Chapter 3: The Broken Pieces

"A nursery." Claire muttered, her head still resting between her knees on the cold hospital floor. "He wants to build a nursery."

The doctor crouched down beside her, his expression sympathetic but firm. "Mrs. Kingston. Brain trauma is highly unpredictable. Right now, his mind has built a protective wall. It erased the trauma and stress of the last five years to keep him functioning."

"So un-erase it," Claire said, finally looking up. Her voice was flat. "Tell him the truth. Tell him he’s a workaholic who pushed me away, and we got a divorce."

"If we force a reality on him that his brain isn't ready to process, the psychological shock could trigger a severe regression. He could slip into a coma, or suffer permanent cognitive damage," the doctor warned softly. "For now, you need to play along. Act like it's five years ago. Ease him into the present."

"Play along?" Claire let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Doctor, I don't know if you've ever tried to act deeply in love with a man you just legally divorced, but it is not a skill they teach in college."

"She won't be doing it at all."

Vivian Kingston marched down the hallway, her heels clicking aggressively. She had stopped crying. Now, she was just dangerous.

"My son is vulnerable," Vivian sneered, looking down at Claire. "And I refuse to let the woman who drove him to drink and crash his car be the one to 'nurse' him. I’ll hire a professional. I’ll hire an actress. You are staying far away from him, Claire."

"Oh, thank God," Claire muttered, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "Where do I sign the permission slip?"

"Auntie, please stop yelling, I already have a headache from the stock market."

A new voice chimed in. Ethan Kingston, Raphael’s younger cousin, leaned against the wall a few feet away. He was dressed in a sharp gray suit, lazily scrolling through his phone. He was the VP of Kingston Corporation, and unlike Raphael, Ethan never took life too seriously.

"Ethan, stay out of this," Vivian snapped.

"I can't," Ethan sighed, finally pocketing his phone. "Because if the board of directors finds out our ruthless CEO currently thinks it's 2021 and wants to go paint a nursery, Kingston Corp's stock will tank by morning. We cannot hire a fake wife. The media will eat us alive."

"So what do you suggest?" Vivian demanded.

"I suggest Claire plays the doting wife until his brain reboots," Ethan said, giving Claire a lazy, apologetic smile. "It's just for a little while, right?"

"No," Claire said firmly.

Ethan blinked. "No?"

"No," Claire repeated, crossing her arms. "Five years ago, I gave up my career to be the perfect, available Kingston family wife. I literally went back to my company today. I am the CEO of Ellis Designs again. I am not compromising my company, my life, or my sanity to play house with a man who didn't want me when he had his memory."

The hallway fell dead silent. Vivian looked like she might explode. Ethan just rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not wanting to deal with the family drama.

"Then do it for the guilt."

Claire turned around.

Sophia Lin, Raphael’s executive secretary, stood at the end of the hall. She looked impeccable, as always. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, her glasses perfectly perched on her nose. The only sign that she had been through hell tonight was the tightly clenched grip she had on a plastic evidence bag. Inside it was Raphael’s cracked, bloody watch.

Sophia walked forward, her eyes locked on Claire. There was a cold, simmering intensity in her gaze.

No one knew that Sophia had spent the last five years quietly, organizing his life, anticipated his needs, and watched him destroy himself over a wife who, in Sophia's eyes, didn't appreciate his genius.

"He was sober for three years, Mrs. Kingston," Sophia said, her voice dangerously quiet. "He never drank when he drove. Not once. Until last night."

Claire stiffened. "Are you blaming me for his reckless driving?"

"I am stating facts," Sophia replied smoothly, though her eyes betrayed a fierce, protective anger. "He signed the papers you pushed onto him, he drank half a bottle of whiskey, and he drove into a wall. You broke him. The least you can do is help put him back together."

"I didn't force him into that car, Sophia," Claire said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"No. You just gave him a reason not to care if he survived the drive," Sophia countered flawlessly. She shoved the plastic bag with the bloody watch into Claire's chest. Claire reflexively grabbed it. "Take responsibility, Mrs. Kingston. Because if you walk out those doors, and he damages his brain permanently trying to find you... that's on you."

Claire stared at the cracked glass of the watch. It was the one she had bought him for his birthday.

Her chest tightened painfully. She didn't want him. She was so exhausted by the mere concept of Raphael Kingston. But looking at the dried blood on the leather strap... she felt a horrible, suffocating wave of guilt.

Crash!

A loud, shattering noise echoed from Room 402.

"Get your hands off me!" Raphael's voice roared through the door, sounding weak but absolutely furious.

Claire didn't even think. She shoved past Sophia and threw the door open.

Inside, absolute chaos. A tray of medical instruments was scattered across the floor. Two nurses were desperately trying to hold Raphael down by his shoulders. He was half out of the bed, his hospital gown slipping, actively trying to rip the IV out of his hand with his teeth since his other arm was in a sling.

"Mr. Kingston, please, your ribs!" a nurse panicked.

"If you don't let me go find my wife right now, I will buy this hospital and fire everyone in it!" Raphael shouted, his chest heaving, his face pale with pain and panic.

"Raphael!" Claire yelled.

He froze.

The fight instantly drained out of him. The terrifying, unhinged CEO vanished the second his dark eyes locked onto her. He slumped back onto the pillows, panting heavily.

He looked at the nurses. "Get out."

The nurses didn't need to be told twice. They scurried past Claire, looking terrified.

Claire stood by the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at the mess on the floor, then at him. "Are you insane? You have a fractured rib!"

"You were gone too long," he said. It wasn't an apology. It was a complaint. He sounded like a large, grumpy bear.

"I was gone for five minutes," Claire said, slowly walking toward the bed.

"Felt like an hour," he muttered. He reached his good hand out, making a grabbing motion. "Come here. Stop standing so far away."

Claire hesitated. Every instinct told her to run. But the image of his bloody watch flashed in her mind. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stepped closer.

The moment she was within arm's reach, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down until she was sitting on the edge of the mattress again. He tangled his fingers with hers, letting out a long sigh of relief as his head fell back against the pillow.

"Don't leave the room again," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. The pain meds were clearly fighting a war against his stubbornness.

"Raphael, I can't just stay here forever," Claire said softly, trying to inject some reality without breaking his fragile illusion. "I have work. I have to go to the office."

His eyes snapped open. He frowned, looking at her in pure confusion.

"Work?" he repeated. "Sweetheart, you quit your dad's company a month ago. We agreed you'd take a break to focus on decorating the house and... you know." He squeezed her hand, a soft, intimate smile touching his lips. "Focusing on us."

Claire’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. She felt sick. Five years ago, she had quit happily, thinking they were building a family.

"Right," she forced the word out. It tasted like ash. "But I... I have errands."

"Send Maya to do them," he said dismissively, pulling her hand up to his chest, resting it right over his heart. It was beating steady and strong beneath the hospital gown. "I almost died, Claire. Let me be needy today."

He was using his charm. The devastating, quiet charm that made her fall in love with him in the first place. It was incredibly unfair.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay today."

Raphael smiled, finally relaxing into the pillows. He looked down at their joined hands.

His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, feeling the skin.

Then, his hand froze.

The warm, soft atmosphere in the room instantly evaporated, replaced by a sudden, chilling drop in temperature.

Raphael slowly lifted her left hand, bringing it up to his eye level. He stared at her bare ring finger. The pale band of skin where her wedding ring used to sit was still faintly visible.

Claire stopped breathing. She had taken her ring off last night and left it on his nightstand before packing her bags.

Raphael’s dark eyes slowly shifted from her bare finger up to her face. The sleepy, affectionate husband was completely gone. The sharp, hyper-observant billionaire was back, and he was looking at her with a dangerous, calculating intensity.

"Claire," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its warmth. "Where is your wedding ring?"

Claire’s mind raced, panic setting in. "I... I took it off to..."

"Don't lie to me," he interrupted smoothly. His grip on her hand tightened just enough to let her know she wasn't going anywhere. "Your eyes always twitch to the left when you lie."

He leaned forward slightly, ignoring the wince of pain from his ribs.

"What happened last night, Claire?" he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "And don't tell me it was just a car crash. Because I may have a concussion... but I know exactly what it feels like when you look at me with pity."

Claire was trapped. The doctor's warning echoed in her head: Don't tell him the truth.

But as Raphael's grip tightened on her bare hand, she realized a terrifying truth of her own.

Even with a broken brain, Raphael Kingston was not a man who could be easily fooled.