The Accident

Desmond’s POV

My phone chimed again.

Mom.

Mom: Pick up, Desmond.

The message appeared just as her call came through. I sighed and swiped to answer, one hand still gripping the steering wheel.

“Hello, Mom.”

Rain had started; it was soft at first, then harder, slicking the streets into glass under the fading afternoon light. The city looked blurred through the windshield, towers stretching into the gray sky. My palms were warm against the leather wheel; my heartbeat was steady, controlled, and predictable. That’s how people liked me—unshakable, emotionless. Cold.

“Why have you been ignoring my calls?” she demanded.

“I’m on my way to a meeting,” I lied. Automatically. I already knew where this was heading: her daily sermon about settling down, producing heirs, and saving the Blackwell’s legacy from extinction.

Her voice softened, the kind of soft that always made me feel ten years old again. “The doctor says my blood pressure’s rising.”

“Then check your nutrition, Mom.”

“It’s not nutrition, Desmond.” Her tone cracked. “It’s you.”

I exhaled sharply, keeping my eyes on the road. “Mom, please—”

“You’re thirty-one. I want grandchildren before I die. Your father—he’s giving everything to charity if you don’t.”

There it was. The ultimatum I’d heard since my twenty-seventh birthday. “Okay, Mom. I’m trying,” I said, though we both knew I wasn’t.

“I’ve set you up with someone. A model. She’s beautiful and well-bred. Attend, please.”

I could hear the teasing smile in her voice. “You act like the cold billionaire because you’re one of the youngest and the wealthiest in New York. But you’re still my son. I know you still eat cereal in blue pajamas.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll go on the date.”

But I wouldn’t. I never did. I just wanted to end the call.

“Good boy,” she said, satisfied.

Before I could hang up, a blur cut across the road.

A woman.

She came out of nowhere, darting across the street, drenched, clutching a bag to her chest like her life depended on it. She didn’t even look up.

I slammed on the brakes.

Tires screamed. Metal screeched. And then—impact.

The world lurched forward. My phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the floorboard.

For a second, everything stopped.

Then adrenaline hit; it was cold and electric. I threw open the door and ran into the rain. The world was noisy and chaotic—the storm, the horns, and the faint sound of my city. But all I saw was her.

She was sprawled across the wet asphalt, her hair a dark halo against the pavement. Her body was limp, small, and terrifyingly still. Blood trickled from her forehead, mixing with the rainwater that streamed past the tires.

“Call an ambulance!” I shouted, but no one moved. Faces watched from the sidewalks, phones were out, and eyes were wide and useless.

So I did the only thing that made sense. I scooped her up.

She was warm and frighteningly light in my arms. I yanked the passenger door open and laid her across the seat, my pulse pounding in my ears. Then I drove—hard, like the Devil himself was on my tail.

The hospital lights blurred as I sped through the gates of Baywin Medical, one of our hospitals. My mother ran half its wings; I owned the rest. It was mine. It had to save her.

“Emergency!” I barked as I burst through the sliding doors.

A stretcher appeared almost instantly. The doctors rushed in, alert and focused the moment I burst through the doors.

“Sir, please wait here,” one of them said, pressing a hand to my chest. “We’ll do everything we can.”

I stood frozen as they rolled her away. Her blood had stained my cuffs and streaked across my hands. My clothes clung to me; rain dripped from my hair.

My phone buzzed where it had fallen. I picked it up and dialed the only person who always answered.

Sebastian.

He picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“Baywin Hospital. Bring me fresh clothes,” I said.

“On it. What happened?”

“Just come.”

I hung up and started pacing the waiting room. The air was thick with antiseptic and fear. My pulse was steady, but my chest was tight. I’d hit people before, metaphorically, with words and money. Not like this.

And yet, something about her face wouldn’t leave my mind. There was something familiar in her features, something that tugged at a memory buried too deep to place.

Maybe it was just guilt. Maybe it was fatigue from too many nights pretending to care about things I didn’t.

The doors slid open, and Sebastian strode in, smelling faintly of whiskey and expensive cologne. He looked like he’d escaped a party, and he probably had.

“Hey, bud,” he said, clapping my shoulder. His gaze dropped to the blood on my shirt. “What the hell, man? Did you walk into a murder scene or something?”

I didn’t smile. “Let’s pray she doesn’t die.”

That wiped the grin off his face.

“I hit someone,” I said simply. “She ran into the road.”

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Damn, Desmond. How bad?”

“I don’t know. They’re working on her.” I grabbed the dry clothes from his hand and disappeared into the restroom.

When I returned, the doctor was waiting at the edge of the hallway, his face unreadable.

I crossed to him in two strides. “How is she?”

He hesitated, and my stomach dropped. “She’s alive,” he said carefully. “But… she’s pregnant with triplets.”

The word hit like a blade.

My chest constricted, and I rubbed at the spot as if that could loosen it. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. She’s in critical condition, but we’re monitoring both her and the babies. She lost a lot of blood.”

I nodded, jaw tightening. “Do whatever it takes. Money isn’t an issue.”

The doctor’s gaze flicked to the blood still under my nails, and I turned away before he could speak again.

“Sir,” he said, softer this time, “you should go home and rest.”

But I couldn’t. I stood there for hours, pacing, staring at the door he’d disappeared through.

Two days passed.

I went to work. I went through the motions of meetings, phone calls, and board reports, but my head wasn’t in any of it. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. The accident replayed over and over again.

Sebastian stepped into my office late in the afternoon, interrupting the silence that had been pressing against me for hours.

“Good day, man,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

I looked up from my desk, where I’d been staring at a blank document. “Any updates from the hospital?”

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

I stood immediately. “And?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking down to his phone before meeting mine again.

“She’s Sienna Davidson Vale.”

I froze. My mind stuttered, the air in my lungs evaporating.

“What?!”