4

4

Alex.

You’d think after years of surgeries, emergencies, and boardroom wars, I’d be immune to drama. But apparently, all it takes to shake me is one woman collapsing in a hallway.

Stella.

She dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, right in the middle of that chaos; Josh flailing, Sophie looking smug one second and shocked the next. I should’ve rushed to her side. I should’ve done a lot of things. Instead, I stood there, frozen, while everything around me spiraled.

Sophie started crying.

I mean, really crying. Hands covering her face, shoulders shaking, and that helpless, pitiful sob that women do when they want to be held, not when they’re actually hurt. I barely noticed. My eyes were still on the spot where Stella had fallen, the ghost of her still imprinting itself on my mind like a bad memory I couldn’t erase.

“Alex, I didn’t mean to,” Sophie said, voice breaking. “It was an accident. I just… I was scared. She was screaming. Josh tried to hit me, and I panicked…”

I blinked, dragged my eyes to her face. She looked wrecked, the kind of wrecked that screamed I need you to fix me. The kind I used to run to fix.

Now I just felt numb.

I nodded to my PA, who’d been hovering nervously at my side. “Take Miss Sophie to get checked.”

“Sir?”

“Vitals. Prenatal evaluation. Full workup.”

Sophie’s lips parted in surprise, and it not a happy one, but she didn’t argue. She knew better. She let the assistant guide her away, still sniffling like she was the victim.

With the hallway finally quiet, I turned back to the direction they’d taken Stella.

I told myself I was only going to check on her for protocol. For closure. For the image. Whatever lie worked in the moment.

But the second I stepped into her hospital room, it all cracked.

She was sleeping.

Not peacefully. No, nothing about Stella had ever been peaceful. Her brow was furrowed like she was still trying to argue even in her dreams. Like her subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo that the fight was over.

Or maybe she knew it wasn’t.

I stood there, just watching. I don’t know for how long. The machines beeped gently beside her, the IV line glowing under the fluorescent lights, her chest rising and falling steadily. I kept telling myself to leave. That this wasn’t my place anymore.

But my feet didn’t move.

And then, without thinking, I reached out and touched her hand.

It was cold.

I frowned. Why was it cold? Shouldn’t someone have covered her better? And why was she so pale?

She’d looked fine earlier… well, not fine, but fiery. She’d tried to talk to me. Tried to ask for five minutes. If I’d just stopped for five goddamn minutes…

Why had she fainted?

I stared at her face, searching for something. Maybe guilt. Maybe reassurance. Maybe a reason why my chest felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands.

“Josh…”

His name, soft and slurred, floated out of her mouth.

I flinched, dropping her hand like it had burned me. But she didn’t open her eyes. She was dreaming. Or sleep-talking. Or torturing me from the other side of consciousness.

Why was I still here?

Why did it matter?

She lied to me. For years. She tore my life apart. She and Eleanor, they orchestrated everything. Broke Sophie. Broke my family. Made me a fool. And yet here I was, in a dark room, watching her sleep like some pathetic husband still holding on to a version of her that never existed.

I clenched my jaw, straightened my back, and forced myself to leave.

If there was anything still inside me that cared, I needed to crush it. Fast.

I made my way to the director’s office. The hospital wing had calmed down, though a few nurses still looked like they’d just survived a hurricane.

When I entered, the director looked up, startled. He stood. “Mr. Marwood. I was just about to call you.”

“I heard Josh Harrington was fired,” I said, voice sharp. “Why?”

There was a pause, the kind people make when they know they’re about to say something I won’t like.

“At Miss Sophie’s request,” he said.

I blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”

“She said it was under your directive, sir. Insisted quite strongly. We… didn’t realize there had been a miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication?” I repeated, slow and deliberate.

The man looked like he wanted to melt into his chair. “She said you were busy, and that she was authorized to—”

“She isn’t,” I cut in. “She doesn’t speak for me. I’m the CEO of the Marwood Group, not her.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“No. You clearly don’t.”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to push down the pressure building behind my eyes. “Bring in his supervisor.”

The man nodded eagerly and rushed out.

A few minutes later, a short woman in scrubs with a tightly pinned bun entered. She looked nervous but composed.

“You’re Josh Harrington’s supervisor?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want him reinstated.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry. He already quit. Handed in his badge himself.”

She walked over and placed the badge in my hand. I stared at it.

I sighed, pocketing it without thinking. “Do you know why… she fainted?”

Her brow furrowed. “No. We weren’t informed. Josh Harrington had been handling all of Mrs. Marwood’s, I mean, Ms. Harrington’s, check-ups personally.”

My jaw ticked at the correction.

“If you’d like,” she continued carefully, “I can look into her records right now. Pull up the latest scan results.”

I nodded. “Do it.”

But before she could move, there was a knock at the door. My PA peeked in, looking apologetic and tense. “Sir… Miss Sophie is asking for you. She’s crying.”

Of course she is.

I stared at the door for a long moment, then back at the supervisor. “Let me know what you find.”

Then I straightened my coat, clenched my jaw, and said coldly, “I’m on my way.”

And I left.

Because that’s what I do now, apparently. I leave.

Even when part of me wants to stay. Even when part of me is still holding on to the feel of her hand in mine.

Even when I don’t know who I’m punishing anymore; her, or myself.