Elena’s POV
“Damian left you here for Isabella, didn’t he?”
Samantha’s voice hung in the air between us, sharp enough to cut. I stared at the thin hospital blanket covering my legs and at the white bandage wrapped tight around my upper arm, at anything except her face. The fluorescent lights above the bed buzzed faintly.
My throat felt dry.
“He… he got a call,” I said finally. The words came out small. “From her. She was shaken. He said she has trauma and that these things are hard for her to bear.”
Samantha made a sound that was half laugh, half something uglier.
“Hard for her to bear? Oh, please. You just got shot, Ellie. You’re the one sitting here with stitches while he runs off to hold her hand.”
I pressed my good hand against the edge of the mattress. “It happened fast. He panicked. He thought the gun was aimed at her.”
“And then he left you alone in a treatment room so he could go check on the woman who wasn’t even hit.” Samantha stepped closer, arms crossed. “This isn’t about one night. This has happened countless times. Cancelled dates. Distant looks. Her name in every conversation. Twelve years, and you’re still making excuses for him.”
“Ellie?”
My chest tightened. I wanted to argue. The old instinct rose up—to defend him, smooth it over, and keep the peace. Instead, I only whispered, “I can’t just throw away twelve years.”
Samantha’s expression softened for a second, then hardened again. “Then those twelve years are going to keep you in the dark, Ellie.”
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated on the side table. The screen lit up with Dad’s name.
I answered on the second ring.
“Elena.” His voice was low, controlled, the way it always got when he was furious. “I just heard. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s only a graze.”
“A graze that required stitches because your fiancé decided protecting another woman was more important than protecting you.” Silence stretched for a beat. “Where is he right now?”
I closed my eyes. “He… stepped out. Isabella was distressed.”
Dad exhaled hard through his nose. “Do not marry Damian Hawthorne, Ellie. I won’t repeat myself again.”
The words landed like a slap.
“But, Dad…”
“Listen to me, young lady. You have given that man chance after chance. He has shown you, repeatedly, where you stand. You better leave him and come home tonight.”
My fingers curled into the blanket.
“I… I can’t just walk away. We’ve been together since I was fifteen. That’s half my life. He deserves one more chance to make this right.”
“Loving someone is not enough to make them love you the way you deserve, Ellie.” His voice gentled, but the steel underneath stayed. “One day, you will understand that. I only hope it doesn’t cost you more than an arm.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back. “I have to try, Dad.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I’m not in support of this. Just know that your brother and I will not stand by and watch him keep breaking you.”
The call ended.
I lowered the phone to my lap, staring at the dark screen until Samantha’s hand settled on my shoulder.
“Your dad’s right,” she said quietly.
I didn’t get the chance to answer.
The door flew open hard enough to bounce against the wall.
My older brother, Lucas, filled the doorway, still dressed in his work clothes. His dark hair was messy, as though he had run his hands through it repeatedly, and his jaw was set like stone.
Lucas had always been protective of me, sometimes unbearably so. But one look at his face told me this wasn't going to be one of those times when I could simply tell him to calm down.
His eyes scanned the room, landed on the empty chair beside my bed, then finally found me.
“Where is he?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing useful came out.
Lucas strode in and stopped at the foot of the bed. “Samantha called me. Said you got shot and your precious fiancé disappeared. So where the hell is Damian?”
“Lucas, I…”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “I already know. He’s with her, isn’t he?”
My silence was enough.
Lucas’s expression darkened. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not leaving. The doctor said…”
“I don’t give a damn what the doctor said. You’re not staying in this room alone while he plays nursemaid to Isabella.” He reached for my good arm. “We’re going to find him. Right now.”
I tried to pull back. “Lucas, stop. You’re overreacting.”
He didn’t let go. His grip was firm but careful of the bandage. “Overreacting is what happens when your little sister gets a bullet graze and the man who put a ring on her finger can’t be bothered to sit with her. Move, young lady.”
Samantha stepped aside without a word. I let Lucas pull me to my feet. The floor felt unsteady under my thin hospital socks. My arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
We walked the corridor in silence. Nurses glanced at us. A security guard near the elevators watched Lucas’s face and wisely said nothing. At the nurses’ station, Lucas asked one clipped question. The woman behind the desk hesitated, then pointed down another hallway.
Room 214.
I heard Damian’s voice before we reached the door.
Soft.
Steady.
The same tone he used when I had nightmares years ago.
Lucas didn’t knock. He pushed the door open.
Isabella lay propped against white pillows, a thin blanket over her legs. Her blonde hair was artfully mussed.
No bandage.
No blood.
Just wide blue eyes and a trembling lower lip.
Damian sat on the edge of the bed, one hand covering both of hers, the other brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
He looked up.
For a second, his face went blank. Then something like guilt flickered and vanished.
“Ellie… what are you doing out of bed?”