The Revolution

Chapter 2

Shay's POV

White came first.

Not light. Not brightness.

White.

It pressed against my eyelids like a weight, thick and endless, as if I had been buried inside a cloud. There was no sound at first, no voices, no beeping machines, no sense of time. Just the sensation of floating in something sterile and cold.

I tried to breathe.

Pain answered.

It bloomed low in my body, a deep, grinding ache that radiated outward, settling into my spine and hips like broken glass. My breath hitched, a thin sound scraping out of my throat.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above me was white. Too white. Flat panels, recessed lights, nothing personal, nothing warm. The smell hit me next, cleaning solution, antiseptic, the unmistakable scent of a hospital.

A hospital.

Panic fluttered weakly in my chest.

I tried to sit up.

Agony lanced through me, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. I cried out, my hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth sheets as my vision blurred.

“Don’t move.”

The voice was calm, professional, and practiced.

I froze, my body trembling as footsteps approached. A man came into view, dressed in pale blue scrubs, a clipboard tucked under his arm. His face was kind in the distant way doctors’ faces often are sympathetic without being personal.

“Mrs. Falcone,” he said gently.

The name struck like a slap.

Mrs. Falcone.

Images exploded behind my eyes.

Massimo’s face under the stage lights, cold, bored, cruel.

Elena, draped in silk and entitlement, was standing where I had been walking.

Catherine’s mouth twisted in disgust as she called me a tool.

A pet.

Disposable.

My chest tightened painfully.

“I’m not…” My voice cracked.

I swallowed hard. “Don’t call me that.”

The doctor paused, surprise flickering across his expression. “I apologize. That is what your file says.”

My file.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing shallowly as nausea rolled through me.

“What… what happened?” I asked. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a private medical facility,” he replied, checking something on the clipboard. “You were brought unconscious after sustaining a significant impact injury. You’ve been sedated for pain management.”

Private.

My brow furrowed. “Which hospital?”

He hesitated.

The smallest pause but I noticed it.

“You’re safe,” he said instead. “That’s what matters right now.”

That wasn’t an answer.

I opened my mouth to press again when he continued, voice slipping smoothly into a rehearsed rhythm.

“You have fractures in your pelvis and lower spine trauma. We’re managing your pain aggressively, but movement is not advised.”

He began listing medications. Names blurred together, meaningless syllables sliding past my ears.

Something was wrong.

My heart began to pound.

Slowly, carefully, my hand drifted down to my abdomen.

Flat.

Too flat.

My breath caught.

“No,” I whispered.

The room tilted.

I looked at the doctor, fear clawing up my throat. “My baby,” I stammered. “The baby….he’s okay, right? Please tell me he’s okay.”

The doctor’s expression changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no widened eyes, no sharp intake of breath.

Just a subtle softening.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said quietly. “We lost the baby.”

The words didn’t make sense at first.

It was as if something was misplaced. As if my child had wandered off and could be found again.

I waited for the pain.

It came but not where I expected.

Something inside my chest cracked open, silent and violent. It felt as though my heart had shattered into pieces too small to gather, too sharp to touch.

“No,” I whispered.

My hand pressed harder against my stomach, as if I could hold the truth inside by force alone.

The doctor kept speaking, explaining trauma, blood loss, and inevitability.

I heard none of it.

The world narrowed to a single, unbearable absence.

Tears slid sideways into my hairline, hot and unstoppable. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Grief lodged itself in my throat, thick and choking.

After a long moment, I nodded.

I didn’t know why.

Shock, maybe. Or instinct. Or because if I didn’t acknowledge it, I might fall apart completely.

The doctor exhaled softly, relief flickering across his features. “You need rest. We’ll adjust your medication.”

He turned away.

Something else rose through the haze of pain and grief.

A memory.

Being lifted.

Hands are rough and impersonal.

Stone is biting into my back.

Water.

Then nothing.

My eyes snapped open.

“Who brought me here?” I asked.

The doctor paused at the door.

“Excuse me?”

“Who brought me here?” I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. “The last thing I remember… I was thrown. I didn’t come here on my own.”

He hesitated again.

Hope, traitorous and fragile flickered to life in my chest.

My fingers curled into the sheets.

“Was it… Massimo?” I asked.

The name tasted like blood.

Some foolish part of me still wanted it to be him. I wanted proof that the man I loved had not entirely disappeared. That he had panicked. Regretted. Done something, anything to save me.

The silence stretched.

“No.”

The word did not come from the doctor.

It came from the doorway.

Deep.

Calm.

Absolute.

I turned my head slowly, pain flaring as I did.

A man stood just inside the room.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that had no place in a hospital. His features were striking: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, and eyes the color of polished steel. Too handsome to be incidental. Too composed to be accidental.

But there was nothing warm about him.

His face was businesslike, carved into neutrality, as if emotion were a language he understood but chose not to speak.

“I did,” he said.

My breath hitched.

He stepped forward, movements unhurried, controlled. The doctor straightened instinctively, nodding once before quietly excusing himself and leaving the room.

The door closed.

We were alone.

“Who…” My throat felt dry. “Who are you?”

The man stopped at the foot of my bed, his gaze assessing, not leering, not curious. Calculating.

He folded his hands behind his back.

“I am your redemption, Shay.”

The way he said my name, without pity, without familiarity sent a chill down my spine.

But then, a wave of sudden change rushed through me.