Love Unbreakable

Chapter 453Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Nicole pivoted and made her way to Roscoe's door.

Finding it unlocked, Nicole swung it open without a second thought. "Roscoe, what..." she began, but the sight before her cut her words short.

Roscoe was perched on a stool, clumsily dressing wounds that marred his back. A deep laceration ran from his shoulder to his lower back.

Struggling to reach the injury, his efforts to apply medicine were ineffective, and the bleeding hadn't stopped.

Nicole's eyes stung with unshed tears at the sight.

As Roscoe noticed her gaze, he hastily covered up and tried to rise.

'Stay seated, Nicole insisted, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out, touching his shoulder gingerly. Roscoe sank back down, attempting to downplay his injuries. "It's nothing, really. It's just now that I've seen it..." Nicole, her tone laden with disbelief, pressed, "Do you take me for a fool?"

In the midst of a heavy silence, Nicole's voice trembled slightly. "Is this from the parking lot incident?"

Her mind flashed back to the guards, their hands wielding sinister, blade-like weapons, which she had first mistaken for whips.

Those very weapons were intended for her, but Roscoe had intercepted the blow, taking the hit in her stead. When Nicole broached the subject, Roscoe dismissed it with a stoic front. "It's nothing. I've weathered worse."

Nicole, driven by concern, unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the grim reality of his injuries. It confirmed Jarrod's words. Roscoe's existence within the Watts dynasty was fraught with hardship.

As she reached out, Roscoe caught her hand in a tender grasp, stopping her. "Careful, you'll soil your hands," he cautioned.

Nicole bowed her head, noting the crimson that had already transferred to her skin.

With quiet care, Roscoe wiped her hand clean, ensuring no trace of the ordeal remained on her.

Suddenly, Nicole felt a constriction around her heart, and a peculiar sensation pricked at her nose.

She had thought she lost the ability to connect with others emotionally, assuming she had hardened herself into someone unfeeling and callous under Jarrod's influence.

Yet, amidst her inner turmoil, she yearned to understand his motives. Doubt gripped her. She feared the answer might reveal a lack of any real purpose behind his actions.

Tears spilled from Nicole's eyes, landing on Roscoe's skin. In a hushed tone, she whispered, "It's not worth it, Roscoe..." Roscoe's composure faltered. The once skilled surgeon was momentarily at a loss, his hands fumbling as he tried to comfort her. "Nicole," he uttered softly, a plea in his voice.

Brushing away her tears, Nicole mustered a smile and took charge. "Turn around. Let me see to those wounds, she insisted.

Roscoe's protest was faint. "There's no need for that."

"Don't argue. Just turn around," Nicole persisted, not willing to take no for an answer.

With Roscoe's back now to her, Nicole set to work. She meticulously cleaned the lacerations with iodine, applied clotting agents, and began to wrap the gauze around his torso.

Nicole's delicate touch seemed to cause Roscoe to stiffen, a sign that such care was foreign to him.

After Nicole finished with the bandage, Roscoe donned a white T-shirt hastily.

Nicole, in a moment of boldness, caught his hand, her question piercing the silence. "Roscoe, is it me that you want?"

The interplay of light and shadow in the room highlighted the clean lines of Roscoe's face, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere between them.

Nicole's voice, barely above a whisper, carried an undeniable allure as she leaned in close. "I'm here, ready to be yours. Is that what you desire?"

Nicole couldn't bring herself to accept his sacrifice and selflessness. The thought of easing her conscience through such an exchange crossed her mind, acknowledging her own fears of his genuine, unguarded feelings.

She knew it was folly, trying to awaken him from what she saw as a pointless pursuit with the bait of her own charm. With a natural magnetism that needed no enhancement from cosmetics, Nicole's eyes held their own power. Her appeal was undeniable, potent even, and for someone like Roscoe, who seemed so unversed in matters of the heart, it could prove overwhelming.

Pressing for an answer, Nicole challenged the very foundation of Roscoe's actions. "Is this you've been striving for?" Roscoe's expression shifted into one of icy detachment, his demeanor chilling as expected.

Nicole, trying to ignore the ache spreading through her chest, pressed on. "Roscoe, I can be yours tonight, but it comes with a condition. We end this afterward."

Gone was the naivety of youth from Roscoe's features. He regarded her with a discernment honed by experience. When he met her gaze, a laugh broke from him, unexpected and jarring. "Alright, let's do it," he agreed, surprising her. A ripple of panic washed over Nicole. The man before her was an enigma, changed from the Roscoe she once knew. Despite the shift, Nicole maintained her poise, her hand curving around the nape of his neck, her facade unwavering. They found themselves locked in a tacit standoff, each waiting for the other to concede defeat first. Roscoe's stubbornness matched her own. His frustration was palpable. He caught her hand firmly, pinning it against the wall, his proximity closing in, his tone roughened. "Nicale..."

The way he uttered her name was undeniably charged, a daring move in their tense exchange.

Nicole willed her nerves into submission, seeking an inner tranquility. She held onto a sliver of certainty amid the tension. Roscoe, in spite of his ire, would not hurt her. Yet, she dared not reveal her apprehension.

Roscoe's eyes, a gravity unto themselves, held her gaze, his breath mingling with the air between them.

This closeness, this charged moment, was beyond Nicole's wildest scenarios. The Roscoe she knew, once easily flushed with embarrassment, had matured. His proximity sent a flutter through her lashes, a reflex she couldn't still. But then, Roscoe's advance halted. He redirected the moment's intensity into a soft caress on her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight. "Nicole, this is a game to you. Enough."

He released her and departed, his departure as swift as a shadow fleeing the dawn.

Roscoe remained in his car outside, succumbing to exhaustion only in the deepest hours of night.

And when the first light crept across the horizon, Nicole's eyes opened.

Drawing the curtains aside, she caught sight of Roscoe, finding a makeshift refuge in his car, a silent sentinel in slumber.

Nicole readied herself for the day, her mind on the documents she had left upstairs.

With her plans set, she descended the stairs and gave a passing glance to the car, a silent testament to the night's turmoil.

Resolved to face what lay ahead without dragging others into the fray, Nicole made her way first to her residence and then to the company.

Stepping out of her car, her path was abruptly blocked. Lifting her gaze, she met Alec's stern countenance.

"What is it?" Nicole inquired, a trace of concern threading her voice.

Without a word, Alec signaled. Swiftly, bodyguards closed in, pinning Nicole's arms in a firm grip.

Alec, seizing the moment, slid into her car, rifling through her possessions.

He emerged with a sealed envelope in hand, the sight of which darkened Nicole's expression with anger and dread.

She lunged for the envelope, but Alec was resolute.

"Miss Lawrence, you're coming with us," Alec commanded, and there was no room for argument in his tone.