She woke startled with a gasp. She looked at her surroundings, unsure where she was. Understanding came slowly. She had been attacked. Then, she woke up with Roger beside her; she was wearing his clothes. Disoriented and angered, she had accused him. Roger stormed off, saying something about blood loss. She had taken the juice and lay back down.

Only the far-off sounds of birds welcoming the early spring weather interrupted the silence in the house. Rays of early morning sunshine scattered throughout the room. The serenity contrasted with the turmoil in Claire.

A blanket covered her. I wasn't covered when I fell asleep.

She distinctly remembered being hit. She explored the back of her head with her fingers and found- nothing.

She had no aches, no pains. It was as if nothing had happened at all, but she remembered the attack. The pain on the back of her head. He said something about blood.

On a chair lay her blood-soaked clothing. How?

She stood, the blanket draped on her shoulders, and wrapped herself in it. The morning still had a slight chill.

Shuffling, perhaps out of habit more than any actual need, she made it to the kitchen. "Where's Roger's unfathomable machine?" She mumbled. He should be back from his run, and I don't want to miss the show. She giggled like a schoolgirl.

The Nespresso coffee maker wasn't hard to use. She made a black americano for him and a cappuccino for herself from Paris Espresso pods she liked. I wonder where he is?

The rich aroma filled her and gave her neurons energy. I should tell him it was something I blurted out.

She walked outside, sipping her cup, but the yard where he usually practiced was empty. I know he wouldn't do anything like that.

She waited. Thinking of the last three months. In retrospect, it was nothing like the catastrophe she had imagined on the first day. If she had to have an arranged marriage, she could have done a lot worse. At some point, she wasn't sure when she had gone from utter distrust to reluctant acceptance.

Her cup was now empty, and his was cold, yet no one came. She walked around the house looking for him, then went inside. We need to get going soon, or he'll be late for class. She smiled, thinking of the silent morning rides. He always fidgeted uncomfortably, and every once in a while, she would catch him muttering "dangerous."

She found her phone on the coffee table in the living room, next to a black bank card and a note.

Miss Williams,

Thank you for everything.

Please don't throw my stuff out,

and water the fern every second day.

I'll be back for them once I'm settled.

Please be careful!

She read it three times. What did I do?

She frantically ran back to the main house. She blasted past the security guard not giving her a chance to say a word. She almost faltered as she took the stairs three at a time and hurried into her grandfather's bedroom.

She pressed her thumb on the sensor on the bookshelf as if applying more pressure would make it work faster. After a couple of seconds, it clicked and slid open, revealing a panic room.

She entered and closed the door, then sat at a desk full of monitors. It took her a few seconds to get accustomed to the bright LED lighting. The air recycler whirled.

She scanned her fingerprint on the computer.

Then played the video back a couple of hours and saw him leaving, his backpack bulkier than normal.

"I'm sorry, really. I was just startled," she said to the empty room.

Then she typed 23:55 to position the recording on the previous night's events. The video feed switched on the main monitor.

She saw as she walked down the service road and met with the detective. They argued, and the van pulled up. The men got out, and a blur came from the right. She saw as Roger expertly, savagely felled the goons. All that practice in the mornings isn't in vain.

She cringed as her limp body fell and her head bounced on a rock. I should have died! She shivered and stopped the video for a few seconds.

Taking a deep breath, she started it again.

She saw as he leaned over her, tenderly cradled her in his arms, and a bright light engulfed her. Minutes passed as it pulsated. Then he slumped. She zoomed in on his face. He looks so drained.

She watched, fascinated. With certainty, she knew she would be dead, but for him. What did he do? Is this how he saved Gramps? It must be his Mayan bloodline. Gramps was fascinated by that.

The video played on. The worry on his face as he took her wrist. Her mouth quivered as she held back the tears.

After about a half hour, he gently picked her up and carried her to the house. Her breath caught, and she felt pressure in her chest as she saw the effort reflected on his face.

What idiotic thing did I do accusing him? He's always more than a gentleman and the first thing I blurt out is distrust.

He had jumped in, unheeding the danger, and protected her. Isn't that what husbands do?

It was hard to see someone you mistrusted, even mistreated, treat you at your most vulnerable with gentleness and caring. He had paid her back with a kindness that even her family did not show.

Claire sat thinking of and discarding ways to apologize. She knew so little about her husband.

Yes, her husband. It wasn't that she was all of a sudden in love with or wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, or even a particular sexual attraction, but she felt a possessiveness toward him. A he's mine and wares her wrath anyone that dares to cause him harm.

She deleted all the videos from that day, including the cloud backups. There can't be any evidence of this.

She dialed the lawyer.

"Miss Claire, good morning. I've been waiting for your call," he answered.

"Do you know where Roger has gone?" Her voice shook. A horrible feeling came over her.

"I've helped him get an apartment and a job."

"What's the address?" She blurted, an incomprehensible urgency washed over her.

"Miss Claire, may I suggest you let him cool off? He's not trying to affect your interests. In fact, he found a loophole that will allow you to fulfill the requirements of the will while he stays at the apartment." I don't think I can wait.

"I made a mistake, Mr. Doyle. How do I fix it?" She implored.

"Give him time and space. I got him an apartment in Inwood, one of the Holdings' properties, and a job at Lennox Hill, again, the Holdings'." No, this is something I need to fix now.

"I'm going to get him to come back. He should be here," she said, distraught. Every second that passed, she felt worse.

"Miss Williams, give him time and change your attitude. He mentioned you make him feel like a pervert and a thief."

"Yes, I will. Could you give me the address, please? I need to apologize." Her tone calmer. I'm sorry, Roger, I'll make it up to you.

"Miss Williams, there's also the matter of security. Mr. Catzín asked that you be protected. He told me what happened and the message you received. There's a security team around the mansion now and two female bodyguards are assigned to you. Please collaborate. No more midnight outings to meet frantic strangers."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Doyle. I was talking to the private detective about the report. Either he betrayed us, or he was followed. Could you put people on it? Protecting Roger should be a priority. Ultimately, they're after him."

She paused for a second.

"You should have shared that important detail!" Slight anger in her voice, "I've deleted all the videos," she added.

"From the day your grandfather met him, there has been a team discreetly watching him when he's out of the house, but rest assured that Mr. Catzín needs very little protection. However, even after months of investigation, we have not been able to ascertain who it is, which to me means they are not trivial."

"This is the Trust's top priority." She affirmed.

"Indeed, we have significant resources allocated to it. A warning, Miss Claire, up until last night, we were certain that the other party had not identified Roger. That is no longer the case. If he returns to the mansion, he can not return from school alone. The trek is too exposed. The apartment is better. This is why I agreed to the loophole. If there's nothing else, Miss Claire, I have a meeting."

She pondered his warning. Her husband's gifts needed protection. She finally realized why her grandfather was adamant about bringing him into the family. I'll teach him how to drive. She smiled at her simple solution.

Sorry, Gramps, I'm not willing to use him. If our relationship flourishes, great. I'm willing to accept him, but I refuse to use him. For now, I need to go to City College and talk to him.

The applied calculus class ended, and everyone filed out. Carmen Martínez, a vibrant 22-year-old brunette whom he had helped with a problem a couple of weeks ago, waited for him. She wore tight-fitting jeans that showed her slim figure and a blouse a couple of sizes too small with her ample bosom spilling out.

They had studied a couple of times together during lunch and usually walked to the train chatting about school. Roger had been tempted to tell her he was married but remembered his deal about secrecy with Claire. Even if he hadn't been focused on his studies, he wouldn't be interested in a young girl.

He had never given it much thought, but one time, he had a talk with his mom, and she advised him to find someone strong enough to withstand the burdens of his gift. He had only ever met one woman like that, and she thought he was a pervert and a thief.

As they walked out of the room, Carmen said, "Hey Roger, a few of us are going for pizza and working on the assignment tonight. Want to join? You're so good with this calculus stuff." School came easy for him. He recalled what he read perfectly, a side effect of Ch'ulel. This girl just doesn't give up.

As he exited, the acknowledged most beautiful woman he had ever seen waited for him. Piensa en el Diablo y se aparece, his mom would have said, he thought.

Clad in a knee-length burgundy shantung silk pencil skirt that flowed around her curves, showcasing her long tan legs and culminating in a pair of high-heel pumps of a matching hue. An ivory silk blouse, its buttons straining, tucked neatly beneath a charcoal grey blazer cinched at her waist. Roger's jaw dropped metaphorically. Wow!

With two cups of coffee balanced in her hands and a mischievous, dazzling smile, she greeted him, "You weren't around to share our morning coffee, so I thought we could do it now, honey!" She said it loud enough so everyone could hear and emphasized the last word. I missed the coffee. I need to learn how to use that machine. Well, not anymore, I guess.

First, he answered, "Thanks for the invite, Carmen! I'll text you if I can make it." He was about to add that this was his wife but thought about the jealousy in Claire's remarks. I'm not as worthless as you think! Although I wouldn't have gone anyway.

Carmen walked away, disappointment on her face.

Then he turned toward Claire, "Miss Williams. Is the silverware missing or some family heirloom, and you're here to question me?" His anger and sarcasm were palpable.

Unfazed, she drew closer, handed him his cup, took his arm to walk beside him, and whispered in his ear, "No, Roger. I'm here to apologize, and I have some important things to discuss with you about what my grandfather was doing. Please give me a chance."

They walked in silence. What am I going to say when she asks about last night? He admitted to himself that he was hurt by her dumb question, but mostly, he left to avoid answering uncomfortable truths about his gift.

They walked out into a bustling courtyard, drawing stares as they passed by— a beautiful, elegant woman hanging on the arm of a guy who almost looked destitute.

"Was she one of your many girlfriends?" Claire asked with a tinge of possessiveness and jealousy.

He stayed silent. This dangerous woman loves to tease.

The throng of people seemed to part as the couple advanced. More than one guy stared openly, lustily, at Claire. Unconsciously, he pulled her closer, and his gaze hardened.

"Oh, Roger, could we go home and make some pizza? You're so good at this cooking stuff," Claire said, mimicking Carmen's voice and fluttering her eyelids.

Roger rolled his eyes and continued his silence.

"I'm only teasing, Roger," she gripped his arm tighter, "I know you're focused on your career and would never do anything untoward, even if our marriage is an arrangement."

"Thanks. I guess." Confusion on his face. What brought this change?

"Do you think we could start over?" She was still hanging on to his arm, "I know it was my distrust of you from the very first day that caused all the problems, but could you give me another chance?" She squeezed his arm.

She pulled him close and whispered, "For what it's worth, I think you're a wonderful man and feel lucky that I can say you're my husband," then she leaned over and kissed his cheek, "Thank you for saving me!"

Roger turned every shade of red possible. Bewildered and flustered, he stopped and looked at her eyes, disengaging from her arm.

"Miss Williams, I'll accept your apology. Could we discuss our private matters... in private?"

He instantly missed her on his. Somehow, she felt like she belonged. "Dangerous," he muttered.

Claire gave him a dazzling smile. She took his arm again, "Let's go make some pizza, Honey!" She pulled him with the urgency of a little girl going to a candy store.

Would you have accepted Claire's apology?

Should Roger go back to the Mansion?

Who are the people after Roger?

Let me know in the comments what you think!