Theodore found Charles lying on the ground, dying. He glanced back at Oscar, who held Hannah protectively in his arms; her clothes covered her securely. He'd asked Oscar to wait by the door, not out of fear of witnessing violence, but to shield him from seeing Hannah undressed. He wondered when Oscar had begun to care about his image. It turned out, it was because of Hannah.
"Okay," Theodore conceded, unable to argue.
Oscar carried Hannah away, holding her until they reached the car. She remained nestled in his arms, seemingly dependent on his presence. He placed her in the car parked below, then departed. Hannah wanted to speak to him but remained silent, watching as she told the driver, "Get off."
"Yes, sir," the driver replied respectfully.
Oscar drove away in silence. He was in a foul mood, his face grim. Hannah, intimidated, remained silent, feeling deeply uncomfortable about the events that had transpired. A simmering resentment ignited within her; one day, she would make Charles pay.
Their villa came into view. Hannah and Oscar exited the car. Inside, Max, still cleaning, greeted Oscar warmly, "Master Oscar…" He stopped abruptly, noticing Oscar's expression. He quickly looked to Hannah, seeking explanation. Hannah, uninterested in providing one, went upstairs silently, needing time to process her ordeal.
She entered her bedroom, starting to close the door when Oscar pushed it open. Hannah stared at him, surprised by his sour expression. Unwilling to confront him, she recoiled as Oscar forcefully pushed her into the room, rushing into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Emerging, he instructed, "Go take a shower."
Hannah, already intending to shower, complied despite his brusque manner. Removing the black suit Oscar had provided, she discovered a torn dress beneath; her bra was missing, leaving her almost naked. She showered thoroughly, the memory of Charles's kiss making her nauseous. She remained under the water until her skin was red, then donned a clean bathrobe.
Oscar remained in her bedroom, watching her as she emerged, still dripping wet, her hair uncombed. His gaze made her uncomfortable; she wished she'd been fully dressed. Trying to compose herself, she said, "Thank you. I'm fine now. You should go back to your room."
"But I am not," Oscar replied slowly.
Hannah, frowning, wondered what was wrong. He was the one who had beaten Charles; had he hurt his hand? Before she could ponder further, Oscar approached and kissed her. Startled, Hannah instinctively resisted, his strength alarming her. She realized she had escaped Charles only to be trapped by someone potentially more dangerous.
He held her down on the bed, his kisses moving from her lips to her body.
"No!" Hannah cried. She didn't want this, not now. Though their marriage was a convenience, she'd been prepared for intimacy with Oscar, but not after her ordeal with Charles. She couldn't bear the thought that they were the same. Men, she thought, were all alike.
The once-quiet room turned cold. Oscar wrapped her tightly in her bathrobe, then watched as tears welled in her eyes. His throat tightened. He'd been consumed by anger and jealousy over Charles's contact with Hannah, seeking vengeance, and had nearly lost control. Seeing her tears, his anger softened. He wiped away her tears with his fingers, asking, "Why didn't you cry when he kissed you?"
Hannah, tearful, looked at him. The lust in his eyes had faded. She bit her lip. With Charles, she'd felt only hatred, but Oscar's actions had broken her heart. She didn't understand why.
"Don't cry," Oscar said gently.
But Hannah couldn't stop. She'd vowed to never cry, never be weak again, yet here she was, weeping for Oscar.
"Good girl," Oscar soothed, "this won't happen again, I promise. Please don't cry."
Hannah turned away. Liar.
"It was my fault. I shouldn't have done that to you. I am so sorry," he apologized, his words clumsy; he was clearly unaccustomed to apologizing, to treating a woman with such care.