The Hospital Escape

Chapter 4: The Hospital Escape

The moment the door clicked shut behind Mr. Matt, Aveline's mind began racing.

She couldn't stay here. Every minute in this hospital bed was a minute Lucian spent believing their marriage was over. A minute closer to the divorce being finalized beyond recall. A minute further from the second chance she'd been given.

But the doctor was still there, watching her with concern, his tablet clutched protectively against his chest.

"Mrs. Blackwell, I strongly advise—"

"I'll rest," she interrupted, her voice suddenly calm. She eased herself back against the pillows, letting her body sink into the mattress. "You're right. I'm weak. I need to recover."

The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his features. Clearly, he wasn't used to his difficult patient cooperating so easily.

"I'm glad you're seeing reason," he said carefully. "I'll have a nurse check on you in an hour. In the meantime, try to sleep. Your body needs it."

He lingered for a moment, as if waiting for her to reveal some trick, but Aveline had already closed her eyes, her breathing slowing into the deep rhythm of feigned slumber.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard his footsteps retreat and the door click shut.

She waited.

One minute. Two. Five.

When she was certain he wasn't coming back immediately, her eyes snapped open. She scanned the room, taking inventory. IV line—still attached, but she could remove it. Hospital gown—impossible to escape in. Monitors—would alert the nurses if she disconnected them carelessly.

But first, she needed to know what she was facing.

Aveline slid carefully out of bed, ignoring the way her legs trembled and the room swayed. She pressed herself against the wall beside the door and peered through the small window.

Her heart sank.

Two men in dark suits stood on either side of her door, their postures rigid, their eyes scanning the corridor with professional vigilance. Lucian's security team. Of course he'd posted guards. After her suicide attempt, he would leave nothing to chance.

She slipped back into bed, her mind working furiously.

Think, Aveline. You can't fight them. You can't outrun them in this condition. You need to outsmart them.

An idea began to form.

She pressed the call button for the nurse.

Several minutes later, a young woman in crisp white scrubs entered, her expression professionally pleasant. "Mrs. Blackwell? How can I help you?"

Aveline forced her voice to sound weak—which wasn't difficult, given how utterly exhausted she truly was. "I'm feeling dizzy. Can you check my vitals?"

The nurse nodded and moved to the monitors, her back to the door. Aveline watched as she adjusted settings, recorded numbers, her movements efficient and unhurried.

Perfect.

While the nurse was distracted, Aveline's eyes darted to the door. Through the small window, she could see one of the bodyguards glance in, note the nurse's presence, and then look away.

They were watching for her to leave. They weren't watching the nurse.

"When did you last eat?" the nurse asked, turning back with a frown at the readings. "Your blood sugar is quite low."

"I haven't had much appetite," Aveline admitted, which was the truth. "Could you bring me something? Maybe some juice and crackers?"

The nurse's expression softened with sympathy. "Of course. I'll be right back."

She left, and Aveline watched through half-closed eyes as she spoke briefly to the bodyguards. One of them nodded, and the nurse disappeared down the corridor.

Now.

Aveline moved with desperate speed. She ripped the IV from her arm, wincing at the sharp pain, and pressed a tissue against the tiny wound to stem the bleeding. The monitors shrieked in protest, but she ignored them, already pulling off the hospital gown.

She needed clothes. She needed to blend in.

Her eyes scanned the room frantically and landed on a small door she hadn't noticed before—probably a utility closet or staff changing area. Praying it wasn't locked, she crossed the room in three unsteady steps and turned the handle.

It opened.

The room was small, lined with lockers and shelves of cleaning supplies. Staff area. Perfect.

And then she saw it—one of the lockers stood slightly ajar, the door not properly closed. Inside hung a set of scrubs, still in their plastic wrapping, clearly someone's spare uniform.

Whoever owned it must have been in a hurry, she thought as she grabbed the clothes. They hadn't even locked the locker properly.

The scrubs were too big—they hung loose on her slender frame, the pants threatening to slip down her hips. But they would do. They were better than a hospital gown.

She pulled her hair into a messy bun, grabbed a surgical mask from a box on the shelf, and hoped it would be enough.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back into the corridor.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she approached the bodyguards. She kept her head down, her steps hurried but not panicked, the way a busy staff member might move between tasks.

"Excuse me," she murmured as she passed, her voice muffled by the mask.

One of the guards glanced at her, then looked away, dismissing her as irrelevant.

Aveline's legs threatened to give out as she rounded the corner and finally—finally—stepped out of their line of sight. She leaned against the wall, gasping, her body screaming in protest.

Keep moving. You're not safe yet.

She found a stairwell and descended, floor after floor, her muscles burning with every step. When she finally reached the ground floor, she spotted a door marked with an emergency exit sign.

The back door.

The alley behind the hospital was gray and cold, littered with dumpsters and delivery crates. Aveline emerged into the weak afternoon sunlight, shivering in the too-large scrubs.

A taxi sat idling at the corner, the driver scrolling through his phone.

She practically fell into the back seat.

"The Blackwell Industries building," she gasped out. "Please. Hurry."

The driver eyed her suspiciously in the rearview mirror—a woman in oversized scrubs, pale as death, trembling like a leaf. But the promise of a fare won out over his curiosity, and he pulled into traffic without comment.

Aveline watched the hospital recede in the rear window, her mind already racing ahead to what she would say, what she would do, how she could possibly undo years of damage in a single conversation.

She didn't have a plan. Not really. Only a desperate, burning need to see him. To stop him from signing away their marriage. To find some way—any way—to make him understand that everything had changed.

The taxi wound through the city streets, and Aveline's reflection stared back at her from the window—hollow-eyed, gaunt, a ghost of the woman she'd been just days ago.

Or rather, three years ago.

She still couldn't wrap her mind around it. The fire. Damien's betrayal. Lucian's voice breaking as he held her. And then—waking up here, in the past, with a chance she didn't deserve.

Don't think about that now. Just focus. Get to him. Stop the divorce. Everything else can come after.

The Blackwell Industries tower loomed ahead, a monument of glass and steel that pierced the sky. Aveline had always hated this building. It represented everything she'd resented about her marriage—Lucian's power, his wealth, his all-consuming dedication to work.

Now, looking at it, she felt something entirely different.

He's in there. Working himself to death because of me.

She paid the driver with cash she found crumpled in the pocket of the scrubs—a small miracle—and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The lobby was all polished marble and gleaming surfaces, the kind of corporate elegance that had always made her feel small and out of place. Receptionists in perfect business attire sat behind a curved desk, their smiles professional and welcoming.

Until they saw who was approaching.

Aveline watched recognition flicker across their faces—first surprise, then wariness, then the careful neutrality of employees who knew exactly how dangerous their boss's wife could be.

"Mrs. Blackwell," the senior receptionist greeted her, rising smoothly. "We weren't expecting you. Is Mr. Blackwell expecting you?"

Of course he isn't. He probably never wants to see me again.

"No," Aveline said, her voice steadier than she felt. "But I need to see him. It's urgent."

The receptionists exchanged a glance. In the past, this was the moment when they'd either buzz up to Lucian's office and receive a terse refusal, or simply step aside and let her pass—because stopping her had always caused more drama than it prevented.

Today, they stepped aside.

"Of course, Mrs. Blackwell. You know the way."

Aveline nodded her thanks and headed for the elevators, feeling their eyes on her back. They were probably already texting each other, wondering what scene she would cause today, what fresh humiliation she would inflict on their boss.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever. Floor after floor flashed past, and with each one, Aveline's heart beat faster. What would she say? How could she possibly explain? What if he wouldn't even listen?

The doors opened onto the executive floor.

Lucian's domain.