Chapter 5 The Moment Her Heart Died

Jeanne fought through the stabbing pain in her leg, forcing herself to answer the voice that had called her name. "Darren… I'm here…"

But no one replied.

She jerked her eyes open. Blood blurred her vision, painting the world in red. The car interior was empty—completely still. She was alone. The man who had just shouted her name hadn't saved her.

As her consciousness sank, Jeanne slipped into a dream. She dreamed of that year when Darren had chased her all the way to Los Cielos.

Her racing club had refused to release her from her contract, and he—eyes bloodshot—had challenged them to a race. If he won, he would take her away. He had just earned his professional racing license for her at the time, and that was the first time he had ever driven a race car. Yet he dared to take on the twisting mountain road.

Jeanne had sat in the passenger seat, guiding him through the turns, but disaster struck anyway. He misjudged a drift; the car skidded, broke through the guardrail, and tumbled down the cliff.

In the chaos, he had thrown himself over her, shielding her with his body. Blood poured from his head, but he never loosened his grip. At the last moment, he had summoned the last of his strength to lift her onto a jagged outcrop of rock above the wreck. His voice had been hoarse as he shouted, "Hold on tight!"

Then, the car's twisted frame dragged him down, half his body dangling off the edge, seconds away from falling to his death.

When rescuers finally pulled them up, he had lain weakly in her arms, his mind foggy, yet still worried about her future. "Jeanne… they only want you to make money. I just want you safe… No matter how dangerous it gets, I'll protect you. Come with me, okay?"

She had been about to say yes—until the image faded to black and she was yanked back to the present.

This time, he hadn't protected her.

…

Jeanne's lashes trembled as she opened her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the pillow. The man at her bedside immediately straightened up, eyes bright. "Jeanne, you're awake!"

The nurse, changing her bandages, smiled, too. "Finally! Dr. Walsh has been sitting here for a whole day and night. His eyes are bloodshot. Makes me wish I were his sister just to get that kind of care."

Still dazed, Jeanne blinked. "His sister?"

"Yeah! Aren't you Dr. Walsh's sister?" The nurse chatted as she packed up her supplies. "His wife, Alyssa, came by this morning to see you—poor thing cried her eyes out and told me to call her the moment you woke up."

A sharp crack split the air. Darren's glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The nurse flinched and went silent, scurrying away to fetch the janitor.

The noise snapped Jeanne completely awake. Fragments of memory crashed back into place—the sight of Darren walking away with Alyssa in his arms, her own desperate hand reaching out for help, and the hollow despair when he turned away.

She looked up at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, impossible to hide. Her lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in her voice. "Explain."

Darren froze for a second before grabbing her hand, words tumbling out in a rush. "They've got it all wrong! It's a misunderstanding. They must've seen us together and assumed you were my sister—"

"Alright. I believe you." Jeanne cut him off, her tone flat and emotionless, causing Darren's following words to die in his throat.

'No. This isn't right. Jeanne isn't supposed to be like this. She should be crying, screaming, demanding to know why I saved Alyssa first. She should be angry that I let others mistake our relationship. But she isn't—she was calm. Too calm. Like still water after death,' Darren thought.

Fear crawled up Darren's spine. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Jeanne had already closed her eyes. "I'm tired."

Guilt clawed at him, leaving nowhere to hide. "Jeanne, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let Alyssa drive. I already scolded her. If you're angry, hit me, yell at me—just don't hold it in."

Jeanne pulled her hand from his grasp. When she opened her eyes again, all light had vanished from them. "I really am tired."

'Something's terribly wrong.' Panic flooded Darren's chest, a black hole of loss threatening to swallow him whole. But before he could find the words for an apology, the attending doctor came in to check on Jeanne, calling him out of the room.

The moment Darren turned away, Jeanne's eyes reddened. But no matter how much it hurt, not a single tear would fall. Her heart had already died the instant he walked out that door.

She wiped the dryness from her eyes and only wanted to sleep—to rest, and then leave this man behind for good. But just as she drifted off, noise from the next bed cut through the quiet.

"Stop crying!" a woman scolded sharply. "The racer next to you just broke her leg—she can't compete ever again. She's not crying, and here you are, wailing over a sprained ankle?!"

"I don't want my leg broken! I don't want to!"

The boy's cries filled the ward, piercing through the walls—and into Jeanne's ears.

'Broken leg?!'

A deafening roar went off inside her head, like something had exploded.