Chapter Three

Elena’s POV

The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes again was Elijah’s hand holding mine, his thumb brushing softly across my knuckles.

“Elena.” His voice was weary, cracked from hours of worry. “You scared me half to death.”

I blinked up at him, the pale light of dawn cutting across his tired face. “The baby?”

“They’re safe,” he said quickly, his eyes glistening with relief. “Still fighting. You’re still fighting.”

A trembling breath escaped me. “Thank God.”

But disappointment pricked sharp as needles when I glanced around. The chair beside the bed was empty, the room silent except for the steady beep of the monitor. He wasn’t here.

Damien hadn’t come.

The ache of it settled into my bones. I could forgive his anger. I could forgive his blindness. But his absence now, when our child’s life hung by a thread, was the wound that cut too deep to ever heal.

“Elena…” Elijah hesitated. “Why don’t you just tell him? He’d have to face the truth if he knew you were carrying his baby. He couldn’t ignore that.”

I closed my eyes, pressing my hand protectively over my stomach. “He already has. Last night, I told him. He didn’t believe me. He thought it was another lie. Another scheme.”

Elijah’s jaw clenched. “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve this child.”

I swallowed hard. “Maybe not. But I can’t risk him taking them from me. If I tell him again, he’ll twist this into something ugly. He’ll use the law, his power, his money. He’ll say I’m unfit. He’ll strip my babies from my arms before I even meet them. I won’t give him the chance.”

“Elena…”

“I’ve made my choice,” I whispered fiercely, my voice breaking but my resolve firm. “From this moment on, Damien Rothschild is nothing to me. Nothing. My children are all that matter. I will protect them with everything I am.”

Elijah stared at me, something softening in his eyes. “You’re just like Mom.”

The comparison tore at my heart. My mother, Sophia Carter, had lived her life giving everything, only to lose it all in the end. She had saved the Rothschilds with her own life. And now her daughter would spend hers running from the family that should have been our salvation.

“I don’t feel strong,” I admitted. “I just feel… tired.”

He squeezed my hand tighter. “Then lean on me. I’ll be your strength until you find your own again.”

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks. “Thank you, Elijah.”

Sleep pulled me under again, but it wasn’t a peaceful kind. Dreams rose like shadows from the past. That Damn dream again.

I was twelve, walking home from school along the quiet country road when I saw him. A boy, bloodied and pale, lying in the dirt. His shirt torn, his lips cracked, his eyes barely open.

“Help!” I’d screamed, dropping my books and rushing to his side. “Someone, please!”

His gaze had flickered up at me, unfocused but clinging. “Water…” he rasped.

I tore the flask from my satchel and pressed it to his lips with trembling hands. He drank greedily, coughing, the water spilling down his chin. I wiped it gently with my sleeve.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, my small voice shaking. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That boy had been Damien Rothschild.

He had been lost, hurt, vulnerable. And I had saved him.

The Margo and Thomas Rothschild, his parents, had arrived soon after, their gratitude boundless. They offered my mother a job in their household to repay the debt. From then on, I had lived half my life in the Rothschild mansion, seeing Damien at every turn.

He was the boy who had once looked at me like I was his saviour.

Now he looked at me as if I were his curse.

The memories stabbed so deep that when I startled awake, my pillow was damp with tears.

“Elena,” Elijah said softly, noticing my trembling.

I shook my head, forcing my voice steady. “I’m done crying for him. He doesn’t deserve my tears. What I need now is to survive. To protect these babies. To build a life away from him, away from Isabella, away from this nightmare.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded firmly. “Then let me help. We’ll move back to Mom’s old house. Small, quiet, far from their world. We’ll start over, Elena. You and me, and the kids. We’ll make it work.”

The thought of it, a life stripped of luxury but filled with peace, brought me the first true breath of relief I’d felt in years. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

For the first time since the nightmare began, a fragile smile touched my lips.

Later that evening, Elijah stepped out to handle paperwork for his resignation, muttering about packing his things from the hospital.

I was alone.

The room was dim, shadows lengthening across the walls as the sun dipped low. I closed my eyes, exhaustion weighing me down.

And then I felt it.

A presence.

The faint creak of a shoe against the floor.

My heart skipped. “Elijah?” I whispered, too drained to open my eyes.

No answer.

But then, a warmth.

Fingers brushing mine. A strong hand curling gently around my cold one.

I froze, breath shallow. The touch was familiar, achingly so. It was rougher, bigger, a man’s hand.

Damien.

I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. If I saw him, if I looked at his face, the pain would consume me all over again.

For a moment, he simply held my hand. Silent. His thumb traced once over my skin, the motion so gentle it made my throat close.

My heart wanted to believe that he cared. That behind the hatred and betrayal, there was still something left.

But then the warmth was gone.

The silence swallowed the room again.

When I opened my eyes, the chair beside me was empty.

And I was left wondering if Damien Rothschild had ever truly been there at all, or if my lonely heart had conjured his ghost.