Page 8 of Saved By the Billionaire
I wake up screaming.
The sound rips from my throat before I'm fully conscious, before I remember where I am, before I can process that the hands around my neck are just a dream. Just another nightmare from the endless collection Nathan's given me over the past two years.
The door slams open, and suddenly there's a figure in the darkness. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving fast, and I scramble backward on the bed, tangling myself in the expensive sheets.
"Belle. Belle, it's me. You're safe."
Richard's voice cuts through the panic, low and achingly familiar. He stops just inside the doorway, hands raised like he's approaching a wounded animal. Which isn't far from the truth, I realize distantly. I'm shaking so hard the bed is vibrating.
"Lights," he says, and the room illuminates gradually, soft enough that it doesn't hurt my eyes. He's wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, his hair mussed like he was sleeping. Like I woke him up with my screaming. "You had a nightmare."
"I'm sorry." The words come out broken, stuttered. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry, I'll be quiet, I promise—"
"Stop." He takes one step closer. "Belle, stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for."
But I do. I have everything to be sorry for. I invaded his space, disrupted his life, and now I'm having screaming nightmares that bring him running in the middle of the night. I should be better than this, stronger than this, not falling apart in his guest room like some pathetic—
"Breathe," Richard says, and I realize I've been holding my breath, my chest tight and aching. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this."
He demonstrates, his chest rising and falling in an exaggerated rhythm, and I try to match it. Try to force air into my lungs that don't want to cooperate.
One breath. Two. Three.
The shaking doesn't stop, but the edge of panic starts to recede.
"Good," he says. "Keep breathing. You're doing fine."
I focus on his voice, let it anchor me. Let it pull me back from wherever my subconscious tried to drag me. After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, I can breathe normally again. The trembling subsides to a manageable level.
Richard hasn't moved from his spot near the door. Hasn't tried to come closer, touch me, comfort me physically. Some part of me appreciates the distance, the respect for my space after a nightmare about being trapped.
Another part of me wants him closer. Wants to feel his arms around me, solid and safe, proving that I'm really here and Nathan can't reach me.
"What time is it?" I ask, my voice still shaky.
"Just after three." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a way that's unfairly attractive. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really." I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The sweater I wore to bed, one of the soft ones from the closet that smells like expensive fabric softener and not like Nathan's cologne, has twisted around my body. I straighten it with trembling fingers. "I'm okay now. You can go back to bed."
He doesn't move. "Belle."
"Really, I'm fine. It was just a dream. I get them sometimes."
All the time, but I don't say it. Every single night since Nathan first put his hands on me in anger.
"How often is sometimes?"
I don't answer, focusing instead on a spot on the wall just past his shoulder. Neutral territory. Safe.
"Belle, look at me."
I do and immediately regret it. His eyes are soft with concern, "How often?" he asks again.
"Every night," I whisper. "For about a year and a half now. They got worse when..." I trail off, not wanting to finish that sentence. When Nathan's violence escalated. When he started choking me. When I realized he might actually kill me one day and make it look like an accident.
Richard's jaw tightens, and I watch him visibly work to control his expression. "Has anyone ever suggested therapy? Professional help for the trauma?"
I almost laugh. "Nathan didn't believe in therapy. Said it was for weak people who couldn't handle their own problems. And Victoria—" I stop, swallowing hard. "Victoria said if I was having nightmares, it was probably guilt over something I'd done. That I should examine my own behavior instead of blaming Nathan."
