A Choice of Our Own

Too Late

"Aniya?"

Marco's voice sounded distant. Very distant. Because all I could hear was the doctor's words echoing in my head.

Your brother collapsed.

Collapsed.

The word repeated itself, over and over, like a record stuck on a broken loop.

"Aniya."

I was already moving. Running. The elevator. The hallway. Anything. Everything. Nothing mattered except Luca.

"Miss Russo!" Marco stepped in front of me before I could reach the elevator.

"Move."

"You're shaking."

"I said move."

His expression hardened. "I'll drive."

For once, I didn't argue. Because I couldn't. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.

The journey to the hospital felt endless. Every red light was an enemy. Every second felt stolen. I sat in the back seat, staring at my phone, willing it to light up with good news.

No new messages. No updates. Nothing.

The silence was unbearable.

"What happened?" Marco's voice cut through the fog.

I couldn't form a full sentence. "My brother."

That was all I managed. The words caught in my throat like glass.

Marco nodded once. Then, he pressed the accelerator harder. For the first time since meeting him, he looked almost human.

The hospital doors burst open. I ran inside. The reception desk. The corridor. The elevators. People turned to stare. I didn't care.

"Miss Russo." A nurse intercepted me.

"Where's Luca?"

"He's stable."

The relief hit so hard my knees nearly buckled. Stable. Not dead. Stable. I closed my eyes for a second and let myself breathe.

Thank God.

"Can I see him?"

The nurse hesitated. "He's asleep."

I nodded. That was enough. As long as he was breathing. As long as he was still here. That was enough.

The room was quiet when I entered. Machines beeped softly, a steady rhythm that felt both reassuring and terrifying. Luca lay on the hospital bed, paler than before. Smaller somehow. Fragile.

I hated seeing him like this. He'd always been the cheerful one. The loud one. The one who made terrible jokes and laughed at his own punchlines. The one who pretended everything was okay even when it clearly wasn't.

Now he just looked tired, so tired.

I sat beside him. And for the first time that day, I cried silently,carefully,the kind of crying you do when nobody's supposed to notice.

"I'm trying." My voice cracked. "I'm really trying."

The words disappeared into the room. No answer came back. Only the steady rhythm of the monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I lowered my head onto the edge of his bed. Exhaustion settled over me like a weighted blanket. How much longer could I do this? How much longer could I keep fighting?

The answer came sooner than I expected.

A knock at the door. I wiped my eyes quickly. "Come in."

The doctor entered. His expression was serious. Immediately, my stomach dropped.

"What is it?"

He hesitated. Never a good sign. "Miss Russo..."

Fear returned cold,sharp,merciless.

"The surgery can no longer wait." He paused. "We estimate two weeks."

Two weeks. Not six. Not a month. Two weeks.

"After that..." He stopped. He didn't need to finish. I understood. Perfectly.

The room became very quiet. Too quiet. When the doctor finally left, I remained motionless, staring at the floor thinking,calculating,praying,failing.

Because there was only one solution left. One. The answer I'd spent two days trying to avoid.

Marriage. The contract. Damiano De Luca.

A soft knock interrupted my spiral. I looked up. Marco stood in the doorway, expressionless as always. But his eyes moved briefly toward Luca, then back to me.

"The boss sent me."

I laughed bitterly. Of course he did. "Why?"

Marco stepped forward and placed a small black envelope on the table beside me. Then he turned and left. No explanation. No speech. Just the envelope.

I stared at it for several seconds. Then I picked it up slowly.

Inside was a single card. Nothing else. Just a message.

Three words.

The offer remains.

I closed my eyes. Because for the first time since receiving that contract, I didn't know if I could say no.