MasukAlicia's POV I didn’t answer him. Not at first. I needed those few seconds to hold myself together. I recognized the script he’d walked in with—thirty seconds, one take, stand beside him—like everything I’d survived was just an inconvenience in the way of his world.Edward had stopped halfway into the room as if he’d rehearsed that exact distance. Crisp shirt. Not a hair out of place. He always looked like that when he wanted something handled quickly.“Alicia,” he said again, tone clipped. “We don’t have time. They’re waiting downstairs. You need to stand with me, smile, correct the narrative—”“I’ll go when I decide I’m ready,” I said finally. My voice wasn’t strong, but it held.He blinked once. Nothing dramatic—just the smallest tell that my answer wasn’t what he expected.“You’re joking,” he said.“No.” I kept my posture still, though everything inside my body felt otherwise. “I read the headlines. I know what people wrote while assuming I was unconscious and unable to defend my
I didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. The board demanded a response before evening, and only one solution remained—Alicia would speak.Five minutes. Maybe more. That was all I needed.If she dressed well, if she stood beside me, if my hand stayed firm at her back, steady enough to anchor her, no one would notice how fragile she really was. Optics first. Truth could wait.I pushed from the desk, reviewing the timeline again. Crisis posts had doubled since morning; the gala video had crossed a million views. PR kept sending drafts. None usable. The pattern was clear: nothing would land unless she appeared.I grabbed the phone. “Leo. Get over here. Finalize the setup downstairs—crew, lighting, and every detail. Neutral backdrop. Make it seamless.”A barked acknowledgment came through the line. I hung up, fingers tapping the desk. A beat of silence stretched as I pictured it: lights adjusted, crew in place, every frame under control, nothing to make her look off.Then the phone rang aga
Alicia's POV I must have fallen asleep. Or maybe just passed out. I couldn’t tell.When I woke, the world felt keen around the edges. On the nightstand, the chamomile Edward had ordered from the help sat half-drunk, already partially sipped. I hadn’t had the strength to finish it before dozing.My phone lay on the bed, vibrating endlessly. At first, I couldn’t lift a hand to it. Whether it had rung while I slept, I didn’t know. When I finally managed to move, I noticed the screen—missed calls. Too many. Lily, twice. My father. Unknown numbers. Notifications piling up faster than I can blink.A sick, sinking feeling crawled up my throat.I didn’t check any of it. I couldn’t. My eyes were blurry, my head thick with fog, and for a moment I convinced myself the ringing would eventually stop on its own.It didn’t.The phone trembled again, a jolt of sound that made me flinch. I stared at it, hesitant, as if touching it would make everything worse. Part of me wanted to leave it where it wa
Edward's POV Saturday morning slid past the windshield in soft, washed-out colors. Gray sky. Muted buildings. Trees along the road held their pale green leaves, swaying gently in the quiet breeze, like reluctant witnesses. The world looked drained, as if it had absorbed something it didn’t want to carry.Alicia sat beside me, angled toward her window. Her reflection—pale, fragile—floated faintly in the glass. She hadn’t spoken since we left the hospital. Hands folded in her lap, trembling just enough to see if you were looking closely.I kept my eyes on the road. Gave her that silence. Gave her the choice to look away. For several minutes, I let her stay at that distance, occupying her own space untouched. Then, slowly, I allowed myself a glance at her reflection, not a stare, not a lingering observation, just the first moment I actually looked at her.Her eyes lifted. Met mine for a fleeting second. Enough to catch the concern I hadn’t voiced. Then she turned back to the muted morni
Saturday morning crept in muted and gray, slipping through the curtains without ceremony. The light was dim and colorless, neither warm nor soft. Just there, uncaring if I woke.The quiet was fragile, tense, waiting. Not heavy this time, but delicate enough to make me hesitate.I pushed myself upright, slow and careful. The dizziness lingered, a soft throb behind my eyes, but it no longer threatened to topple me. My body ached, every muscle aware of yesterday’s strain, yet steady enough to hold me upright.A nurse entered, clipboard held close to her chest. She moved gently, almost reverently, as if disturbing the quietness could break it."Good morning, Mrs. Valentine. You slept for a few hours. How are you feeling today?"I swallowed. "Stronger."She checked my vitals. Temperature. Blood pressure. Oxygen levels. All calm, all quiet. She scribbled notes in careful handwriting. Her eyes kept flicking to my face, then away. Not pity exactly. Something else. Something guarded."Your ble
Alicia's POVI woke to the sterile quiet of the hospital room, the faint hum of machines blending with the slow tick of the wall clock. Morning light spilled thinly through the blinds, pale and sharp. I pressed my face against the crisp pillow, wishing I could disappear into it.My body ached in ways I hadn't known possible. Every muscle burned. My stomach felt hollow, raw, like the space where something had once lived. I hadn't moved when the nurse checked on me last night. I hadn't wanted to. I still didn't.Friday. I remembered the day only because of Lily. She was supposed to have her infusion today, probably the last one. I hadn’t been there yesterday. I hadn’t even called when she texted me. Now my body refused me. My head spun with the memory of that sharp, relentless pain, of my body giving out, of being caught just in time.I tried to sit up, but the room tilted violently, forcing me back onto the bed. My hands clawed at the sheets for some purchase in the world. I wasn't wea







