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1014 Words
05
The steady beep... beep... beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room.
Elara sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the man in the bed. Damien looked pale. The arrogance that usually defined his features was gone, replaced by a mask of pain and exhaustion.
In the corner of the room lay a pile of clothes. His custom Italian suit, the crisp white shirt—now shredded and stiff with dried blood.
He had taken the blow for her. The doctors said if the metal bar had hit two inches to the left, it would have severed his spine.
"Stop staring," a raspy voice whispered. "I’m not dead yet."
Elara jumped. Damien’s eyes were open, hazy with painkillers but fixed on her.
"You're an i***t," Elara said, her voice cracking. "Why did you do that? You could have died."
"Better me than you," Damien managed a weak smirk. "The world needs its new jewelry queen. It doesn't need another failed CEO."
"Don't joke." Elara stood up, walking to the window to hide her tears. "You divorced me. You humiliated me. You chose Isabella. Why play the hero now?"
Damien tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his back. "I didn't choose Isabella because I loved her, Elara. I chose her because she was... safe."
"Safe? She was a liar."
"She was stupid," Damien corrected. "I knew she was just after money. That made her predictable. But you..." He looked at Elara’s back. "You terrified me."
Elara turned around, frowning. "I washed your clothes. I cooked your meals. I waited for you every night. How was I terrifying?"
Damien closed his eyes, taking a ragged breath. "Open the drawer in the nightstand. My wallet. Look inside the hidden fold."
Elara hesitated, then opened the drawer. She found his leather wallet. Inside a zippered compartment, there was a small, folded piece of paper. It was worn, as if it had been read a thousand times.
She unfolded it. It was a background check report from three years ago.
SUBJECT: ELARA VANCE (ALIAS: UNKNOWN ORPHAN)
FLAG: HIGH RISK. POTENTIAL CORPORATE ESPIONAGE AGENT FOR RIVAL FIRMS.
NOTE: GRANDFATHER THORNE SUSPECTS SHE IS A HONEY TRAP.
Elara stared at the paper. "You thought I was a spy?"
"My grandfather threatened to disown me if I married you," Damien confessed softly. "He said you were too perfect. No one is that selfless without an agenda. He planted the idea in my head that you were sent to destroy Thorne Corp from the inside."
"So you treated me like trash to keep your guard up?" Elara asked, her voice trembling with anger. "You hurt me for three years to protect your company?"
"I treated you coldly because I was falling in love with you," Damien whispered. "And I couldn't afford to love a spy. When Isabella came back, I used her as an excuse to push you away. I thought if I let you go, I’d be safe."
He looked at her, his eyes raw and vulnerable.
"Then I saw you at the Gala. I saw the real you. And I realized... I wasn't protecting the company. I was just a coward running away from the only real thing in my life."
Elara crumpled the paper in her fist.
Three years of pain. All because of a misunderstanding? All because he was too proud to ask her the truth?
"It's too late, Damien," she said. The anger was gone, replaced by a deep, exhausting sadness. "You didn't trust me then. You only want me now because I’m Elara Vance, the powerful heiress. If I were still the orphan girl, you would still be with Isabella."
"No!" Damien reached out, his hand shaking. "I saved you tonight, didn't I? I didn't know the rig was going to fall. I just knew I couldn't watch you get hurt."
"You saved my life," Elara acknowledged. She walked to the bed and placed the crumpled paper on his chest. "Thank you. Truly. But you broke my heart long before tonight. And that... that can't be fixed with surgery."
She picked up her purse.
"Where are you going?" Panic spiked in Damien’s voice.
"Paris," Elara said. "The private jet is waiting. I need to be away from Singapore. Away from you. I can't do this anymore, Damien."
"Elara, don't go. Give me a chance to earn it back. I’ll give you the company. I’ll give you everything!"
"I have everything I need," she said softly. "Except peace."
She walked out of the room. The door clicked shut, cutting off his plea.
Damien stared at the closed door. The silence of the hospital room was deafening. It felt like a tomb.
Paris. She was leaving. For good.
If she got on that plane, he would never see her again. She would find someone else—maybe that model cousin, maybe someone better. She would become a memory.
"No," Damien growled.
He tried to move. Fire exploded in his shoulder.
He grabbed the IV line taped to his hand.
Rip.
Blood welled up where the needle tore out. He didn't feel it.
He grabbed the heart monitor leads on his chest and tore them off. The machine began to shriek a high-pitched alarm.
Beep-beep-beep-beep!
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room spun. His vision blurred. He grabbed the IV pole to steady himself, his hospital gown flapping open, sweat pouring down his face.
Nurses rushed into the room.
"Mr. Thorne! What are you doing? You have internal bleeding!"
"Get out of my way," Damien snarled, shoving past a terrified nurse. He stumbled into the hallway, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the linoleum floor.
"Mr. Thorne, you can't leave! You’ll die!"
"If I don't catch her," Damien gritted his teeth, leaning against the wall and pushing himself forward, "I’m dead anyway."
He limped toward the elevators, looking like a madman, fueled by nothing but adrenaline and three years of regret. He had to get to Changi Airport. Even if he had to crawl.
- Writer
