Chapter 8 Dead
When the police arrived, Eleanor sat on the floor, her soul seemingly ripped away from her being.
The entryway was a chaotic mess, belongings scattered, shattered ceramic pieces staining the floor with specks of blood, and the shard she clutched in her hand had lost all its original color.
Soaked with blood, it was a dark, crimson hue, emitting a pungent metallic scent.
Peter lay prone, a snaking trail of blood oozing from a wound in his abdomen.
A chill ran down the spines of the two officers on scene, sensing that something was terribly wrong.
One of them stepped forward to check Peter's breathing. "He's still breathing; call an ambulance," he spoke, urgency clear in his voice.
Turning to Eleanor, whose face was ashen, he grimaced, "We need to take her in for a statement."
After stabbing Peter, Eleanor had called 911, claiming self-defense. Now, her injuries, disheveled clothes, and the man's unbuckled belt seemed to substantiate her claim. However, the man's injuries would need to be assessed for the full picture.
It took several attempts for the officer to pry the ceramic shard from Eleanor's grasp.
She clung to it desperately, as if it were a lifeline, oblivious to her own hands bleeding from the tight grip.
At the station, Eleanor cooperated with the recording of her statement, her demeanor calm and collected, impressing even the veteran detectives with her courage.
At that very moment, a black Bentley sat silently in front of the precinct building. Its distinctive license plate number caught the attention of the chief, who hurried over.
Having finished giving her statement, Eleanor turned to see Wesley negotiating with the police. She hadn't contacted Victoria to keep her mom from being frightened.
Wesley couldn't have known about her ordeal either.
It was only when she left with Wesley and saw Aaron in the car that a dreadful thought darted through her mind, too absurd and terrifying to believe.
"Do you now understand what regret means?" The man sneered, his eyes glinted coldly in the night.
Eleanor's face had been pale ever since she left for the station, but at the man's words, it turned almost translucent.
No wonder the police had arrived right after she phoned them. Their response time had broken records. Now that she had a moment of clarity, she realized it didn't make sense.
It was him.
He had arranged for the police to be nearby, which explained their rapid appearance.
Her composure, maintained throughout the night, crumbled, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. "Did you know Peter was going to assult me?"
Maybe he had known all along, even about Peter's stalking.
Aaron watched her pallid face in silence.
"You just stood there and watched him bully me, calmly observing, waiting to teach me a harsh lesson? To get back at me?" Eleanor's voice broke into a choked whimper towards the end, "Do you really have to be this cruel?"
It was all because she had expressed regret over provoking him, and now he waited for the perfect moment to twist the knife deeper into her heart.
Wesley, standing aside, tried to say something, but with a mere glance from Aaron, he clamped his mouth shut, his head drooping as he took a step back.
Aaron stepped out from the car, positioning himself in front of Eleanor. Tall and long-legged with broad shoulders, he cast a shadow that all but consumed the light around, trapping Eleanor in a confined space.
He draped his coat over Eleanor's shoulders; Aaron had never been fond of cologne. Instead, he used essential oils to aid sleep, leaving a faint, fragrant infusion on his clothes.
It was a scent Eleanor knew all too well.
Clear, serene, comforting.
And embarrassingly, the familiar aroma nearly brought tears to her eyes. She fought back the urge to cry, her tears pooling but never falling.
He gently brushed the hair away from her neck. "Are you hurt?" he inquired with a furrowed brow, his focus on the gauze clinging to her neck and hands. Dotted with spots of blood, on her fair skin, it made for a distressing sight.
Eleanor shrugged off his touch, trying to remove the coat.
Aaron quickly restrained her, and asked in a cold voice, "Are you sure you want to make a scene here?"
"Aaron, stop with the innuendos. Someone might get the wrong impression about us," Eleanor said emotionlessly, breaking free from his grip.
Aaron wrapped his fingers tightly around hers, gazing down at her with a mocking tone, "Cousins, Eleanor. I'm just taking care of family business."
Eleanor stiffened, turning her head away.
Just then, a Range Rover pulled up.
The car had barely stopped when a tall man donned in a fencing uniform leapt out from the driver's seat. His hair, flattened by the helmet, was a bit disheveled but didn't detract from his handsome features.
"Eleanor, how'd you end up at the police station?" The man's voice boomed before he even got close.
Grayson Davis, Eleanor's childhood friend aspiring to be an Olympic fencing champion and wealthy heir, had known her since elementary school. Their bond was closer than family.
Approaching and seeing she was injured, Grayson's expression immediately darkened, "Who did this?"
He completely ignored Aaron's presence, acting as if he was non-existent.
"Attempted assault," Eleanor replied calmly.
Grayson drew a sharp breath, his expression turning grim, "Which son of a bitch!"
His gaze shot towards Aaron, glaring at Aaron though he knew very well Aaron wasn't the perpetrator.
Eleanor couldn't bear to think of him being dragged into this mess; she hadn’t even had the chance to really treasure him.
But Grayson was well aware of the dynamic Eleanor shared with Aaron, and the sudden news of her trouble—coupled with the sight of Aaron in this place—only added fuel to his ire.
Eleanor tugged at him, a wordless plea to keep the peace, as she confessed, “I stabbed the guy.”
“Is he dead?”
She shook her head, “The officer said the injuries weren’t serious.”
Grayson conveyed a look of mock disappointment, “Why didn’t you hit him harder? Did you get scared and lose your strength?”
While examining Eleanor’s injured hand he asked, “Does it hurt?”
“No, they’ve medicated it,” Eleanor replied, pulling her hand away from Aaron’s grasp, “Can you drive me home? I don’t want to stay here.”
Grayson nodded, “Sure, I’ll take you home and then settle the score with that bastard!”
Casting a glance at the clothing draped over Eleanor, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “You shouldn’t just wear any man's clothes.”
Abruptly, he snatched Aaron’s coat from her shoulders and tossed it to Wesley, replacing it with a blanket he brought from the car.
Wesley, now holding Aaron’s coat, dared not meet Aaron’s gaze.
Grayson gave Eleanor’s shoulder a reassuring pat, then slowly lifted his eyes, “Aaron, thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to stop by. Now that I’m here, you can leave.”
Aaron’s gaze lingered on the hand Grayson placed on Eleanor’s shoulder, and said, “Too busy? More than your racing and training? Eleanor doesn’t need your interference.”
Grayson chuckled softly, stepping closer, “Well, certainly Aaron is the busier one. I hear you’re almost engaged, and yet here you are, running to the precinct in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t want to start any rumors, would we? Eleanor doesn’t want to lose her face.”
Clearly his words were mixed with innuendo that Aaron has no shame.
Eleanor knew that Grayson was trying to defend her, but the last thing she wanted was for Grayson to provoke Aaron. What if Aaron's anger cost Grayson his race?
She reached out to pull at his sleeve only to find her hand trembling violently, cold sweat pouring down.
She had felt dizzy ever since she left the building, a sure sign she was physically depleted. The chill air only heightened her unsteadiness.
She had been forcing herself to stay upright while speaking with Aaron, but now waves of dizziness overwhelmed her.
Her vision darkened, and the last thing she heard was Grayson calling her name before she fainted.
Grayson lunged but missed. In a seamless motion, Eleanor was caught securely in Aaron's arms, enfolded by his embrace.
Aaron's sharp gaze halted Grayson's impending grab for Eleanor.