbed my neck and threw me down."

Margaret’s face immediately drains of color.

Her fingers loosen around the plate. It slips and cracks against the floor. The sound is sharp and loud in the quiet room.

"No," she whispers. Then louder, "No, no, no."

She steps back like the floor has shifted under her feet. Her breathing turns uneven and her hands shake as she presses them to her chest.

Zane is on his feet immediately.

"For fuck’s sake," he snaps at me rounding the table. "Elaine, get out. Now."

I don’t move.

Margaret’s breath catches. She’s shaking her head, eyes unfocused, stuck somewhere that isn’t here, deep in her mind.

Zane drops to his knees in front of her. The anger drains from his face like someone flipped a switch.

"Margaret," he says, calm but urgent. "Look at me. You are safe, you are here. No one is going to touch you."

She doesn’t respond.

He pulls her gently against him, one arm around her shoulders, the other braced on the floor to keep them both steady.

"You’re okay," he murmurs. "No one will hurt you. I won’t let that happen. You hear me?"

Her breathing is shallow now. Sharp inhales that don’t seem to reach her lungs.

"Thomas!" Zane yells without looking up.

The driver appears almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting just outside the room.

Thomas crouches beside them, immediately understanding the situation. "Margaret, it’s me. Let’s go somewhere quiet, yeah? Away from here."

She doesn’t answer, but she lets him take her arm.

Zane stays kneeling until she’s on her feet. He keeps one hand at her back, steadying her until Thomas takes over.

And when he finally, he looks at me.

His eyes are hard again.

"You shouldn’t have said that," he says coldly. "Leave the dining room."

I open my mouth to argue, then close it.

This isn’t the moment and time and I know it.

I turn and walk out, still dumbfounded by what just happened.

——

I don’t make it far before the driver who now has a name I can attach to his face finds me again.

He knocks once on the door to the small sitting room I ducked into, then steps inside.

"She’s resting," he says. "I got her settled."

I nod. My throat too dry to talk or say anything right now.

"What just happened?" I ask. "Really."

He hesitates. Long enough that I know this isn’t his story to tell.

Still, he sighs.

"Margaret wasn’t always... Margaret," he says carefully. "Before she came here, she was married, for a very long time. Bad situation.

I sit on the arm of the sofa.

"Bad how?" I ask.

He exhales slowly. " Her husband was violent and controlling. The kind that creeps up on you until you don’t even recognize yourself anymore."

My stomach twists.

"Zane found her," he continues. "Years ag, not like this under different circumstances. She needed help, somewhere safe."

"And he offered her a safe refuge," I say.

"Yes. She insisted on earning her place. Said she didn’t want charity. Cooking was something she loved, something she could do perfectly."

He pauses.

"She still has triggers. Voices. Certain words. Seeing marks like that, like today ."

I swallow.

"That’s why he reacted like that," I say.

"Yes," Thomas replies. "Not because of you. Because he knows what it does to her."

Silence settles between us.

"I didn’t mean to remind her of her experiences or bri...." I start, then stop.

Thomas shakes his head. "You didn’t cause this. You told the truth. Sometimes the truth just lands badly."

He turns to leave, then hesitates.

"My name’s Thomas," he adds.

Like I didn’t know that already, I humored him though

"I’m Elaine," I say. "Thank you. For telling me."

He nods once and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

I sit there for a long moment, staring at nothing.

My neck still aches.

And for the first time since yesterday, I feel something heavier than anger.

Guilt.

I don’t leave my bed for the rest of the day.

Not for lunch or dinner, not even when my stomach starts to ache in that dull, hollow way that means it’s been ignored too long. I lie on my side with my phone in my hand, scrolling without really seeing anything. Social media, old messages, Nothing new.

Every time I shift, my neck reminds me, a tender throb. I keep my hair loose so I don’t have to look at myself in the mirror.

By the time the light outside my window fades into that deep blue-black, hunger finally wins.

I drag myself out of bed, pull on an oversized hoodie and a pair of shorts, and slip my phone into my hand. The house is quiet when I leave my room, I turn on my phone flashlight and step into the hallway, padding forward slowly, careful not to make noise even though I don’t know why that matters.

I find the kitchen by memory more than sight.

The fridge light is too bright when I open it. I squint, and grab the first thing I see that doesn’t require too much effort, and close the door again. Ice cream and vanilla flavored too, guess who’s in luck today. I sit at the table and peel the lid back with my thumb, eating straight from the container.

Halfway through, I hear something. A low sound, glass maybe?. A soft clink. I freeze, spoon hovering in midair. The sound comes again, deeper in the house.