Chapter Seventeen

Elara pov

I woke up knowing something was wrong.

Not because of a sound.

Not because of a dream.

Because my body felt like it had already received bad news.

My eyes opened to the dim light of early morning, and before I could even move, a tightness settled in my chest heavy, deliberate, unyielding. I didn't panic. Panic came fast and loud. This was quieter. More dangerous.

Certainty.

My hand slid to my stomach instinctively.

Still flat. Still warm. Still real.

I waited for comfort to follow.

It didn’t.

The room was silent in a way the mansion never was. No distant footsteps. No murmured voices through radios. No low hum of life behind the walls.

Just stillness.

I pushed myself upright, heart already beating too fast, and listened.

Nothing.

I sat there for a full minute, breathing slowly, telling myself this was nerves. That Dante was halfway across the world in a hospital built to save men like him. That silence didn’t mean disaster.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

It sharpened.

I reached for my phone.

No new messages.

No missed calls.

My throat tightened.

Since Dante left, Luca had sent updates short, clipped, reassuring in their own way. I arrived safely. Tests ongoing. Doctor optimistic.

The last message was from the night before.

Nothing since.

I told myself not to spiral. I told myself this was what waiting felt like.

Still, I got out of bed.

The floor was cold beneath my feet as I wrapped a robe around myself and stepped into the hallway. The air felt different, thicker, like the house itself was holding its breath.

A guard stood at the far end, posture stiff.

“Good morning,” I said.

He inclined his head. “Morning, miss.”

“You’re on early duty.”

“Yes, miss.”

I hesitated, then asked, “Is everything… normal today?”

The pause was subtle. Almost imperceptible.

“Yes,” he said carefully.

My stomach sank.

I nodded and continued down the stairs, fingers brushing the banister for balance. The smell of coffee drifted up from the kitchen, usually comforting, but today it made my stomach turn.

Halfway down, a wave hit me.

Not nausea.

Fear.

It rolled through me suddenly, sharp enough to make me stop mid-step. I gripped the railing, pressing my palm against my stomach as if to anchor myself.

You’re fine, I told myself. The baby is fine. He’s just in tests.

But fear like this didn’t feel imagined.

It felt borrowed from the future.

In the kitchen, Maria was already there, moving quietly.

“Good morning,” she said gently. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” I replied. “Has Luca called?”

Her hands froze over the counter.

Just for a second.

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

My heart thudded harder.

“They usually update early,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“They might be busy,” she replied quickly.

Busy.

Everyone used that word when they didn’t want to say more.

I poured water, my hand trembling slightly as I lifted the glass. I took a sip, then another. It didn’t help.

“I think I’ll rest upstairs,” I said.

Maria nodded too fast. “Yes. Rest is good for you.”

Nothing about this felt restful.

Back in my room, the walls felt closer, the ceiling lower. I paced once, twice, then stopped, frustrated with myself.

I was letting fear win.

I picked up my phone again and typed before I could overthink it.

Are you okay?

I stared at the message after sending it.

No response.

Minutes stretched painfully. I sat on the bed, then stood again. I walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside.

The grounds below were calm. Green. Perfect.

It felt wrong.

I remembered Dante standing in the doorway the night before he left calm, composed, distant in a way that had unsettled me then and terrified me now. Like a man preparing for something final.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Don’t,” I whispered to myself.

I tried to distract myself by folding clothes that didn’t need folding, straightening surfaces already spotless. My mind refused to follow.

It kept circling one thought.

What if this doesn’t work?

I pressed my fingers into my temples, breathing slowly.

Then my body reacted again.

A strange flutter bloomed low in my abdomen. Not pain. Not quite movement. Just… awareness.

I gasped softly, hand flying to my stomach.

Tears burned my eyes.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Time dragged.

An hour passed. Then another.

Still nothing.

No updates. No calls. No reassurance.

The unease thickened into dread, heavy and relentless.

I couldn’t stay in my room anymore.

I left and walked down the hall toward Dante’s office, my steps quickening despite myself. I knew he wasn’t there. I knew it.

Still, I stopped in front of the door.

Locked.

I pressed my forehead briefly against the wood.

“Please,” I murmured.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned sharply.

Luca stood there.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

“Luca,” I breathed. “You’re back.”

His face looked older somehow. Tired. Controlled too carefully.

“Miss Elara,” he said. “We need to talk.”

The cold flooded my veins.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

He hesitated.

That hesitation broke something inside me.

“Is he?” My voice shook. “Is Dante okay?”

Luca exhaled slowly. “He’s in surgery.”

The hallway tilted.

“Surgery?” I whispered. “You didn’t say”

“It escalated quickly.”

“How long?” I demanded.

He looked away.

“Luca.”

“Hours.”

The word knocked the air from my lungs.

“Why didn’t anyone call me?” I asked, tears spilling freely now.

“If something went wrong,” he said quietly, “we didn’t want you distressed.”

Something went wrong.

I clutched my stomach as fear surged violently.

“Is he alive?” I asked.

“For now,” Luca replied.

My knees weakened.

“For now?” I echoed.

Before he could say anything else, my phone rang.

The sound cut through the air like a blade.

An international number glowed on the screen.

My hands shook as I answered.

“Hello?”

“This is Saint Ananda Medical Center,” a calm voice said.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“We’re calling regarding Mr. Dante Caruso.”

My heart slammed painfully.

“What happened?” I demanded.

There was a pause.

Then

“He’s in critical condition.”

The world narrowed to that sentence.

“We’re doing everything possible,” the voice continued.

I lowered the phone slowly.

Critical.

And deep down, I knew

Whatever happened next would change everything.