Until Aspen

The VIP hospital wing felt too clean for a place that should’ve been dripping with pain.

I walked across polished marble floors that mirrored me like some reluctant ghost. The air was cold, almost sterile. Just like Claudia. Queen of the frozen world with threats wrapped in silk.

I thought I was ready.

But my heart still hammered wrong when I stopped in front of a cherrywood door with a small plate: Theo Rodriguez, Suite V.7.

I drew in a breath.

Once.

Twice.

My fingers stalled on the handle. Claudia wasn’t the type to wait forever, and I wasn’t the type to cower. I pressed it down. The door swung open with a soft hiss.

Of course she was there.

Claudia Rodriguez. Sitting cross-legged like some reigning queen of hell. Hair pinned tight, lipstick a flat red, ivory suit sharp enough to cut. Beside her, a broad man in a dark suit, expensive watch flashing, eyes like bullets.

Javier Rodriguez. Husband. Papa of Theo. Once, my father-in-law. Quieter than his wife, but never mistaken for harmless. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to sink fear into your bones.

Claudia rose the moment she saw me.

“Dianna.” Her smile looked like it could freeze an ocean. “You came.”

The sweetness in her voice rang false, almost playful.

I lingered on the threshold before stepping inside. “I didn’t come because you told me to. I came to make sure your son’s still breathing. Shame... looks like he is.”

Her smile didn’t crack. It widened. A snake savoring an easy meal. “Whatever it is, I enjoy it when you obey,” she murmured. “You always look more... graceful when you know your place.”

I stayed silent. Pointless to spar with Claudia. Wasting energy before facing the real battlefield. The hospital bed. The man I once married. The stench of memories I should’ve buried.

So I leveled her with a flat stare and walked past both her and Javier without glancing back. Maybe she scoffed under her breath, but I was too busy forcing my breathing steady.

My right hand pushed open the next door.

And there he was.

Not lying down.

Theo Rodriguez sat straight on the bed, like the sterile mattress was his leather office chair. His back lounged against white cushioning, IV taped to his arm like a prop.

The details were just decoration. Nothing dimmed his control.

His right hand gripped an iPad, fingers moving with steady precision. Calm. Detached. Cold.

And his face. God.

Still infuriatingly handsome. Like yesterday’s crash had only sharpened him. Jawline cut clean, faint stubble shadowing his chin, hair tousled in a way too perfect to be called messy. A thin scar traced his temple, adding to his market value. Dangerous, magnetic, unrepentant. Of course. Even half-dead, he looked like an expensive sin.

When he lifted his head and caught me in his gaze, that smile hit instantly.

The smile. The one that used to strip me of every defense. Tilted to the left, one corner of his mouth rising, eyes glowing with a light that had nothing to do with pain.

“Dianna.” His voice dropped low, almost a whisper trained to slide between ribs.

I froze in the doorway.

His smile grew. He set the iPad aside without breaking eye contact, his tone soft. Too soft for the man who once shattered me with two careless words.

“You came back.”

I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted around the room. Too bright. Too clean. Too full of ghosts that should’ve stayed buried.

“Why are you quiet?” Theo lifted a brow. “You’re dangerous when you’re quiet.”

I held his stare. Too long.

And hated how part of me forgot how to breathe.

Fuck him.

Fuck the way he looked at me like I was the only truth in the room while five years ago... he hadn’t believed I was worth fighting for.

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me. The sound felt loaded, final.

Then he winced, hand lifting to his temple. “My head... feels like it’s splitting open.”

I folded my arms, looked at him flatly. “Funny. Same way your ego felt back when we were married.”

He blinked. “What?”

"Nothing."

Theo dragged a hand over his face. "I remember... going out for drinks. After we fought, I think. Then this flash of light. A horn. After that... nothing."

And my brain started screaming: Say it. Tell him the marriage is over, he cheated, and Claudia’s the demon queen of the sixth circle of hell.

But what popped into my head instead was Claudia’s damn spreadsheet.

No joke. I could see it. Pastel-colored tabs. A column for threats. A column for probabilities. Impact assessments on my architecture firm. My Abuelo’s name bolded in Times New Roman, size twenty.

I drew a long breath. Slow. Fighting the urge to smash the IV drip dangling beside his bed.

Those dark eyes swept over me like I was the only living thing in the room. His lips parted.

"I'm sorry."

I almost laughed. Almost. "Sorry for what?" I arched a brow.

He exhaled. "For everything. I... I screwed up not paying attention to you. I know that. I thought I could juggle it all. Work, marriage, life. I was wrong. I just want... to start over."

I froze.

"The villa in Aspen... you still want it, right?" he pressed.

My eyes narrowed. "Aspen?"

He nodded. "You told me about that. You were exhausted, we needed time alone. I refused, you blew up. We fought. I stormed out. Went drinking. Then... boom."

My jaw dropped.

Aspen.

He was talking about a fight from six years ago. When we still shared the same bed. When I still believed we could be saved. When I still felt like nothing more than the background of some overpriced wedding photo.

Okay. So he remembered that part. The beginning.

My brow furrowed.

The part that had left me standing in the kitchen in Hello Kitty pajamas, sobbing to the ceiling, asking if I was really that unworthy of being loved.

And now?

He thought we were still there?

Still newly married?

I just stared.

Honestly, gaped.

He leaned closer, worry creasing his face. "Dianna? You alright?"

I could only look at him. Blank. Like I’d been thrown into a time tunnel and dumped straight into hell.

To him, the marriage wasn’t broken.

To him, it was still fixable.

And me... there was only one thing I could do.

Exhale slow. Shut my eyes. Whisper it with every ounce of truth in me.

"Fuck."