3

Chapter Three

He woke up still in the hospital bed.

The first thing he noticed was the sound of the monitor beside him. Beep. Beep. Beep. Constant, steady, annoying. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and he hated the smell of disinfectant in the air.

He stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about nothing, until the door opened quietly.

A nurse walked in holding a tray of food toast, eggs, and coffee. She smiled a little, nervous, trying to be polite.

“Good morning, Mr. Grayson,” she said softly. “You should eat something.”

He glared at her without saying a word.

When she placed the tray on the table beside him, he sat up slowly, his eyes sharp.

“Get out,” he said.

The nurse froze. “Sir, please, you need to eat ”

“I said get out!” he shouted, loud enough that his voice echoed off the walls.

His tone made her jump, but she still tried again. “Mr. Grayson, the doctor said ”

Before she could finish, he pushed the tray hard. The cup of coffee spilled over the white sheets, dark liquid spreading fast. The nurse stepped back quickly, startled.

“I don’t need your food,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

She didn’t argue anymore. She turned and rushed out of the room, calling for someone.

Damien let out a heavy breath and leaned back. His hand reached for the drawer beside the bed, searching. He found his phone tucked under a pile of hospital papers.

He unlocked it. The screen came alive with Clara’s face.

His wallpaper — a picture from their trip to France. She was laughing, her hand on his shoulder, sunlight catching her hair. He stared at it for a long time, pressure built in his chest.

He swiped up to the home screen. Another photo. The day he bought her the Porsche she wanted.

Her smile had been wide and perfect, — All he wanted was to see her happy .

He zoomed in, staring at her eyes on the screen, trying to remember what she had whispered that night. “You’re my world, Damien.”

He felt something twist deep inside him. His hands started to shake.

Before he knew it, anger rushed through him — hard and fast. He hurled the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, breaking into pieces.

The sound was loud enough to bring someone running.

The door opened suddenly. Aria walked in, calm but alert. She looked at the broken phone on the floor, then at him.

“Stop, Mr. Grayson,” she said firmly.

“Get out!” he yelled, his voice raw.

“I can’t,” she said calmly. “Not until you stop trying to destroy yourself.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise inside his head. She stepped closer, holding a syringe in her hand. He noticed it but didn’t move.

“What is that?” he demanded.

“Something to help you rest,” she said, walking closer.

“I don’t need it.”

“You do,” she replied simply.

He tried to push her hand away when she came near, but she was faster. She grabbed his arm and stuck the injection in smoothly. The needle went in before he could react.

“What the hell ” he started, but the words broke off.

In seconds, his body began to relax. The anger faded. His eyelids grew heavy.

He looked at her once — her calm face, her steady eyes — then everything started to blur.

His voice was weak when he muttered, “Don’t touch my things…”

But she didn’t answer.

Within seconds, his eyes closed completely. His breathing evened out.

Aria exhaled slowly and lowered the syringe to the tray. She adjusted his pillow and covered him properly with the blanket.

The spilled coffee on the bed had stained the sheets, but she ignored it for now. She picked up the pieces of his broken phone and dropped them into the bin beside the bed.

For a few seconds, she just stood there, watching him. His face looked peaceful for once — not angry, not shouting, not in pain. Just quiet.

She looked around the room, shaking her head a little. “You’re harder work than a whole hospital floor,” she murmured under her breath.

Outside, behind the glass of the door, Richard stood in the shadows.

He had been there the entire time, watching silently. He didn’t move when Aria injected Damien, didn’t speak when she straightened the blanket over his son.

Richard’s eyes stayed on Damien. Every small reaction, every twitch of his hand, every shallow breath — he observed it all.

He noted how Aria didn’t flinch, how she remained calm, how she didn’t argue when Damien shouted or threw things.

He could see the exhaustion settle into Damien’s face, the quiet of someone forced to face the reality he didn’t want.

The anger and obsession with Clara still burned somewhere deep inside him, even now, even under sedation.

Richard thought about the boy Damien had been, the man he had become, and the woman who had broken him.

He thought about all the specialists, therapists, and doctors who had failed to reach him.

Then he thought about Aria.

She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t begged. She hadn’t tried to charm him, manipulate him, or win his trust with empty words.

She had done something none of the others had: she had stood there and stayed calm while his son lost control.

Richard pressed his hand lightly against the glass. He didn’t know what she had done, but he could see the effect. Damien’s body had relaxed, even if only temporarily..

The storm inside him had paused.He stepped back from the glass, letting the quiet of the hospital corridor settle around him. He didn’t speak.

He didn’t call out. He only watched Damien sleep, thinking about the battles still to come.Richard turned and walked down the corridor slowly, leaving Aria and Damien alone. He didn’t speak to her.

He didn’t need to. What he had seen was enough