Chapter 8: Wounds That Have Not Healed
Morning sunlight in the Upper East Side usually felt like a warm, luxurious embrace, but for Scarlett, the light piercing through the curtains of the Caldwell guest room this morning felt like an interrogation lamp. She blinked, staring at the intricately carved gypsum ceiling, and the realization struck her chest like a stone: she was married.
On the ring finger of her left hand, a simple gold band fit perfectly. It was small, light, yet it felt heavier than iron shackles. Scarlett brushed her thumb over the cold metal. Yesterday, in a silent chapel, she had surrendered her name, her status, and perhaps part of her soul to a man who did not even glance at her as they walked away from the altar.
The house that morning was quiet, as if the grand building itself was holding its breath. Scarlett walked down to the dining room, her usually light steps now hesitant against the oak floor. There, Julian was already seated at the end of the long table. He looked flawless in a charcoal suit, his fingers deftly scrolling through his tablet beside a cup of black coffee that still steamed.
Julian did not look up when Scarlett pulled out a chair. "Good morning," he said flatly, his tone more like a CEO greeting an intern than a husband.
"Morning," Scarlett replied shortly. She reached for a piece of toast, but her throat felt too tight to swallow anything.
Julian set his tablet aside and looked at Scarlett with clear blue eyes that were as cold as polar ice. "The private jet is ready at Teterboro. You'll be leaving in an hour."
Scarlett froze, her hand suspended midair. "Leaving? Where to?"
"To Carmel," Julian answered without pause. "Settle your matters with your father. Give him all the money that has been transferred to your new account. Make sure his debts are cleared and that he has no reason to look for you or damage this family's reputation in the future."
A sharp sting twisted in Scarlett's chest. This family's reputation. Of course. Julian was not sending her home to heal, but to clean the dirt that might cling to his expensive shoes.
"I understand," Scarlett lowered her gaze, hiding the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "It's part of the agreement."
"Exactly." Julian stood, adjusting his suit buttons with efficient, mechanical precision. "Jonathan will accompany you. He has instructions to remain in the car and ensure you return on time. New York is your home now, Scarlett. Don't let your past drag you back into the mud."
Without a warmer farewell, Julian walked away. The scent of his citrus and leather cologne lingered briefly before fading, leaving Scarlett in an emptiness that felt even more suffocating.
Above the Clouds
Sitting in the Caldwell family's private jet should have been an intoxicating experience, but for Scarlett, the luxurious cream leather cabin felt like an expensive coffin. Outside the window, clouds rolled like soft cotton, covering the vast stretch of America toward the western coast.
"You know, that face of yours doesn't belong in a private jet advertisement," Jonathan remarked from across the seat, munching on almonds. "You're supposed to sip champagne and take selfies, not stare out the window like you're counting raindrops."
Scarlett gave a faint smile, a failed attempt to look okay. "I'm just… nervous, Jo."
Jonathan stopped chewing. His usually playful eyes softened with genuine concern. "Listen, Scarlett. Julian may talk like an old fax machine, but he sent me with you because he knows Carmel isn't a friendly place for you. Take a breath, okay? You've got the Caldwells behind you now. No one can touch you."
Scarlett nodded, but deep down she knew: the Caldwells might protect her from the outside world, but not from the memories rooted in her mind.
Returning to Old Wounds
Carmel-by-the-Sea welcomed them with a thin fog draping over crooked pine trees and classic European-style buildings. The town was beautiful, like a fairytale lost by the ocean. But for Scarlett, every cobblestone corner was a silent witness to the hunger, fear, and tears she had endured for years.
The black sedan stopped in front of a wooden house with peeling paint. The grass in the yard grew wild, and an empty beer bottle lay near the crooked front door.
"Remember, I'm right here. Ten meters away," Jonathan said seriously as Scarlett opened the car door.
Scarlett took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cold, salty ocean air. Her steps felt heavy, as if each one toward the door had to fight against the gravity of her past pulling her back.
The moment she knocked, a shout erupted from inside. "Who is it now? If you're a debt collector, go to hell!"
The door swung open violently. Joshua, Scarlett's father, stood there in a stained undershirt, the smell of alcohol hitting Scarlett instantly. His bloodshot eyes stared at her, first confused, then igniting with wild anger.
"You!" Joshua stepped forward, his fist clenched. "How dare you come back after running away and leaving me chased by creditors? Who do you think you are?"
Smack.
Without warning, a hard slap landed across Scarlett's left cheek. Her face snapped to the side. A burning sting spread instantly, followed by the metallic taste of blood at the corner of her lips. Scarlett stood still, her eyes fixed on the dusty wooden floor. But this time, she did not tremble. She did not cry.
Scarlett lifted her head. There was no longer fear in her eyes, the kind that once made Joshua feel powerful. She reached into her bag, pulled out a thick brown envelope filled with cash, and threw it against her father's chest until it fell to the floor.
"That's your money," Scarlett said coldly, her voice steady in a way that surprised even herself. "All your gambling debts, all the bills you piled up, are paid today. Not a single cent is left unpaid."
Joshua froze, his eyes staring at the slightly opened envelope revealing stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He dropped to his knees to grab it greedily, like an animal finding prey.
"W-where did you get this?" Joshua stammered, his arrogance evaporating into greed.
"That's none of your business." Scarlett stood tall, her aura completely changed. She was no longer the weak girl intimidated by loud voices. "I came to pay your debts, not to return as your daughter. From this moment on, we have no relationship. If you try to find me in New York, the people who gave me that money will make sure you end up somewhere far worse than a prison cell."
"Scarlett? Oh, look who's back with the airs of a rich lady!" a shrill voice rang from the kitchen. Emma, Scarlett's stepmother, appeared with Anne, her stepsister wearing heavy makeup.
"I heard you're an actress now," Anne sneered, her eyes scanning Scarlett's expensive wool dress with clear envy. "Joined JTC Management? Close to Julian Caldwell? Wow, you must have sold yourself very well, Scarlett. From a coffee shop waitress to a high-class Manhattan escort. How lucky."
"I agree, Anne," Emma added with venom. "You never had any talent except that pitiful face. How much do they pay you to serve old men over there?"
Once, these words would have broken Scarlett. But now, she only looked at them with pity. The luxury of the Caldwell world might be cold, but at least it was not filled with poisonous hatred like this house.
"Jealousy is a terrible disease, Emma." Scarlett turned toward the door without giving them the satisfaction of seeing her anger. "Keep that money well. It's the final price for my freedom from all of you."
A True Goodbye
Scarlett walked down the creaking wooden steps. She did not look back, not even when Joshua shouted, asking if there was more money. When Jonathan opened the car door, Scarlett got in and shut it tightly.
Jonathan turned, his eyes widening when he saw the red mark on Scarlett's cheek beginning to bruise. "He hit you?" Jonathan's voice rose, his hand already gripping the car handle, ready to step out.
"Don't, Jo. Just drive," Scarlett whispered.
"But Scarlett—"
"Please. Just go. I want to leave this place."
As the car drove away from the house, the fortress Scarlett had built over the past hour collapsed. She leaned her head against the leather seat and cried silently. Her shoulders shook violently. Not from the pain on her cheek, but from the devastation of realizing that the place called home was the one she most wanted to erase from her memory.
Jonathan said nothing. He simply handed her a box of tissues and lowered the air conditioning. He let her release everything.
As the car passed the sign that read "You are leaving Carmel-by-the-Sea," Scarlett wiped her tears. She looked at her reflection in the window. Her cheek was swollen, her eyes red, but there was a new light in her gaze.
She realized one undeniable truth: she had no home in Carmel. She might not yet have a home in Julian's heart either. But she had herself. She was no longer the girl running from reality. She was the wife of a Caldwell, an actress who had just secured a major role, and someone who would never let anyone step on her again.
This secret marriage might have begun as a cold business contract, but for Scarlett, it was a lifeboat she would steer with all her strength.
"Jo," Scarlett called softly, her voice steady again.
"Yes?"
"Can we stop by a pharmacy? I need something to cover this bruise. I don't want Julian to see me like this when we get back to New York."
Jonathan looked at her through the rearview mirror, then gave a small, respectful smile. "Of course, Mrs. Caldwell. Of course."
Scarlett closed her eyes. She was ready for New York. She was ready for acting. And perhaps, she was ready to begin breaking down the ice walls in Julian's heart, not because she needed to be loved, but because she no longer wanted to live in frozen silence.