The Regretful CEO's Comeback

The hospital corridor stretched long and white. Elodie Mercer sat outside the examination room, waiting. Minutes earlier, she had been turning her car onto the main road near the film set when a figure walking perfectly fine along the curb suddenly lunged in front of her vehicle. Elodie swerved hard. She missed the person by inches. She stepped out of the car and realized the near-victim was none other than Seraphina Valez—the woman entangled with her husband, Damian Waverly. Elodie hadn't touched her. Not even a scratch. Yet Seraphina still crumpled to the ground in a theatrical heap, and her manager, Marissa Kline, wouldn't let it go. Marissa insisted on dragging Elodie to the hospital to get Seraphina treated, and even called Damian. Polished leather shoes and a stride sharp as a blade came to a halt directly before Elodie's downcast eyes. Her lashes, long and fine, gave the smallest quiver. Her gaze climbed slowly up those long legs until she lifted her head to face the man standing over her. A face cut with clean, chiseled lines—devastatingly handsome, the kind of face sculptors would dream of. It was Damian. His eyes were ice. The look hit her somewhere deep in the chest. But Damian hadn't come to the hospital to back her up. He had come to check on the woman who was playing injured to frame her—Seraphina. The woman who lived in Damian's heart. The unfairness of it swelled inside Elodie, hot and tight. Her throat had gone dry, and her voice came out scraped raw. 'If I tell him I'm being set up, will he even believe me?' The man stood tall and imposing, all hard lines and downward assessment. He regarded her with a flat, wordless stare. Damian caught the faint shimmer threatening to spill over in Elodie's eyes. Something in him twisted, a small reluctant ache. But he shoved it aside and told himself she was only putting on a performance, even now. Elodie parted her lips—another sentence forming—when the door to the hospital room swung open. Out stepped Marissa, Seraphina's manager. The sight of the imposing figure stationed just outside the door improved Marissa's sour expression. "Mr. Waverly. You're here." Damian's sculpted features betrayed nothing. His voice came out low and cold. "How is she?" "Both palms were scraped up and bleeding. The doctor cleaned and dressed the wounds, but..." Marissa paused, her tone darkening. "Seraphina was badly shaken. Her nerves are a mess right now." As she spoke, Marissa let her gaze slide over to Elodie, subtle as a knife slipped under a sleeve. Elodie remained seated. She appeared utterly unbothered by the glance—cold and venomous as it was. Marissa's voice turned syrupy with accusation. "It's a blessing Seraphina has strong luck on her side. Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking about a little blood and some frayed nerves. That road was enormous. The car went straight for her. I think she did it on purpose!" Elodie's expression stayed cool. She answered without a trace of submission. "The road was enormous. She walked straight into my car. I think she did it on purpose." Marissa hadn't expected that. Her barbs hit empty air. She wanted a fight and found no opening. It left her choking on her own frustration. Something flickered behind Damian's eyes, a brief moment where Elodie's words seemed to land—but he smoothed his face back into unreadable stillness before it could take hold. Stung, Marissa turned toward the more receptive target. "Mr. Waverly, please go in and see her. Just seeing you might calm her down." Damian gave a single nod. Marissa stepped aside quickly. Elodie watched him stride into the hospital room on those long legs. He had been utterly silent throughout, not a single word thrown in her direction. A dry, humorless laugh almost bubbled up inside her. 'Can I really believe this? The man who cares more about another woman right now, who couldn't even ask if I was okay... he's my husband.' But then again, Seraphina had always mattered more than she did. Always. The doctor had finished treating Seraphina's wounds and left the room. She lay on the hospital bed, her body still trembling from the shock, unable to steady herself, until Damian walked in. "Damian..." Her eyes brightened. She made a move to sit up. Damian pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Lie back and rest. Don't move around." "What are you doing here?" She looked at him. "Did Marissa call you?" He made a low sound of confirmation. "It's just a few scrapes. She overreacted. No reason to make you come all the way down here for something so minor." She said all the right things, but her bandaged hands and the pale, fragile cast of her face told a different story. The dismissive tone only made her seem more delicate, more deserving of sympathy. Seraphina leaned back against the pillows. A genuine smile touched her lips. "Still, thank you for coming. I'm really happy." He settled into the chair beside her bed. The seat was neither tall nor short, but his long legs, wrapped in those black dress trousers, still seemed to have nowhere to go. "How are you feeling now? Any better?" "Much better. Marissa went to get some ointment. I'll rest a little longer, and then I can go home." Damian nodded. "I'll drive you back." "No need. It's still early. You must have a mountain of work waiting. I can get myself home." He looked at her, his tone mild and even. "Nothing much going on today. I have time." Damian was, by nature, a man of cold temperament and a short fuse. Only with Seraphina did his patience and his mood warm into something enviably gentle. Elodie knew this. She had always known it. And still she couldn't deny the way it stung her—sharp and precise, right between the ribs. She had been standing in the doorway for a long while. Her voice broke the moment, offbeat and out of place. "This was my fault. I've already called the police. They're at the scene now taking photos. You should stay in the hospital for a few days of observation, just to be safe. I'll cover all the expenses." Neither Seraphina nor Damian seemed to notice her until she spoke, as though she had only just materialized in the doorway. "Ms. Mercer, don't blame yourself." Seraphina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with practiced grace. "I wasn't seriously hurt. There's no need to go through all the trouble of a police report. I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose." The face she presented was all goodwill, generous and lovely, the kind of face that won people over at first glance. Elodie, however, found Seraphina's choice of words exquisitely pointed. When Elodie married Damian, the wedding had been simple and low-key. The circumstances surrounding it were far from beautiful. But everyone in their circle, friends and family alike, knew about the marriage. And Seraphina had known Damian long before any of that. No one understood the relationship between Elodie and Damian better than she did. 'She knows exactly what we are. That's why she called me Ms. Mercer. Not Mrs. Waverly. She wanted me to hear it. My marriage. What a joke. I'm the only one pretending.' Elodie's face remained cool and composed. "The proper procedures still need to be followed. The proper compensation still needs to be paid. I won't shirk my responsibility." Seraphina smiled. "Given our relationship, there's really no need for all that." 'Our relationship. What relationship? The bond of two women loving the same man?' Seraphina turned toward Damian, her delicate features arranged like a painting. "Damian, talk to Ms. Mercer for me. It's not like I need the money. There's no point making things complicated." Before Damian could offer any response, Elodie's hands, hanging at her sides, curled into tight fists. One thing was one thing. She had almost hit Seraphina with her car. That part was on her. Hearing these words from almost anyone else would have been fine. But this was Seraphina. Coming from her, with her unusually close connection to Damian, the words carried weight. They carried implication. They carried a palpable dismissiveness, the casual disregard of a woman who saw no reason to take the rightful wife seriously. Elodie held herself in check for a long beat. Then a faint, cool smile crossed her lips. "You really are kind, forgiving, and generous. But if I'm not mistaken, Damian and I are married. Given your position, it's not really his place to help you persuade his wife." Seraphina's expression flickered with discomfort. "I was only trying to be helpful..." "Save your helpfulness for someone else." The curve of Elodie's mouth turned cold. "The reason you don't need the money is that my husband is the one bankrolling your life. If I were stingy enough to skip out on the little bit I owe you, I'd never hear the end of it." Damian turned his gaze toward her, his voice flat. "You don't have to accept someone's goodwill. That doesn't mean you need to speak so unpleasantly." Elodie kept smiling, a smile that died well before it reached her eyes. "Rushing to defend the woman you care about? Worried someone might miss the story here? Two hearts, two longing gazes, and a relationship that can't exactly stand the light of day?" Damian's face went rigid. He hadn't expected words so harsh—not from her. But beneath the shock, something else rose up—a raw and nameless ache. 'Is that really what she thinks of me?'