Hello Father
957 Words
Camila sat on the cold plastic chair, wringing her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart beat too fast. Her mind raced even faster.
Today was the surgery.
Today they were cutting open her twelve-year-old brother’s fragile body.
And she couldn't do anything but wait.
She stood up again, paced in circles like a trapped bird, then sat back down.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Damien said from where he sat, legs crossed, back straight, like this was some boardroom meeting. “Sit.”
Camila stopped pacing. “You don’t get it,” she snapped, her voice tight with emotion. “He’s just a boy, Damien. He’s all I have. And now he's lying on some cold table with strangers cutting into him.”
“I get it,” Damien said quietly, though he didn’t sound like he did. His eyes flicked to the hallway, then back to her. “But stressing won’t change the outcome.”
Camila folded her arms and looked away. “You don’t know how it feels.”
Damien didn’t respond. He tapped his phone, then shoved it into his pocket. After a long silence, he stood.
“I’ll get coffee,” he said. “You clearly need something.”
Then he walked away. Camila didn’t even look up.
Two hours passed but it felt like forever.
The waiting room TV played something about a celebrity wedding, but Camila didn’t see or hear it. Her mind was in that operating room, with Mateo
“Miss Reyes?” a voice called, pulling her from her thoughts.
She shot up. A man in scrubs walked toward her. He looked calm, which made her chest tighten with hope.
“I’m Dr. Charles,” he said with a soft smile. “Your brother’s surgeon.”
Camila grabbed Damien’s arm without realizing it. He had returned quietly and was standing next to her now.
“Is he...?”
“The surgery went well,” Dr. Charles said gently. “Your brother is stable. Everything went as planned.”
A sound left her chest, part sob, part relief.
“Can I see him?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Just for a few minutes,” the doctor nodded. “He needs to rest.”
Camila didn’t wait for more. She hurried down the hallway with the doctor, Damien trailing behind silently.
Inside the ICU, the world slowed. Her brother looked so small, surrounded by wires and machines that beeped softly. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted. But he was breathing.
Tears ran down her cheeks. She sat beside him and took his hand gently.
“You scared me, Matty,” she whispered, brushing his hair back. “But you’re okay now. You hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
She bent and kissed his cheek, salty tears touching his skin.
“I have money now,” she murmured. “You’re going to get every treatment you need. You’re going to live, Matty. I promise.”
She stayed a little longer, then stood and walked back out, wiping her tears. Damien was waiting near the door, his hands in his pockets.
His expression was unreadable.
“He’s strong,” he said softly.
Camila nodded. “Thank you… for helping us.”
Damien didn’t reply. He just gave a small nod.
Then his voice shifted, colder. “Tonight, there’s a charity gala. My father will be there.”
Something in the way he said “father” made her pause.
Camila looked at him. “You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I’m not,” Damien said simply. “Be ready by seven.”
************
Back at the penthouse, Camila barely had time to breathe.
The place turned into a fashion warzone, stylists everywhere, makeup artists, hair tools buzzing, dresses flying. One woman curled her hair, another fixed her brows, another zipped her into a dress that didn’t even feel like her.
When it was over, she stared at her reflection.
The woman in the mirror wasn’t a struggling hotel maid anymore.
She looked like she belonged beside a billionaire.
By seven, she walked downstairs slowly, heart hammering in her chest.
Damien stood at the foot of the stairs in a sharp black tuxedo. Dark, dangerous, cold.
He looked like a man sculpted to perfection.
And still, he looked good.
His eyes flicked up to her, unreadable as always.
“You look... okay,” he said.
Camila blinked. “Okay?”
He shrugged. “It’ll do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Glad to know you’re a romantic.”
They stepped into the limousine, which looked like something out of a movie. Champagne chilled in a gold bucket. The leather seats were softer than any bed she’d ever slept in.
When they arrived at the gala, camera flashes exploded like fireworks.
The second they stepped out, paparazzi swarmed.
“Mr. Wolfe, who’s the mystery woman?”
“Are the rumors true? Are you engaged?”
“Who is she?”
Damien said nothing.
His hand tightened around Camila’s waist as they made their way through the chaos, toward the entrance lined with velvet ropes and red carpet.
Inside, the gala glittered with chandeliers and people wearing diamonds like it was casual.
Camila was still catching her breath when Damien’s entire posture changed.
His jaw clenched. His hand dropped from her waist.
Camila followed his gaze, and saw an older man, tall and cold-eyed, walking toward them with a half-smirk.
The resemblance was instant.
“Julien Wolfe,” Damien said under his breath.
His father.
Julien reached them and barely glanced at Camila before looking his son straight in the eye.
“And who’s this new b***h you’re dragging around now?”
- Writer
