Evangeline waited in the living hall.
The hands of the grandfather clock ticked away the hours, waiting for her husband.
Her eyes, swollen and red from lack of sleep, darted to the clock again. It was a quarter past two in the morning.
The velvet sofa beneath her trembled with her trembling legs. Her fists were clenched tightly in her lap.
Her eyes were glued to the grand double doors that led to the mansion's entrance.
The moment she heard the heavy creak, she was on her feet, her heart racing.
The doors swung open, revealing a tableau of darkness and cold air that seemed to carry with it the weight of the world.
And then, he emerged from the shadows, a figure that seemed to stumble more than walk.
"Vincente," she gasped, her voice shaking as she rushed towards him.
His pristine racing suit was torn and stained, his hair matted with sweat and grime.
She could see the crimson of his blood stark against the fabric.
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and she could see the exhaustion etched into the lines around them.
"Evangeline," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
"What happened?" she whispered, her eyes scanning his injuries with a mix of horror and concern.
"It's nothing for your concern," Vincente replied, his voice weary.
Evangeline didn't need to argue with him now so she ignored his cold remarks.
"Come," she said softly, stepping closer to him.
She gently wrapped her arms around his waist, her touch as tender as a whisper. He leaned into her.
Together, they stumbled towards the bedroom, her legs moving on instinct as she supported him, his arm slung over her shoulder.
She then helped him remove the blood-soaked shirt.
His chest was a tapestry of bruises and lacerations from the fight he had.
She gasped as she saw the deep gash along his side, the blood seeping into the pristine white of the bed sheets.
"You need medical attention," she said, her voice trembling with urgency.
Vincent looked down at her, a ghost of a smile playing on his bruised and bloodied lips. "I'm fine," he assured her, his tone cold and unyielding.
She knew he was far from fine.
Ignoring his protests, she dashed into the en suite bathroom.
She knew the layout of the room by heart now, having spent countless hours trapped within its gleaming walls.
The first aid kit was where Clara had shown her, hidden behind a mirrored cabinet.
She yanked it open and grabbed the box, her heart pounding in her chest. The sound of his heavy breathing followed her.
Evangeline returned to the bedside, her eyes never leaving the grim canvas of Vincente's torso.
She set the box down gently and opened it, her hands shaking as she took stock of the contents.
Antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze, and tape.
"Please...Lay down," she instructed softly, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands.
Vincent complied, his weight shifting heavily on the bed.
She applied a cool antiseptic wipe to the wound, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
His expression remained stoic, his eyes closed as if he were lost in thought or perhaps trying to shut out the pain.
"Does it hurt?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own racing heart.
Vincent's eyes remained closed, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. "It's nothing," he grunted, his jaw clenched.
Evangeline's hands were trembling as she carefully applied the antiseptic wipes to his bruises.
When she reached his face, she paused, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the split lip.
With gentle fingers, she dabbed at the crimson line that marred the perfection of his mouth. He flinched, a soft hiss escaping through his clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
Vincent's eyes remained closed, his breathing ragged. "Don't be," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Evangeline leaned closer, her breath warm against his cheek. "I'm just worried," she whispered, her thumb brushing against the tender flesh of his split lip.
His eyes snapped open, and for a brief moment, she saw the storm of emotions that raged within him: pain, anger, and something else - something deeper, something that sent a shiver down her spine.
Vincent's hand shot out, his grip tightening around her wrist. "You don't need to worry about me," he growled, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to devour her very soul.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his touch as gentle as a whisper despite the ferocity that still pulsed through his veins.
Evangeline swallowed hard, her eyes locked with his.
She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. She understood where this was going. So she said.....
"We can't...your injured" she said with concern.
"Your concern is touching, but unnecessary," Vincente replied with a dark chuckle, his eyes never leaving hers. "I need this," he said, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl.