Chapter 8. Games Behind Closed Doors

Ariella's POV.

I was alone in the hospital under the strict watch of Dr. Holden. But what Damon and others doesn't know is the relationship between and the hospital. I was in private executive ward.

The monitor beside my bed beeped steadily. Calm. Controlled. A perfect place to lie.

I wasn’t sick. But I needed to be seen as fragile, worn out, breakable.

Dr. Holden had played his part well. “You’ll stay overnight,” he said after his examination. “Severe fatigue. Emotional exhaustion. Standard.” Then his voice dropped low, near my ear. “Even hospitals have ears. Watch yourself.”

I already was. I smiled and kept myself curled under the hospital duvet. As the nurse stepped out, I took out the remote tucked under my pillow. I flipped the switch. The red light blinked once, recording. Let them come.

Just then the door cracked open. Jace walked in smiling. “I brought you something to help you feel human again. He said, lifting the bottle. “And dark chocolates. Imported. Damon never thinks of these things, does he?”

I pushed myself upright, careful to let the gown slip slightly off my shoulder. “I didn’t expect you.”

He smiled as if he’d won something. “He didn’t send me. Said you were resting. But I figured... you might need someone who actually sees you.”

I let my lips curve faintly. “You always show up when I least expect it.”

He sat close, too close, his knee brushing mine. He poured wine into plastic hospital cups like it was a penthouse lounge.

“Damon’s at the office,” he said. “Or with his latest mess. You know how he operates.”

“He barely speaks to me anymore,” I murmured.

“Barely?” Jace scoffed. “He never spoke to you. He married you for the optics. The pawn. The press. You were never supposed to matter.”

I looked away, pretending to falter. “Then why are you here?” I asked.

He moved closer lowered his voice and replied. “Because I know what it feels like to be used. And because I think you’re smarter than he realizes.”

I didn’t answer. I let silence hold its breath.

He filled it. “That charity fund he set up, the one sending ‘medical aid’ overseas?”

I tilted my head, eyes steady. “Yes?”

“It’s a front. Money goes in, gets bleached, then shows up clean in shell accounts. From there, weapons move. Quietly. Efficiently.”

I kept my expression neutral, but inside, my breath had gone thin. “Are you sure?”

“I helped write the contracts.” He took another sip. “Even Holden signs off on shipments that don’t exist.”

My hands tightened under the sheet. “And you’re just telling me this… out of kindness?”

“No. I’m telling you because you need to stop pretending Damon will protect you.” His gaze sharpened. “You think he’s cold now? Wait until you outlive your use.”

His fingers brushed mine.

I didn’t pull away.

“What happened to Joshua?” I asked suddenly.

He froze. His smile cracked slightly.

“Damon said he left the country,” I added. “But… I never believed it.”

Jace looked away. “He got curious. Asked too many questions. Next thing we know, he’s gone. No calls. No trace. Damon made a call. And that was that.”

Josh. Sweet, careful, loyal. Gone.

I kept my voice soft. “You think I’m in danger.”

“I think you’re already drowning,” he said. “And I want to be the one who throws you a rope.”

He leaned in and touched my jaw. “Let me help you, Ariella. Damon doesn’t deserve you.”

His lips touched mine.

I let them. Just long enough.

Then I turned my face, slow and deliberate. “Not here. Not tonight.”

He laughed low, satisfied. “Tomorrow, then.”

He stood, brushed off his shirt. “You’ll see. I’m the only one telling you the truth.”

I watched him leave. The door closed behind him, I shook my head. As soon as the handle clicked, I pulled out the remote and flipped it open. The recorder blinked red.

I hit play.

His voice spilled out, clear, arrogant, and incriminating.

“Even Holden signs off on medical shipments that don’t exist.”

Click.

“I helped write the contracts.”

Click.

“He’ll burn you the minute you stop being useful.”

I stopped it, chest rising with the kind of breath you only take when you know something irreversible has happened. There it was, the truth, evidence and the leverage.

A knock tapped against the door. Dr. Holden stepped in, eyes cautious.

“Feeling any better?”

I looked up. “Can I stay another night?”

He studied me longer than usual. “Should I ask why?”

“No.”

He nodded once. “Then I won’t.”

He left as quietly as he came.

A minute later, Nurse Alina came in. “Still feeling tired, Mrs. Thorne?” She asked.

I nodded, voice soft. “Just enough to stay.”

She jotted something down, but her gaze stayed on me. “Your blood pressure’s stable. Oxygen’s fine. No dehydration. Not even a fever. Dr. Holden said fatigue, right?”

I blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” She peeled back the cuff from the monitor and adjusted my IV line. “Strange how stress looks like perfect vitals.”

I offered a weak smile. “Not all wounds show up on charts.”

Alina tilted her head. “True. But in my experience, most patients who are emotionally exhausted don’t wear full makeup and perfect lashes.”

I met her gaze. Calm. Steady. “Maybe it’s the only armor I have left.”

She held my stare for a beat too long, then glanced at the corner of the room,the wall camera blinking red.

When she turned back, her voice lowered. “You weren’t sleeping when Jace came in.”

I didn’t answer.

Alina gave a small shrug. “I won’t ask. But others might.”

She walked to the door, paused, and added without looking at me, “The walls here? And the night shift likes to gossip.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

I lay back down, the recorder held against my chest.

Somewhere outside, I heard an engine idling too long. I didn’t move and I didn’t need to look. I know they were watching. Let them, I wasn’t prey anymore. “You’re both going down,” I whispered.