Filed to story: The Daughter in the Shadows (Yunice) Book by Una Norris
Paul barked at her, “Do you even know what time it is? Do the Saunders family have no shame left?” After they got engaged, Paul always held the upper hand. Over the years, he’d grown used to controlling Yunice, refusing to tolerate anything he considered inappropriate. Even with the engagement long broken, Paul still believed Yunice should listen to him. After all, he’d practically raised her. He was responsible for her safety. But even now, after everything, she still hadn’t let go of Wyatt’s hand.
Paul’s face turned red with fury. He raised his voice, scolding her again, “Your brother already told you about the marriage arrangement with the Johnsons, and you even spent the night at their place. Now you’re doing this? Are you trying to let all of Silverburgh know just how shameless you are?”
She spent the night at the Johnsons? How did Paul know that?
Yunice quickly realized Owen and Elsie must’ve told him. And judging by his tone, he clearly thought spending the night meant she had slept with Mr. Johnson. My own brother. My former fianc?. Eighteen years… and this is what they think of me. They really believe it was fine for me to sleep with Mr. Johnson, but holding Wyatt’s hand makes me a disgrace. It’s not that they look down on Wyatt-they just hate that they can’t…
Paul’s eyes burned with rage. “You want to be a disgrace? Fine. But if you drag Elsie’s name into this, I won’t let it slide!” He reached out and grabbed Yunice’s wrist. “You’re coming with me!”
Yunice couldn’t break free. She stumbled, yanked off balance-until Wyatt let go, stepped forward, and shoved Paul hard. Already fuming, Paul nearly fell. That push was the last spark-his brain exploded with rage, logic and restraint completely gone. He swung a punch at Wyatt. Wyatt raised his arm to block, but with his mobility issues, he couldn’t react fast enough. Paul kicked his cane away.
Without support, Wyatt lost his balance. His left knee slammed into the floor tiles. Paul was out of control now. He raised his fist again-aimed straight for Wyatt’s face. Yunice instinctively stepped forward. The punch landed squarely on her. She didn’t make a sound. Her face throbbed with numb, swelling pain, and she curled in on herself, her body moving in pure self-defense.
“Yunice?” Wyatt struggled toward her, his voice sharp with concern. Paul’s anger flared again. “I was going after him! Why’d you get in the way!” He raised his fist again, not satisfied until he got in a few more hits. But he never got the chance. Wyatt’s bodyguards had finally reacted-two of them moved in from behind, grabbed Paul, and slammed him to the ground.
Wyatt knelt beside Yunice, disheveled and aching. Gently, he pried her hands away from her face. His expression darkened instantly. He looked up and locked eyes with Paul. There was ice in his gaze now-pure, calculated fury. Paul, suddenly uncertain, felt his stomach drop. Would that cripple actually lay a hand on me? He got his answer a second later.
“Hit him,” Wyatt said coldly. No hesitation. The guards’ fists landed hard. Paul curled into a ball shielding his head. “You’re dead, you hear me! Crippled bastard, I swear I’ll get you for this!”
Wyatt ignored Paul completely. He reached for his cane with some effort, then helped Yunice to her feet. She clutched her head, dizzy and unsteady. The two of them looked just as battered-only by leaning on each other could they stay upright. With one arm wrapped around her waist, Wyatt frowned and said in a low voice, “Come with me.”
Staggering and limping, they made their way forward as Paul took his beating in silence. He shielded his head with both hands, but his eyes stayed fixed on Yunice’s back, burning with resentment. He couldn’t understand it. Why was Yunice leaving with that cripple? Why had she taken the hit for Wyatt? She used to shield him from harm…
Did she really fall for Wyatt? They’d spent eighteen years side by side. How could she fall for someone else so easily?
By the time Wyatt and Yunice reached their room, she was half-unconscious. Jordan came running over, shocked. “What happened to her!” Still holding Yunice up, Wyatt swiped his keycard with his free hand and said, “Get the doctor.” Then he nudged the door open with his cane, his whole body straining to support her weight.
Jordan hesitated. “You sure you’ve got her?” Wyatt turned back. “Why are you still here? Go get the director. Him personally.” Jordan gave up trying to help. “Fine.”
Only after he left did Wyatt get Yunice onto the bed. Her face was flushed, and her breathing fast. Wyatt sat beside her and touched her forehead. She was burning hot. He remembered the ginger soup she hadn’t gotten a chance to drink. She must’ve already been coming down with something-yet she still held it together long enough to save Madam Johnson.
Wyatt’s thoughts twisted into knots as he slipped off her shoes and tucked the blanket around her. When Director Jake arrived to examine Yunice, Wyatt stepped out to talk with Jordan in the hallway.
Jordan looked uneasy. “Paul took a real beating. Someone from the Powell family came to pick him up.” Wyatt still hadn’t calmed down. If anything, he thought Paul got off too easily. Jordan offered a suggestion. “Wyatt, maybe fake some injuries yourself. Otherwise, the Powell family…”
The Powell patriarch was fiercely protective of his bloodline. Paul was his only direct heir, and he’d made it clear that all family assets would eventually be handed down to him. Wyatt might’ve been Paul’s uncle in name, but in that family, he was never welcome.
Jordan knew better than to push it. He let the subject drop. Over an hour passed before Jake finally came out of the room. “Wyatt.” Both men looked at him. Jake glanced at Wyatt-he’d been standing the whole time?
Wyatt’s eyes grew impatient, so Jake cleared his thoughts and began his report. “Ms. Saunders has a high fever from catching a chill. But I also found several untreated internal injuries. Honestly, they look like signs of long-term abuse.”
Jake’s voice hardened. At this point, he’d gained a lot of respect for Yunice-and the idea of her being mistreated genuinely pissed him off. “Abuse?” Jordan looked skeptical. “I’ve dealt with the Saunders family before. They spoil her rotten. I even brought gifts for her on Owen’s behalf when I went to England.”
Jake shot back, “Then where did all the injuries come from?” He was certain-someone had abused her. Wyatt remained silent, eyes distant, cold.
Jordan was still thinking it through. “I heard she was in a psych hospital for a while, but the Saunders family probably pulled strings. No way they’d let her be bullied. Maybe the injuries came from something else.” He looked at Wyatt. “Want me to investigate?”
Wyatt didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked Jake, “Can she recover?” Jake understood he was asking about Yunice. “With rest and care, yes.”
Wyatt crushed his cigarette against the cobblestone. His voice turned dry and sharp. “Madam Johnson was at death’s door, and Morgan already went ahead to clear the path?”
Jordan blinked. What? Weren’t they just talking about Yunice? Why bring up Morgan now? Jake suddenly smacked his forehead. “No one’s keeping watch over Madam Johnson. Mr. Conrad, maybe send someone to fetch Mr. Johnson.” Morgan was her biological grandson. He had time-he should’ve been here.
Wyatt had Morgan come take care of Madam Johnson-which meant he planned to stay and watch over Yunice himself. Jordan figured it out and made a quick call, ordering someone to drag Morgan out of the billiards hall and bring him over. Morgan had a close-cropped haircut, dyed a reddish-brown, and stood slouched in Madam Johnson’s hospital room like he owned the place. He didn’t look like a privileged heir-more like a thug. Just a few days ago, he’d been arrested for hitting a woman and got a beating from his dad for it. Still bitter, he’d been hiding out in the pool hall ever since. Now that he heard his grandmother was stable, he felt emboldened again. Looking for trouble, he said, “Where’s Wyatt? Isn’t he the one who loves pretending to be the devoted grandson? Finally couldn’t keep up the act?”
Jordan told him plainly, “Wyatt’s with Ms. Saunders.”
Morgan’s face darkened. “Which Ms. Saunders?”
He knew the Saunders family had two daughters-one a golden girl, the other a certified lunatic. What pissed him off most was that his idiotic parents had actually arranged for him to marry the lunatic. Jordan didn’t sugarcoat it. “The one they told you about. She’s the one who saved Madam Johnson.”
“Huh?” Morgan let out a laugh so loud he nearly doubled over. “You expect me to believe a nutcase saved someone? That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year.”
Jordan was about to explain that Yunice wasn’t crazy anymore, but Morgan suddenly cut him off with a manic glint in his eye. “Wait…so Wyatt ditched my grandma to take care of her?”
“How precious. How rare.” Morgan’s expression twisted. “Hasn’t Wyatt sworn off women ever since he busted his leg? Unless…don’t tell me he’s actually fallen for that little nutjob? Hahaha!”
Jordan rolled his eyes. No point arguing with this rabid dog. He had no idea why Wyatt bothered calling someone like Morgan in the first place.
Yunice woke not long after her fever broke. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the swollen pain in her cheek made itself known. Only then did she remember-Paul had hit her. Looking around, she caught sight of Wyatt sitting across from her and froze. He didn’t move. “You want water?”
Yunice slowly propped herself up and nodded. After a high fever, she was parched. Wyatt stood and went to pour her a glass. Seeing his back turned, Yunice let out a breath. When she first opened her eyes, it felt like he’d been staring straight at her face-and it made her skin crawl. She didn’t even think she was pretty. Was West’s rade that nicka?
Paul had worn a diamond ring. When his fist hit, the ring acted like a blade. A four-centimeter cut ran across Yunice’s face-deep and ugly. No one could take that easily.
“Regretting it?” Wyatt held out the glass, watching her.
If she had known she’d be disfigured, would she still have jumped in to shield him? A woman’s face was everything. Yunice was ambitious-how could she show her face now? He was certain she’d break down, cry, maybe even throw something. But she didn’t. She set down the mirror and took the glass from him, drinking slowly. Wyatt found himself watching her more closely.
Yunice cradled the glass in both hands and looked up. “The stitches are clean. If I make the right ointment, it shouldn’t scar. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
Wyatt’s gaze wavered, then turned mocking. “Now you’re comforting me?”
“If I hadn’t stepped in, Paul would’ve hit the sphenopalatine foramen near your temple. That could’ve killed you,” Yunice said calmly. “I didn’t want you getting hurt.”
For a second, something inside Wyatt shifted. But he hid it well, like always. Yunice realized how that must’ve sounded and added, “Madam Johnson is still recovering. If something happened to you, it could shock her. That would make all my efforts pointless.”
Now that sounded more like her. Wyatt scoffed. That explanation made more sense. Yunice went back to sipping her water, little by little. She knew full well you weren’t supposed to drink plain water after dehydration. It needed salt or sugar-something to replenish electrolytes. But she didn’t want to bother Wyatt, so this was the best she could manage to wet her lips. Steam rose from the cup, dampening her lowered lashes. Wyatt looked down at her, gaze tracing from the slope of her nose to her mouth. Her lips were full and pink, glistening from the heat. The water was still warm. Yunice blew on it gently, lips parting ever so slightly.
Wyatt frowned and looked away, clearly displeased. Yunice sensed the shift and looked up at him. He moved toward the window, opened it just a crack to let in some air, and didn’t glance back at her once. Behind her, out of sight, his eyes were clouded with agitation. He couldn’t believe he’d just reacted to Yunice like that.
Yunice didn’t understand. She was about to speak when someone knocked on the door. Jake peeked in, eyes bright as he looked at Yunice first, then said to Wyatt, “Wyatt, Madam Johnson’s awake. She wants to see you.”
Wyatt gave a quiet response and, with the help of his cane, walked out of the room. Yunice sat up in bed, her eyes following the way he walked.
“Handsome, right?” She turned toward Jake, who was grinning like a gossiping aunt.
“Wyatt is the best-looking man on a cane I’ve ever seen,” Jake said. “But don’t stare too much. He’s petty.”
Yunice gave a small nod, grateful for the warning. She knew people with disabilities sometimes carried emotional wounds.
Jake’s gaze drifted to the gash on her face, and he sighed. “Don’t worry about the scar. Even if it doesn’t heal on its own, Wyatt will find the best plastic surgeon to fix it.”
“Huh?” Yunice blinked, surprised.
Thinking she didn’t believe him, Jake added, “He said so himself. I can tell-he treats you differently.”
“Does he!”
“Definitely. He’s not usually like this.”
“What’s he usually like, then?”
“He…” Jake stopped mid-sentence, realizing that if Wyatt did like her, he could easily screw it up by saying the wrong thing. “He’s usually cold. Real cold.”
Yunice was a little disappointed she couldn’t get more out of him. Just then, Jake took a call. Whatever he heard made him glance at Yunice quickly and nod along.
When he hung up, he said, “Ms. Saunders, Madam Johnson wants to see you.” He rolled in a wheelchair. “Come on, I’ll take you over.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary…” Yunice was still a little dizzy and unsteady, but not so bad that she needed a chair. She could manage.
Jake leaned in, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about the wheelchair. It’s about appearances.”