Chapter 14: The Breaking Point
1093 Words
Avena’s POV
The exhaustion had settled deep in my bones, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. Not that I had been getting any.
One month.
One month of balancing everything, of pushing myself beyond what was humanly possible.
Mornings before the sun rose, textbooks and manuscript pages blurring together as I tried to cram weeks’ worth of learning into hours. Afternoons spent at school, trying to keep up, trying not to let my grades slip. Evenings consumed by work—Damian’s endless demands, his unrelenting pace, the constant need to prove that I could handle everything he threw at me.
And in between it all, there was Dad.
Dad, whose condition wasn’t improving, despite the medication, despite the doctor’s visits.
Dad, who tried to smile when I came home late at night, exhausted, but whose hands shook when he reached for his glass of water.
Dad, who had been my whole world since I was a kid, and who I was terrified of losing.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on fear.
There was always something that needed to be done.
And today was no different.
I had managed a granola bar sometime around noon—if I could even call that eating—but otherwise, I had run on coffee and adrenaline, determined to power through.
And I had.
I had finished the market reports. I had compiled the manuscript evaluations. I had handled all of Damian’s ridiculous last-minute revisions.
I had done everything.
Which was why, when I saw the clock strike past eight, I allowed myself the smallest exhale of relief.
I was done.
I could go home.
But then—
"Cross."
I froze, fingers tightening slightly on the desk.
His voice. That smooth, calm, infuriating voice.
I turned, meeting his gaze across the office.
He was standing in his doorway, his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, his tie slightly loosened. Unfairly attractive, as always.
"My office. Now."
I wanted to scream.
But instead, I nodded, swallowing my frustration as I grabbed my notes and headed toward him.
Whatever it was, I would deal with it. Like I always did.
I had barely stepped inside his office when my phone rang.
I frowned, fishing it out of my pocket.
Dad.
My stomach twisted.
Dad never called.
Not at this hour.
Not unless—
I answered immediately.
"Dad?"
But it wasn’t his voice that replied.
"Is this Avena Cross?"
The world slowed.
"Yes," I whispered.
"This is Dr. Sullivan from Lenox Hill Hospital. Your father was brought in a short while ago. We need you to come immediately."
Everything inside me went cold.
"What—what happened?"
"He suffered a seizure. We’ve stabilized him, but we need to discuss his condition. How soon can you get here?"
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
"I—I’m coming now."
I hung up before he could say anything else.
My fingers were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
"Cross?"
I flinched, suddenly remembering that I wasn’t alone.
Damian was still standing there, watching me.
And for the first time since I had met him, I saw something in his expression that I had never seen before.
Concern.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice even, controlled.
I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat.
I shook my head, inhaling sharply. Not now. I had to go. I had to get to Dad.
I turned toward the door, moving on instinct, but then Damian was in front of me.
Blocking my path.
"Cross." His voice was firm. "Tell me what’s going on."
I swallowed hard, my breath coming too fast.
"It’s my dad," I forced out. "He’s in the hospital. I—I need to go."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"I’ll take you."
I blinked, my mind barely processing his words.
"What?"
"I’ll drive you," he repeated, already grabbing his jacket.
"You don’t have to—"
"I’m not arguing, Cross. Let’s go."
And before I could fight it, before I could insist that I could handle this alone, he was already leading me out the door.
The drive to the hospital was a blur.
Damian didn’t say anything, and for once, I was grateful.
I stared out the window, hands clenched in my lap, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Dad.
Please, please be okay.
The thought kept looping in my head, over and over, until it was all I could hear.
By the time we pulled up to the hospital, my fingers were numb from gripping the seat.
I barely waited for the car to stop before I was out the door, practically running toward the entrance.
I heard footsteps behind me—Damian.
I didn’t have time to question why he was still here.
I just ran.
The emergency room was bright, sterile, too quiet.
I reached the front desk, my voice breathless.
"My father. James Cross. He was brought in earlier—"
"Room 307," the nurse said gently.
I nodded, already moving.
Damian was still with me.
I didn’t stop him.
I couldn’t focus on anything except getting to Dad.
I pushed open the door—
And my heart stopped.
He was lying in the hospital bed, pale, too still.
Wires and monitors beeped around him, his breathing slow, measured.
"Dad," I whispered, stepping forward.
His eyes fluttered open, hazy and tired.
"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice weak.
Something inside me cracked.
I sank into the chair beside him, grabbing his hand.
"You scared me."
His fingers squeezed mine, barely there.
"I’m okay, baby. Just tired."
I shook my head, blinking back the burning behind my eyes.
"You’re not okay, Dad. You need to stop pretending you are."
A soft sigh.
"I didn’t want you to worry."
"I always worry." My voice broke. "But you need to let me help you. Please."
He gave me a small, tired smile.
"You help me every day, sweetheart."
A lump formed in my throat.
I didn’t realize I was shaking until I felt warmth settle against my back.
A firm, grounding presence.
I looked up, and for the first time, I saw Damian in a different way.
Not as my boss. Not as the arrogant billionaire who infuriated me.
But as someone who had been standing here, silent, watching, offering support without saying a word.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away.
"He’s going to be okay," Damian said quietly.
I nodded, gripping Dad’s hand tighter.
But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
- Writer
