Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 46: Insane in the Membrane

Chapter 46: Insane in the Membrane

VANESSA BELMONT

It took a couple of days for me to feel well enough to sit up and to talk. While I was in a coma, Nathan had hired physical therapists and masseuses to ensure my body retained its strength and flexibility. Even so, I tired easily. I’d traded my feeding tube for real food, but eating wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Nathan was there for me every time I struggled. It was nice to have a partner who cared about my well-being and took care of me without complaint.

It took a while to recount my bizarre three-month dream (or alternate reality experience ... or parallel world travel ... or insane in the membrane). Nathan listened patiently, his expression shifting between concern and fascination.

After I finished telling him everything I could remember (except the sex dream ... that was staying in a memory vault called ’nunyabizness’), my voice was hoarse.

Nathan poured me a glass of water, and I sipped it slowly, the warmth soothing my throat.

"Why would you dream about Gregory Savage?" asked Nathan. "He’s a 1940s actor who was known for film noir. Are you a fan?"

"Not really," I said. "But why would I also dream about Annabeth Saint and Grace Witherstone? I don’t know Annabeth at all. Grace and I aren’t close, but I’ve met her. And it wasn’t just seeing them—it was like I was them, experiencing everything from their point of view." I handed him the glass. "And then there’s Fiona." I handed him the water glass. "I really hate her. Like, a lot."

"Valid," said Nathan. "She did try to kill you."

"She nearly succeeded." My voice cracked as I clutched Nathan’s hand. The memory of Fiona’s awful grin right after the car crash flashed in my mind. I’d been so close to losing everything.

Nathan’s grip tightened, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over my knuckles. His expression was raw, pained. "Vanessa," he murmured, his voice thick. "I should have believed you. Protected you." He paused. "Loved you."

"We’re a contract marriage," I said. "No emotional entanglement."

"That’s not true anymore. God, Neenie. I should have known. I should have seen the signs. I promised to keep you safe, and I failed." His free hand lifted, brushing a stray tear from my cheek that I hadn’t even realized had fallen. "I will never let that happen again. Not to you. Not ever."

My breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. The weight of his guilt was palpable, but so was his commitment—fierce and unwavering.

"I survived. We get a second chance. That’s what matters."

Nathan exhaled roughly, then brought my hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on the top of my hand. "I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this up to you," he vowed. "Every day. Every second. You deserve the world, Vanessa, and I swear that I’ll give it to you."

For a long moment, we just sat there, the silence between us heavy with unspoken emotion. Then Nathan met my gaze. "The things you described—the auction, the twins’ birthday party—those were stories I told you while you were in the coma," he said gently. "You never actually participated."

"It felt so real."

"The doctor said the brain does weird things when it’s healing."

"Weird is an understatement. Do you know how shitty it was to be killed by Fiona multiple times? I think falling off the balcony was my least favorite death." I exhaled, leaning back against the pillows, exhaustion creeping in. "What’s happening with Fiona now?"

Nathan’s expression darkened, his jaw tensing. "She was deemed incompetent to stand trial. They transferred her to a psychiatric facility."

"Convenient," I muttered.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But she’s locked up. That’s what matters."

I searched his face, seeing the storm of emotions beneath his controlled exterior—anger, guilt, protectiveness. And beneath it all the beginnings of real love.

Reaching up, I cupped his cheek, touching the stubble along his jaw. "Nathan," I said softly. "I’m alive because you pulled me out of that car. You cradled me in your arms and kept me safe."

His breath shuddered out, and then, in one swift motion, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine. "I’m so glad you’re here with me," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You’re important to me, Vanessa. I’m glad it wasn’t too late to figure that out."

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

A week later, I was finally discharged from the hospital. Nathan arranged for his sleek black Maybach to take us straight to our new home—a villa he’d purchased as our wedding house. "It’s in your name," he told me on the way there.

"You didn’t need to do that," I said.

"I’ll give you my salary every month, too."

"I don’t need your money."

"But it’s yours anyway. Why make money?" he asked. "If not for my wife to spend?"

As we turned onto a private road lined with cypress trees, I sat up straighter, my fingers tightening around Nathan’s. "This is ours?" I asked, my voice laced with awe.

Nathan grinned. "Wait until you see the inside."

The wrought-iron gates swung open, revealing a sprawling estate that looked like something out of a Mediterranean dream. The villa rose before us in elegant grandeur—cream-colored stone walls, arched doorways framed by ivy, and terracotta roof tiles glowing under the afternoon sun.

On both sides of the mansion, lush gardens burst with hydrangeas in dreamy powder-blue clusters, delicate forget-me-nots scattered like sapphire dust, and climbing morning glories unfurling their deep cobalt trumpets against the stone walls.

The air carried the subtle sweetness of irises—their velvety petals ranging from pale periwinkle to violet-blue—while silvery-blue sea holly added texture, its spiky blooms catching the light like scattered gems.

My favorite color was everywhere.

Ceramic pots painted in deep cobalt lined the cobblestone walkway. The front doors were a rich navy, their polished brass handles gleaming. Even the bubbling fountain at the entrance—a delicate tiered structure—had mosaic tiles in shades of sapphire and cerulean swirling beneath the water.

Nathan squeezed my hand, his expression excited. "What do you think so far?"

"It’s gorgeous! I love it!"

The inside was even more breathtaking. A vaulted ceiling soared above us, crisscrossed with exposed wooden beams. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden patterns across the wide-plank oak floors and the ivory walls.

A plush indigo sofa dominated the living room, piled with turquoise and silver throw pillows. The kitchen featured navy cabinetry with brass fixtures, and above the marble island hung a stunning chandelier made of hand-blown cobalt glass.

"I had it furnished based on what I thought you’d like," Nathan said, watching my joyous reaction.

I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in—the curated art, the way every detail felt intentional, personal. Like he’d created this space with me in mind.

"It’s perfect," I whispered.

Nathan stepped closer, his hands settling on my waist. "You haven’t even seen the best part."

He led me down a hallway lined with framed black-and-white photographs. It took me a second to realize these were pictures I had taken. I stopped. "Where did you get these? I took these when we were in college, back when I thought I wanted to be a photographer."

"I told the president of our alma mater that I would give them a new library if they could find your photos. Several of these won awards, Neenie." He looked at me. "Why did you stop?"

"I didn’t want to. My parents wanted me to be a finance major, and I had to give up my art classes."

At the end of the hall, double doors stood slightly ajar. Nathan pushed them open, revealing the master bedroom.

The. Bed.

A king-sized masterpiece, upholstered in the softest midnight-blue velvet, dominated the room. The headboard was tufted and tall, framed by floating shelves with tiny brass lanterns that cast a warm, intimate glow. Sheer silver curtains billowed around it. The sheets were crisp white, but the throw blanket at the foot was dark blue. It was a sanctuary wrapped in blues.

I already felt comfortable in this haven Nathan had created for us.

Nathan cupped my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip with aching tenderness. "We missed our wedding night," he murmured. His fingers trailed down my neck, making me shiver.

Then his mouth was on mine, slow and deep, a kiss full of longing. His lips moved with possessive hunger, yet his hands remained gentle, treating me like I was precious treasure.

I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. I felt the heat of his body pressing against mine, the way his heartbeat thundered under my palm where it rested against his chest.

A moan escaped me as he backed me toward the bed, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and I sank into the plush velvet comforter, pulling him down with me. His mouth left mine to trail searing kisses along my jaw, down my throat—

CRASH.