CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Damien’s Cross POV

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Adrian and I both jerked our heads toward the door. Clara stood there, hands on her hips, face flushed with fury.

Adrian blinked at her, caught off guard. “Uh… we’re, uh, trying on tuxedos?” he said, but it came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

I frowned. What was she going on about this time?

“The bride isn’t supposed to wear the dress before the wedding, and the groom isn’t supposed to see ”

“Clara!” Adrian cut her off, red in the face. “I am not a bride! And I am not wearing a dress!” His voice cracked in frustration, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

God, I loved winding him up. Still… did I ever imagine him in a dress? My brain tried to picture it for half a second before I shoved the thought away. No. Absolutely not.

“Relax, Clara,” I said, draping an arm over Adrian’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’re just checking if we look decent. No curses are gonna fall out of the sky.”

“But it’s bad luck,” she muttered, pouting like a scolded child.

News flash: tomorrow was the big day. Our wedding. No bachelor parties, no wild send-offs. We wanted things quiet. Private. Away from reporters sniffing for gossip and headlines. Honestly, I wouldn’t survive seeing Adrian surrounded by half-naked dancers grinding on him. Not a chance.

The whole house was chaos, people running around, snapping at each other, arguing about decorations, flowers, last-minute seating charts. I just lounged in the corner like an innocent bystander. What did they expect from me? I wasn’t a wedding planner. Did I look like someone who cared whether the napkins were ivory or cream? No. Someone as handsome as me belonged at the altar, not fussing over ribbons.

“Damien!”

I snapped back to reality. Adrian was staring at me, brows arched, lips twitching with amusement.

“Sorry,” I said, grinning sheepishly as I pulled him into my chest. “Got distracted.”

He rolled his eyes, but I felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he leaned against me.

“You ready to become a Cross?” I teased, my voice low, watching his cheeks turn pink.

He shrugged, mischief in his eyes. “That’s why we’re having a wedding. To see if I’ll actually say yes or no.”

I groaned. He loved tormenting me with that joke.

“Wedding or not, you’re mine,” I said firmly, brushing my lips against his ear. “And I swear, I’m counting down the hours until the honeymoon. Can’t wait to keep you up all night.” I wiggled my eyebrows for good measure.

“Idiot!” He smacked my chest, blushing harder. I laughed and stole a kiss before he could escape.

By late afternoon, I was driving home alone. My mom had dragged Sam off for last-minute errands, leaving me with nothing but my own thoughts and the radio humming softly. The exhaustion of the day sank into my bones. My eyelids felt heavier than they should, and I promised myself coffee the second I got home.

Halfway down the road, my phone lit up on the passenger seat. Adrian’s name flashed across the screen. Without thinking, I picked up.

“What’s for dinner, sweetheart?” he asked in this ridiculous high-pitched “housewife” voice. I nearly choked on my own laughter.

“You’re not actually cooking, are you?” I teased.

“Nope. You hired Sarah, remember? Or are you losing your memory already, old man?” He cackled.

“Maybe I forget a lot of things,” I said softly, smile tugging at my lips, “but I’d never forget you.”

The line went quiet for a beat. My chest tightened. “I love you,” I added.

“I lov ”

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floorboard.

“Damn it,” I cursed, fumbling with my seatbelt as I bent down to grab it.

That was when it happened.

The blaring honk. The blinding light. The violent spin of the world as the car screeched and flipped. Metal screamed, glass shattered, and then nothing.

Blackness.

Save me, My Wife.

Adrian Hale POV

“I love you too,” I said, smiling into the phone.

Then silence. A thud. Screeching sounds in the background.

“Damien? Damien!” My voice cracked as panic spread through me. The line went dead.

My chest clenched painfully. No. No, no, no. He probably just dropped his phone. He was fine. He had to be fine.

But the dread didn’t leave me. It grew heavier, suffocating me. I grabbed my car keys with trembling hands.

On my way out, I accidentally knocked a picture frame from the table. It crashed to the ground, the glass splitting right across a photo of Damien and me at one of our first dates. My breath caught in my throat. An omen? Or just clumsy hands? Either way, my pulse wouldn’t settle.

Moments later, I was speeding down the road, anxiety clawing at me. The steering wheel rattled under my grip as I tapped my fingers restlessly against it. My chest ached with each passing second.

When I turned the corner, the red and blue of flashing sirens lit up the sky.

“No…”

I parked recklessly and sprinted toward the chaos. People stood in clusters, whispering. And then I saw it.

Damien’s car upside down, mangled beyond recognition. And there he was, his body bloodied, being loaded onto a stretcher.

“Damien!” I screamed, trying to push past the paramedics, but someone grabbed my arms.

“Sir, you can’t ”

“That’s my fiancé! Let me through or I swear I’ll bury you next to him!” I shouted, my voice raw with terror.

The paramedics must’ve realized I wasn’t bluffing, because the next thing I knew, I was in the ambulance, clutching Damien’s icy hand, sobbing as machines beeped and medics barked orders.

At the hospital, everything blurred. Doctors, bright lights, rushing feet. His hand slipped from mine as they wheeled him into the ER, and I was left outside, staring at blood that wasn’t mine all over my skin.

I called Bianca. My voice broke as I stammered the words: accident, hospital, hurry. By the time she arrived, I was collapsed on a bench, weeping like a child. She pulled me into her arms, whispering promises Damien would be fine, but I couldn’t believe it. Not until I saw him open his eyes again.

Hours passed. Clara came. His father pressed a coffee into my shaking hands. They tried to comfort me, but guilt gnawed at me like a hungry beast.

If I hadn’t called him, this wouldn’t have happened.

Finally, the doctor appeared.

“He’s stable,” he said. “Head injury, glass wounds, but no life-threatening damage. We’ll monitor him closely, but right now, he’s lucky. Very lucky.”

Relief crashed over me so hard my knees nearly buckled. We followed him as Damien was transferred into a private room. Machines beeped steadily by his bedside. I couldn’t bring myself to touch him again, not with his blood still staining my memory.

I sat outside, punishing myself in silence.

Then 

“Adrian!” Bianca’s voice rang out, hopeful. “He’s awake!”

My heart leapt. I rushed inside, breath catching when I saw his eyes open.

“Mom… what happened?” he asked weakly.

“You were in an accident, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Bianca’s voice was calm, though her hands shook.

I stood frozen at the doorway, tears burning behind my eyes. His gaze drifted past her straight to me.

Relief flooded me. “Damien…” I whispered, stepping closer. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

But his face was blank. Confused.

And then, his voice cut like a knife:

“Who are you?”