Chapter 20

Grace examined the back of her right hand, where Maria had stepped on it earlier.

“I accidentally hit it while working today. It’s nothing,” she said casually, trying to avoid worrying him.

“Is that so?” Jason stared intently at Grace. “Sister, if anyone bullies you, tell me, and I’ll stand up for you.”

He vowed to make them pay. He wouldn't let anyone bully her again.

For a moment, her heart pounded. It felt as if he knew everything. Was he testing her? She didn't want to lie to him, but she also didn't want to worry him, especially since he couldn't help. They were both poor and struggling. If he confronted those privileged jerks, it would only end badly for him, and she wouldn't allow that.

“I can protect myself,” she said.

“What if you can’t?” he asked.

Even if that were true, telling him wouldn't help, but Grace didn't say that. She wanted to end the conversation.

"Don't you want me to protect you?" He gazed at her with his dark, deep eyes.

She bit her lip. “You saved me once. Now it’s my turn to protect you. And I’ll do my best to prevent others from bullying us.”

A flicker of something crossed his eyes, but he only said quietly, “Okay.”

After dinner, Grace took her long-awaited shower. Under the hot water, she tried to wash away her fear and anger. She only partially succeeded.

In law school, she'd studied to protect the innocent, yet she'd learned that many people were above the law. Innocence didn't guarantee safety. Today proved that.

She shuddered. What if the man upstairs hadn't intervened? Would Greg have assaulted and harmed her? And what about Maria and Mia, her classmates, who stood by and watched? If she pressed charges, they would be accomplices—if she weren't a convicted felon, if their families didn't have the money to influence the jury, if anyone cared about her pain.

She knew seeking justice was futile. It would never happen for someone like her.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Tomorrow is a new day.

She repeated the mantra, but deep down, she knew it wasn't true.

Jason struggled to keep his thoughts to himself. He understood her silence; his "sister" was fiercely protective of him, which was ridiculous. Maybe she was hesitant because of his illness the other night. If so, to hell with that. The pain was bearable. He'd let her care for him because he sensed she needed to.

Grace returned to the kitchen table. In her fluffy bathrobe and pajamas, she worked in the dim light, sewing her torn uniform. Jason's hands clenched into fists.

Grace hummed a tuneless melody. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, dull from malnutrition. Three years of imprisonment and recent exposure to the elements had weathered her once-comely face. The hardships were evident. Yet, as she sewed, stitch by stitch, she looked beautiful. Her quiet elegance was unexpectedly captivating.

He rarely saw women sewing like this in his circles. The women he knew wore couture, costing more than Grace earned in a year. He never imagined a simple woman like her would capture his attention.

Grace finished sewing and looked up, meeting Jay's gaze. Her face flushed under his intense stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just think you’re really beautiful,” he said.

Grace laughed, aware of the gap between her current self and her past. At best, she wasn't ugly.

“You’re sweet,” she said.

Her tone suggested condescension, but the blush on her cheeks and lingering smile betrayed her pleasure at the compliment.

“Earlier, I saw something online for you. Take a look; do you like it?” She showed him a sweater in her online shopping cart.

Jason examined it. It was attractive and expensive, a popular item with tens of thousands of sales.

“You only have one winter sweater,” Grace said. “And no spare. The reviews are good, and it’ll look great on you…”

“If you like it, I will,” Jason said.

“Don’t worry about me. Do you like it? If not, I’ll find another.”

“This one’s fine,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll buy it for you.” Grace began the purchase.

She’d stayed up late mending her clothes yet bought him something new. He looked at her and asked, “…why are you so good to me?” The coat, clothes, phone, food… she didn't earn much. She couldn't afford it.

“You’re like my younger brother. Of course, I’d be good to you,” she said matter-of-factly.

But for some reason, the "younger brother" comment bothered him. Had she forgotten he was still a man?