The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 49- Dentist

PAIGE

The world felt muffled, like I was underwater. My cheek was a universe of throbbing, white-hot pain. It wasn’t just a sting; it was a deep, bone-deep ache that pulsed with every beat of my heart, a sickening reminder of the impact.

But that was almost background noise compared to the tooth.

A sharp, electric agony was jolting up from the empty space, a raw, exposed nerve screaming into the void. It was a pain so specific and vicious it made my eyes water.

But even through the pain-haze, one thought burned brighter: He fought for me.

Reomen. In a suit worth more than a car, in a room full of the most powerful people in the city, he had thrown punches like a street brawler. For me.

He led me through a service exit, his grip on my arm firm but careful, avoiding the stairs where people might see. We emerged into the cool night air of a delivery alley. The black Lexus was already there, the engine running.

He opened the door for me. I moved slowly, my body feeling heavy and foreign. As I sank into the leather seat, he leaned in. His scent—sandalwood and clean, angry sweat—filled the space.

He didn’t say a word. He just took the seatbelt, his knuckles brushing my collarbone, and clicked it into place for me. The gesture was so unnervingly gentle it almost hurt more than the slap.

He closed my door, walked around, and got in. The interior light went out, leaving us in the dark.

"Lenox Hill Emergency Dental," he told the driver, his voice clipped and absolute. "Now."

The car pulled away. I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, a silent, violent storm contained within the polished interior. I’ve seen him smug, sarcastic, coldly calculating.

I’ve never seen him like this. This was a raw, barely leashed fury that made the air feel thin.

I decided to stay quiet. Words felt too fragile, too likely to shatter whatever terrifying control he was clinging to.

In the dim glow of the dashboard lights, I watched his hands. One was curled into a fist on his thigh. The other was holding my hand, his thumb making slow, absent strokes across my knuckles.

The touch was infinitely gentle, a stark contrast to the way he was clutching his own seatbelt strap with a white-knuckled grip, like he wanted to rip it clean out of the chassis.

He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw a hard line, his profile looking like it had been carved from stone.

But his thumb kept moving, a soft, steady rhythm on my skin, a silent apology and a promise, all while the rest of him radiated pure, undiluted murder.

The car ride was a blur of streetlights and silent, radiating anger. We pulled up to a sleek, modern building with a discreet sign that read Lenox Hill Emergency Dental.

Reomen was out of the car before it fully stopped, coming around to my side to help me out. His hand was back on my arm, guiding me.

The place was quiet and empty, a stark contrast to the chaos we’d left. The lights were low, the waiting area deserted. He didn’t stop there. He led me straight down a hall, his footsteps sure, and pushed open a slightly ajar door without knocking.

Inside, a man in his mid-thirties with tousled brown hair and wearing scrubs was sipping coffee from a mug, looking over a chart. He looked up, surprised, but not alarmed.

"Reomen?" he said, setting the mug down. "A little after hours for a social call." His eyes flicked to me, to my face, and his casual demeanor shifted into instant professionalism.

"Andy," Reomen said, his voice a low, tight wire. "She was hit. In the face. Hard. She lost a tooth."

Andrew Smith—Andy—nodded, his expression turning grim. He came forward, his gaze gentle but assessing. "Okay. Let’s have a look. Sit here for me, please," he said to me, guiding me to the large dental chair.

Reomen helped me into it, his hands firm on my shoulders. "Do whatever you need to," he told Andy, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a request; it was a command.

Andy brought the bright, circular light over, clicking it on. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Easy now," Andy murmured. "I know it’s bright. Just gonna take a look." He gently tilted my head. I felt his gloved fingers, incredibly careful, probing the swollen, fiery skin of my cheek. Then he looked inside my mouth.

He let out a soft hiss. "Okay. The good news is the jawbone seems fine. No fracture. But this," he said, his focus on the empty, throbbing socket, "was a force removal. The root is clean, but the trauma to the gum and bone is significant." He looked at Reomen. "Who did this?"

Reomen’s jaw tightened. "Someone who won’t be using his hands for a very long time."

Andy didn’t press. He turned back to me. "I’m going to numb the area. It’ll pinch, but then the pain will fade. Then I’ll clean the socket and treat it to prevent infection. Okay?"

I just nodded, unable to form words. The pinch of the needle was a sharp, welcome sting, a different kind of pain that promised relief.

As the numbness began to spread, dulling the screaming nerve, a tear of pure, overwhelmed gratitude escaped and traced a path down my temple.

I saw Reomen watch that single tear fall, and his expression darkened impossibly further. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and then at me.

"I have to take this," he said, his voice gruff. He looked at Andy. "Don’t leave her side."

"I’m not going anywhere," Andy assured him, already preparing his tools.

Reomen gave my hand one last, hard squeeze. Then he turned and strode out of the room, bringing the phone to his ear. I heard his voice, low and venomous, from the hallway.

"Denki. I need you to find out everything. His company, his assets, his mistress’s fucking shoe size. I want it all on my desk in an hour. He’s done."

I closed my eyes, the cold numbness in my mouth a strange comfort against the heat of his fury.

The world was a numb, fuzzy place. The drilling and cleaning were over, the empty socket packed and protected. Andy had been gentle, his hands sure and efficient. When he was done, I opened my eyes to see Reomen standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, his posture rigid.

He hadn’t moved the entire time.

"The numbness will last a few more hours," Andy said, his voice soft as he handed me a small paper cup with two pills and a glass of water. "Try not to talk much tonight.

It’ll irritate the site. And no solid foods. Soft, cool things only for a couple of days." He then gently pressed a wrapped ice pack against my swollen cheek. "Keep this on. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off."

I nodded, the movement feeling slow and heavy. I took the pills, the water feeling strange going down my numb throat.

Andy turned to Reomen, his voice dropping. "I’ve done all I can for now. The bone should heal fine, but she’ll need a proper implant in a few months when the swelling and trauma subside. I’ll send the follow-up instructions to your phone."

Reomen just gave a single, sharp nod, his eyes never leaving me.

The clock on the wall read 10:57 PM. It felt like a lifetime had passed since the party.

The ride home was silent. The ice pack was a cold, comforting weight against my fiery cheek. Reomen didn’t try to hold my hand this time; he just stared out his window, the city lights painting sharp lines of shadow across his stony profile.

He didn’t lead me to the guest wing. He took me straight to his room—the master suite. The vast, minimalist space felt different tonight. Softer. The lights were dim.

He closed the door and finally turned to me. The angry tension seemed to drain from his shoulders, replaced by a weary, grim tenderness. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He walked over and cupped my unhurt cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against my skin, his voice rough. "I’m so sorry, Paige."

He knew I couldn’t answer. So he did the talking, his voice a low, steady monologue as his hands went to the delicate straps of the silver dress.

"Let’s get you out of this," he said, his fingers surprisingly deft as he slid the first strap down my shoulder. "You’ve been in it long enough."

He turned me gently, his hands warm on my bare back as he found the hidden zipper. The sound of it sliding down was the only noise in the room.

"I should have seen it coming. I did see it. I just... I didn’t move fast enough." The dress pooled at my feet in a shimmering heap. He stepped back, his gaze sweeping over me in my simple underwear, but there was no heat in it tonight. Only a deep, aching concern.

He picked up my sleep shirt—one of his soft grey t-shirts—from the bed and carefully guided my arms into it, pulling it down over my head like I was something precious and breakable.

"He’s gone, you know," he said, his voice dropping, becoming cold and factual. "Not just from the party. From the city. By tomorrow, he’ll be unpersoned. Erased."

He led me to the bed and pulled back the covers. I slid in, the cool sheets a relief. He tucked the duvet around me, then placed the ice pack back against my cheek with infinite care.

"All you have to do is rest," he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing the hair back from my face. "Just rest. I’m not going anywhere."

He stayed there, watching over me in the dark, his silent presence a fortress against the memory of the pain.