2

Chapter Two

The steady beeping was the first thing Damien heard. Then came the faint smell of antiseptic and the sting of light against his eyes.

He opened them slowly, squinting. White walls. A ceiling fan turning lazily. A tube in his nose. He turned his head, realizing he wasn’t in his usual hospital suite — this place looked different, unfamiliar.

His chest rose sharply.

Where the hell was he?

He wasn’t home.

He wasn’t even in the same hospital he was taken to last time.

His body tensed.

The beeping from the monitor quickened as he sat up, ripping the IV from his arm. Blood trickled down, but he didn’t care. He tore the oxygen line off next, knocking down the metal stand beside the bed. The sound echoed through the sterile room.

A nurse rushed in, startled. “Mr. Grayson, please—”

“Get out,” he snapped, his voice hoarse but sharp enough to make her freeze. She hesitated, then ran out, calling for someone.

Behind him, a deep voice spoke quietly. “Damien.”

He turned slightly. His father sat in a chair near the corner of the room, hands clasped, eyes calm but tired.

Richard Grayson didn’t look like a man who panicked easily. Even now, he just watched his son like he was studying a storm.

“What the hell is this?” Damien growled. “Where am I?”

“A hospital,” Richard said. “A new one. You were moved here after the seizure.”

Damien scoffed, stepping off the bed. “You had no right"

“I had every right,” Richard cut in, his voice steady. “You collapsed in your car, Damien. You could’ve died.”

Damien ignored him, brushing past to the window. He stared out at the city skyline — tall glass buildings, people who didn’t care who lived or died.

“I don’t need another hospital,” he muttered. “And I don’t need another doctor.”

Richard stood. “You need help. This can’t keep happening. You’re not the same man you were before that woman ”

“Don’t,” Damien warned sharply. His tone was low but dangerous.

“Before that woman ruined you,” Richard finished anyway. “I’m tired of watching you destroy yourself over someone who never loved you.”

Something broke inside Damien. His hand shot out, grabbing the nearest thing — a glass cup from the bedside tray. He hurled it against the wall. It shattered instantly, leaving sharp pieces scattered across the floor.

“Get out,” he said again, his voice rough. “I don’t want your lectures.”

The door opened before Richard could reply. A woman walked in — calm, confident, carrying a file in her hand.

She was dressed in a white coat, her brunette hair tied neatly, a small badge clipped near her pocket. Her expression was unreadable as she took in the scene — the broken glass, the trembling nurse outside the door, and Damien standing there like a ticking bomb.

“You can break things if you want, Mr. Grayson,” she said, her tone steady. “But I’ll still be here when you’re done.”

Damien turned sharply toward her, surprised by the calmness in her voice. Most doctors hesitated before speaking to him. This one didn’t even blink.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you supposed to be? My next babysitter?”

“No,” she replied simply. “I’m your doctor. And I don’t babysit grown men.”

For a brief moment, the room went silent. Even Richard looked impressed, though he hid it behind a small nod.

Damien’s jaw tightened. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But that’s my problem, not yours.”

She walked past him, careful not to step on the broken glass, and placed the file on the bedside table. Her movements were quiet but sure, every action controlled.

Richard cleared his throat. “Damien, this is Dr. Aria Hart. She’ll be overseeing your treatment from now on.”

“I don’t need treatment,” Damien muttered, still glaring at her.

“Then think of it as observation,” Richard said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Damien scoffed and turned away. He didn’t want to look at either of them.

Aria opened the file and glanced through his notes. “Your last episode lasted six minutes,” she said. “That’s longer than before.”

He didn’t answer.

“You lost consciousness, bit your tongue, and stopped breathing for a short time. That’s dangerous, Mr. Grayson.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” he said flatly.

“No,” she replied. “It’s supposed to remind you that you’re still human, no matter how much you pretend not to care.”

His head snapped toward her. For a second, their eyes met — hers calm, his burning.

Richard watched the exchange quietly. It was the first time in months he’d seen someone talk to his son without either backing away or breaking down.

“I’ll leave you both to talk,” Richard said finally, walking toward the door. He paused beside Aria. “If you can handle him, you have my respect.”

“I’m not here to handle him,” Aria replied, still looking at Damien. “I’m here to help him stand again.”

When the door closed behind Richard, the room grew quiet again.

Aria walked over to pick up the broken glass pieces with a paper towel. Damien watched her, confused.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said roughly.

“I know,” she replied. “But someone should clean up after you, and I don’t see anyone else volunteering.”

He turned away, jaw tight. “You think you’re funny.”

“No,” she said. “I think you’re angry. And that’s fine. I’d be angry too.”

He didn’t respond. He sat back on the bed, staring at the floor, hands clenched.

She tossed the glass into the bin and straightened. “You don’t have to want help, Mr. Grayson,” she said quietly. “You just have to stay alive long enough to get it.”

For a moment, Damien didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at her.

For the first time in months, someone had spoken to him without pity or fear.

And somehow, that made him angrier

Aria picked up the fallen equipment one by one and set them back quietly. She didn’t look at him, didn’t rush, just worked in silence.

He expected her to say more — the usual soft words doctors throw around. But she didn’t. She stopped by the door, looked back once, and said quietly,

“You don’t have to want help, Mr. Grayson. You just have to stay alive long enough to get it.”