The Forced Affair

Elena’s POV

My eyes slowly opened, and all I could hear was the slow and subtle beeping from the pulse oximeter positioned opposite me.

The sound was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, a mechanical heartbeat that reminded me I was still alive. A drip was fixated on my hand, the clear liquid flowing through the tube into my veins. I was confused. Where was I?

I tried to sit up, but I felt a sharp pain on my head, and my memories surged—a flood of images and sensations that crashed over me like a wave. I was hit by an incoming car while trying to avoid the stranger who had called me.

The stranger.

The thought invaded my mind, and I quickly scanned the ward with my eyes in search of my phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Panic began to claw at my chest.

In my state of confusion, a nurse walked in. She was a redhead with freckles that complemented her porcelain skin. She was slender, tall, and could pass for a model. Her presence was calming, but my anxiety overrode any comfort she might have brought.

"Have you seen my phone? I need my phone!" I asked, my voice tense and desperate.

"You have to relax," the nurse said, gesturing toward me to draw my attention. "You just survived a major accident. It's a miracle how you're still alive. I'm Nurse Eva, and I'll be in charge of you." Her smile was still plastered on her face like a mask, but I could see the flicker of something else in her eyes—wariness, perhaps.

I was quiet for a while, trying to process everything that had happened. The accident, the stranger, the phone call—it all swirled in my mind like a storm I couldn't escape.

"How long have I been here?" I asked. The nurse was hesitant. She stared at me as if scared not to say too much or give out too much information.

"You've been here for two weeks now," Nurse Eva said softly. "You fell into a coma."

Two weeks? That's impossible. What about the scandal? What about my job? Oh, I was suspended. The realization hit me like a second blow. Two weeks of silence, two weeks of my life slipping away while I lay unconscious.

"Did anyone come to visit?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Nurse Eva bit her lower lip, a telltale sign of hesitation. "Nobody knows about your location. Your phone was totally destroyed during the accident, and we've been unable to reach out to anybody you know." Her eyes fell to her feet, her ears red as if hiding something from me.

"Eva, you're not telling me everything, are you?" I asked, staring more intensely at her. I could see a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead, a clear sign of her discomfort.

"Why is it so hot in here?" Nurse Eva asked, her voice pitched higher than before. "Let me put on the air conditioner." She attempted to move out, but my hand shot out and grabbed hers.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked, my grip on her arm firm, although I was weak from my extended unconsciousness.

Nurse Eva was hesitant.

She gave me a long stare before her lips finally parted. "You've been having visitors, but he refused to identify himself as someone you might know. He knows the management of the hospital, so he didn't have to drop his name or anything. He was freely given access to see you." Her hand flew to her mouth as she walked out of the hospital room, as if she had already said too much.

A mysterious man? Could it be the man that called me before the accident? Who would try to run me over? The questions multiplied in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

While I was lost in my thoughts, a man who I assumed to be the doctor walked in. He was tall, had broad shoulders and thin lips—almost distinct features for his kind. He carried himself with an air of authority that immediately put me on edge.

"Elena Carter," he said, his hands flipping through pages on a clipboard he held. "I'm Dr. Aston. How are you feeling?"

Dr. Aston? The name sounded familiar, too familiar. Where do I know him from?

"I need to leave now," I said, my eyes locked with that of Dr. Aston. I needed to contact Maggie. What if she thinks I'm dead? I've been gone for two weeks with no word—she must be worried sick.

"Mrs. Carter, I'm sorry, but you can't leave now," Dr. Aston said, his voice calm but firm. "You still need medical attention and proper observation from medical personnel."

"I really need to leave now. I can't stay here much longer," I insisted, trying to stand up from the bed. But I was held back by Dr. Aston, his hands pressing down on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, but you're in no condition to leave," he said, holding me down.

"Let her be." A voice thundered from behind.

Who could that be? A man dressed in a suit materialized in front of Dr. Aston and me. His face looked very familiar, like I'd seen him before. But I had just come out of a coma, and because of this, my memories were yet to be fully recovered.

"She said she needs to leave now," the voice repeated.

"Ahh! Director," Dr. Aston said, taking his hands off me. "Why do you have to come all the way here if you wanted to see me? I preferred meeting you in your office instead."

"And who said I came to see you?" the voice said, cold and dismissive.

Dr. Aston lowered his gaze, his earlier confidence evaporating. The imposing figure standing before Dr. Aston and me fixed his gaze on me. I lowered my head to avoid his stare, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Prepare her documents for her to be discharged," he said, his tone cold and dismissive.

Dr. Aston opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The director's presence seemed to rob him of words.

"And you," he said, turning to me, "you're coming with me."

Coming with you? Who are you, and why the audacity? I thought, my mind racing.

"Director… you see, Mrs. Carter here still needs medical attention," Dr. Aston said, his voice as low as he could make it. "I don't really think it's a good idea to discharge her now."

"I see," the man said, his voice dripping with menace. "You've been working here for over 20 years now. It seems like you'll need some time off work. What do you think?"

Dr. Aston's face paled. "I'll get her discharge in an hour," he said quickly.

The man stared at him intently, as if passing a speechless threat. "I'll get it done in 15 minutes," Dr. Aston amended before walking out of the room, his footsteps hurried and anxious.

The man turned to me, his eyes boring into mine. "Don't you remember me?" he asked.

I shook my head in disagreement, too stunned to speak. Who was this man, and why did he seem so certain that I should know him?

"Well," he said, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate timbre, "I am your husband."