From Ashes to Queen: Now I Call the Shots novel Chapter 229

Chapter 229 Beneath the Surface

Every detail of the vermilion bird’s tail feathers was perfectly preserved. Even the green–tinged patches of patina were coated in a soft sheen, revealing this to be an antique–an authentic piece sourced from a collector. Its market value had long passed the six–figure mark.

Someone was clearly expecting her.

A staff member escorted her upstairs personally.

The walnut door swung open, and Scarlett’s feet immediately sank into a five–centimeter–thick handwoven wool carpet. Silver–threaded vine patterns wound across a deep indigo base, so fine that every stitch direction was visible. The pile lay flat and smooth, like the neck feathers of a swan.

“Pixel, you’re here!”

Jack’s eyes lit up as he hurried to meet her and pointed to the inner room.

“Jasper’s inside.”

Scarlett was still reeling from the sheer opulence of the space when Jack’s words snapped her out of it. She blinked, surprised.

“Mr. Fletcher’s the one who’s hurt? Why didn’t he go to a hospital? Doesn’t he have a private doctor?”

The flurry of questions left Jack scratching the back of his head in awkward silence.

“Well…. he’s stubborn. Doesn’t want anyone else to know. I really appreciate you doing this.”

As he spoke, he gently pushed Scarlett toward the inner room.

The floor lamp inside had been turned to a soft amber glow, casting warm light across the man’s exposed back and shoulders. The golden haze clung to his sculpted muscles like a sheer glaze over cold jade.

Jasper leaned sideways against the treatment bed, his left elbow propped against the headboard while his -right shoulder dipped low. The muscles along his spine rose and fell softly with each breath.

But those two lash marks across his back made his pale skin look nearly translucent by contrast.

“You’ve been staring for fifteen minutes. Does Dr. Lin charge by the minute for admiring the view?”

His voice was low and hoarse, with a lazy edge that made the air itself tremble.

Scarlett’s fingers twitched. The cotton ball in her palm had soaked through, and she suddenly realized–she had been staring.

The shape of his scapula. The smooth arc from his spine to his waist. That newly inflicted lash mark on his shoulder, where torn flesh had scabbed over in dark red. Against such cold, pale skin, the wound stood out like a bloodstain on snow—blinding and impossible to ignore.

Her ears burned.

She cleared her throat quickly. Mr. Fletcher, just so we’re clear–I’m not a licensed physician. I’ll do my best, but it might not be perfect. If that’s an issue, you should call someone else.”

Jasper’s voice was even. “No. You’ll do.”

Sat, 10 Aug

Chapter 229 Beneath the Surface

She moved quietly around to the side of the bed. The moment her fingertips brushed the skin near his shoulder, the muscle beneath her touch tightened reflexively. Heat radiated from him, burning through her

hand.

As soon as the alcohol–soaked cotton touched the edge of the wound, a low sound escaped his throata soft, suppressed groan that dissolved into the warm light like smoke.

The breath hit her like a spark. Her fingers trembled slightly.

There was something in it–restraint, weight, the edge of something feral held just beneath the surface. It wasn’t pain alone. It was something else.

Something dangerous.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Everything inside her was a mess. Her pulse, her breath.

It took every ounce of self–control to pull her focus back to the wound.

She treated it with care–until-

“The wound…”

She stopped mid–sentence. Beneath what should’ve been raw, torn flesh, she spotted something strange- black, thread–like material clinging to the edges of the gash.

It looked like some kind of foreign object, deliberately embedded.

She instinctively leaned in closer. Her nose was nearly touching his back. When her hair brushed his waist, his breathing deepened.

A low vibration pulsed from his chest like the growl of a beast, provoked but unmoving–letting her continue, even as her fingertips slowly peeled away the scab.

She didn’t have time to think about anything else.

Her focus narrowed to the wound.

Sure enough, buried in the intersecting valleys of the two lash marks were thin, black threads, slick with pus and blood. They were slowly sinking deeper into the tissue–almost too subtle for the naked eye to notice. The skin around the site had begun to bruise in an unnatural bluish–purple hue.

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