Chefe

I knew that watch. It was the one Damian never missed a family meeting without. I couldn't be mistaken.

Vincent's next message came through: "That's Damian, right?"

"He's out here planning to marry someone else and you're still playing the loyal wife he doesn't deserve."

Vincent never softened his words. But I knew he meant well.

And honestly, I already knew.

Damian had gone five years barely sleeping to pay for my surgery. Days collecting debts for the family. Nights doing wet work. Early mornings at my hospital bedside. All of it for me.

Back then I'd made myself a promise: this man bought my life with his blood, and no matter what happened, whether he wanted me or not, I'd never let go.

I looked down at the photo on my phone.

The girl was maybe eighteen, nineteen. Pretty face, pale enough to look fragile. Honestly, she reminded me a little of my younger self.

I closed my eyes, then opened the messaging app. Damian's thread.

Three hours ago I'd sent him a dozen messages: was he coming home tonight, should I keep dinner, was something going on with the family.

He'd just replied. Two words:

"Business."

I looked at that word for a moment, let out a small laugh, checked the hospital location Vincent had sent me, and walked out the door.

I took a cab over. The moment I stepped out, the sky opened up, heavy rain with no warning. My hair was soaked through before I could do anything about it.

I didn't care. I stopped at a vendor on the street and picked something up, an expensive bouquet arrangement, then headed into the hospital, checked in at the front desk, and made my way to the VIP ward. I knocked.

"Who is it?"

A girl's voice from inside. I didn't answer.

Then another voice, one I knew by heart.

"Stay there, I'll get it."

Damian.

So this was what handling family business looked like these days.

The door opened. Damian's face carried a softness I hadn't seen in years.

The moment he saw me, it vanished.

"You? How did you even find—" His voice dropped, and he shifted in the doorway, blocking the gap like he was shielding whoever was inside. "What are you doing here? You're not going to make a scene, are you? This is a hospital."

"Nina just had surgery. She can't handle stress. If you have something to say, say it out here."

I hadn't said a word.

I laughed quietly, to myself.

"Handle? I thought you were handling family business."

"Do you have to do this right now?" Damian's jaw tightened, knuckles rapping impatiently on the metal door frame. "I don't get a single moment to myself anymore? Everything has to go through you? I run this family's operations. I'm not your errand boy."

I didn't answer. I just tried to step inside with the flowers, and he grabbed my wrist. "What do you think you're doing?"

The sound that came from my wrist wasn't good. His grip was too hard. I actually heard my own bone pop. The bouquet hit the floor, flowers scattering.