Page 117 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he eases under the covers, careful to leave space between us. I bridge the gap, seeking his uninjured hand. Our fingers lace together and I melt into him, my head resting on his chest. He shifts positions so he can wrap an arm around me and pull me closer.

Once I'm in his arms, he exhales long and slow, like it's a breath he's been holding his entire life.

I close my eyes and inhale his fresh scent. This man is my protector. My book club buddy. My support. My—

The man I want in my future.

And I almost lost him today. Someone almost took him away from me.

The fear of Sean dying sparks every other fear I've managed to hold in from this terrible, terrible day. My thoughts begin auditioning worst-case scenarios. I imagine The Director finding me again, raping me in my apartment. Tying Sean to a chair and making him watch. Or he takes me back to Hollywood and locks me in a room. He kills me and I disappear forever.

I've been doing a pretty great job of remaining neutral, now suddenly, in Sean's safe arms, everything pours out until I'm buried in a landslide of all the fears I'd refused to name.

One body-wrenching sob escapes. Then another. And another. My body convulses with the force of them, each one tearing through me like I'm made of paper.

Sean gathers me against his chest with a carefulness that only makes me cry harder. His arms encircle me, creating a fortress against the world. His heartbeat becomes my focus—steady, strong, alive.

"I've got you," he whispers into my hair. "I've got you, beautiful. I won't let go."

I collapse into his promise, surrendering to the storm I can no longer outrun. All the pain and fear and helplessness rush out of me in violent waves, soaking his shirt.

Somewhere in the violence of my outburst, he whispers to me in Korean. I'm so emotionally flooded that I can't hold the sounds in my head, but it's soothing. The unknown words somehow soothe me enough that I can breathe again without gasping.

And through it all, he holds me, one hand stroking my back while the other cradles my head against his heart. He doesn't try to stop the flow or quiet my sobs. He keeps me safe as I cry through the pain.

Chapter 37

LONDYN

THE DIRECTOR'S FACE HOVERS ABOVE me, those dark eyes gleaming with that same sick satisfaction. His expensive, suffocating cologne fills my lungs until I can't breathe. The chain around my neck tightens as he yanks it, forcing my head back.

"You thought you could hide from me, sweetheart? I always find what's mine."

The chain morphs into hands around my throat. Multiple hands. The men in baseball caps multiply like shadows, reaching, grabbing—

I wake with a slight gasp. I'm not in a dark room. There are no hands around my throat. I'm only wrapped in the comfort of two strong arms.

"Hey, hey. You're safe."

I blink a few times to chase away the rest of the nightmare, then I glance up to see Sean gazing down at me with soft features.

He smooths his hand over my cheek. "Just a dream, beautiful. I've got you. I've been here the whole night."

My ribs are a cage of anxious birds. Sweat plasters my hair to my scalp, and my clothes cling to me like a second skin. I press my face into Sean's chest, breathing him in. Soap and warmth and safety.

"Sorry," I mumble against his shirt.

"Nothing to be sorry for." His hand strokes my hair, gentle, patient. Always so patient with my broken pieces.

After my pulse finally relaxes, I glance at the large hotel windows. Mid-morning sunlight is streaming through a crack in the heavy curtains.

It's a new day. And my entire world is changed.

I rub my eyes. "Mmm, what time is it?"

"I think it's ten."

"Did you sleep?"

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