Chapter 3 : “Which one of you brilliant souls thought you could get away without telling me?”

“You’re being too kind, Mr. Summers,” said Aimee with a polite, almost shy smile.

“I thought I told you to call me by my name,” replied Draven smoothly, his trademark charm radiating in full force. His grin was easy, confident, and utterly oblivious to the four pairs of eyes watching him from across the room. “If you insist on calling me Mr. Summers, I might have to return the favor and start calling you Nurse Sonata… or perhaps Miss Sonata.”

Aimee’s cheeks colored slightly. “Draven,” she corrected quickly, glancing around and realizing the others were watching. “Sorry. Anyway, if you start feeling dizzy or lightheaded, let me know right away, alright?”

“You bet,” he said with a wink.

As she walked away, Draven’s eyes followed her — perhaps a moment too long. His gaze flickered down her back before landing, inevitably, a little lower. Then, almost as quickly, he frowned, as if catching himself mid-thought.

Shaking his head, he turned around — only to be met by the collective stare of his family.

“Seriously?!” Declan’s voice sliced through the silence first, his tone laced with disbelief. “You’re flirting? I thought you were dating my best friend!” His emphasis on best friend came out like a challenge. Declan looked every bit the overprotective knight, his arms crossed, jaw set.

Draven exhaled heavily, already exasperated. “I’m not dating anyone, and you can ask Hélène that yourself,” he said, sliding one hand casually into his pocket. “And come on, there’s no harm in looking. It’s not like I’m about to drag that nurse into an on-call room and have wild sex with her.”

The dramatic eye roll that followed was purely for Declan’s benefit. “Besides, she’s pretty, but her arse is a little on the—”

He didn’t get to finish. Piers had stormed toward him, the expression on his face enough to make even Draven blink in surprise.

“Do you have any idea who that woman is?” Piers barked, his normally calm green eyes flashing with fury.

Javier stepped in quickly, catching his older brother’s arm before things escalated. “Piers, relax. He clearly doesn’t know. If he did, he wouldn’t be flirting.”

Draven raised an eyebrow, now genuinely intrigued. “Who is she?”

“She’s a materialistic gold digger,” Piers spat out instantly, his tone sharp enough to draw a few looks from across the waiting room. “You’d better stay the hell away from her.”

Draven smirked faintly. “I’ve met my fair share of gold diggers — though maybe not as many as you lot — and yet…” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Something tells me there’s more to this story. Though I must say, the jealousy in your tone is fascinating.”

“I’m not jealous,” Piers growled through clenched teeth. His voice was low, clipped, as though each word cost him effort. “I’m just concerned.”

“Right,” Draven said, his voice smooth and amused. “Well, I’m not deaf. I can tell the difference — but for the sake of family peace, I’ll take your word for it.” He gave an exaggerated shrug.

Declan, standing beside him, placed a hand on his twin’s shoulder as if trying to mediate before things spiraled further. “Dray… that’s Aimee,” he explained quietly. “She used to date Javier back in college. But when Piers tried to… let’s say, test her loyalty, she took the bait.”

“Ah,” Draven murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “So that explains the jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous!” Piers snapped again, voice rising enough to turn a few more heads. “I only did it to prove what kind of woman she really was — that she’d choose me, the older, more successful brother, over young, naïve Javier.”

Draven cocked an eyebrow. “And… did you sleep with her?”

The question dropped like a stone in water. Declan sighed heavily, already sensing where this was headed.

Piers grunted, jaw tightening. “I did. But that—”

“That,” Draven interrupted lightly, “is music to my ears.” His grin widened. “You see, that reaction right there? That tells me you’ve still got some leftover feelings for her, brother. Funny, because Javier — her actual boyfriend at the time — seems oddly calm about all this.”

“Draven,” Javier warned, his tone sharp. His eyes held a silent plea — don’t start another fight. It had taken months for Piers and Draven to reconcile after their last feud, and this could easily reopen old wounds.

But Draven looked positively entertained, leaning back with a faint smirk that didn’t waver.

Piers shot one last look at Ella — who stood awkwardly near Javier, unsure if she should intervene — before turning away sharply. Without another word, he stalked off toward Thornton and the others.

Declan let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Draven blinked innocently. “Did what, exactly? I merely pointed out what everyone else was too polite to say. If he’s still angry, it’s because I hit a nerve. Whether he loves her or hates her, it’s still feeling.”

Declan groaned quietly. “And you wonder why people need aspirin after five minutes with you.” He stared at Draven as if his twin brother had just grown a horn in the middle of his forehead.

Javier, however, looked thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right,” he said slowly. “Maybe he does still have feelings for her.” He shrugged one shoulder, expression calm but knowing. “He needs to sort those out if he ever wants to move on. I don’t think they’ve actually talked since that whole mess. From what Aimee told me, he threw her out right after I walked in on them.”

Draven’s eyes went wide. “Wait—he set it up so you’d walk in on them? While they were—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “That’s cruel. Even for Piers.”

Declan gave a sheepish smile. “That’s Piers for you. He once flirted with a girl I liked back in our clubbing days—and then actually slept with her. Afterward, he told me it was a life lesson. Said, ‘If you don’t act fast, the world won’t wait for you, and someone else will take what you want.’”

Draven let out a disbelieving laugh. “And you’re supposed to be grateful for that lesson? I don’t think ‘steal your brother’s girl’ is the kind of moral story I’d pass on to the next generation.”

“Maybe,” Ella said softly from beside Javier. She hadn’t spoken until now, but her calm voice drew their attention. “Maybe he wanted the lesson to sting. Some people only learn when it hurts enough to remember.”

Draven turned toward her, studying her for a moment before nodding slightly. “You’re more understanding than the rest of us, Ella,” he admitted. “But still, if Piers ever tried one of his ‘life lessons’ on me, it wouldn’t work.”

He slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at it out of habit. “I’ve never loved anyone in my life,” he said casually, his tone light but his eyes distant. “And I don’t plan to. Not in the romantic sense.”

Declan leaned closer, peering over his brother’s shoulder at the screen. “And yet here you are checking to see if Hélène texted you.”

Draven gave him a deadpan look, but before he could respond, Declan smoothly changed the subject. “How’re you feeling, by the way? I heard you can get dizzy after donating blood.”

Draven’s mouth twitched. He knew exactly what his twin was doing, but decided to let it go. “I’m fine. They only took about four hundred milliliters. That’s seven percent of an average adult’s blood volume.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Still,” Declan said sincerely, “thank you.” His voice softened, his expression earnest.

“It’s fine,” Draven replied, waving it off. “She’s my sister too, you know.” A playful glint returned to his eyes. “Besides, imagine Clarabelle’s reaction when she finds out she’s got my blood running through her veins.”

Declan groaned. “You’re pure evil.” He shook his head, though a faint smile crept onto his lips. “I can’t believe we share the same face.”

“Correction,” Draven said in mock offense. “You share my face, Dex. I’m the better-looking twin.”

Javier chuckled quietly, stepping closer to the two of them. He rested a hand on Draven’s shoulder, his voice low but warm. “You know she loves you, right?”

Draven blinked. “Who? Clarabelle?”

Javier nodded. “She might not say it outright — her pride won’t let her — but she does. She shows it in her own way.”

For a moment, all the teasing drained from Draven’s expression, replaced by something genuine and raw. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur. “I know.” He nodded once. “And I love her too.” A faint sigh escaped him. “So much. I just… I really hope she’s okay.”

“She will be,” Declan said firmly. His confidence had that quiet weight that came from faith rather than logic. “She’s Clarabelle — she’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”

Draven nodded, then suddenly reached forward and wrapped an arm around his twin’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. “Yeah. She will, Dex.”

Declan froze for a moment, then relaxed into it. Draven’s hand rubbed his back — the same comforting motion he’d used when they were kids, two halves of one soul figuring out the world together. Declan had always been the gentle one, the rule follower. Draven—the chaos, the rule breaker. But at their core, they’d always been each other’s home.

Ella smiled faintly at the sight, her heart softening. Then, movement near the far side of the waiting room caught her attention.

“Who’s that?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. A tall, sharply dressed man had just entered, his presence commanding even in silence. He took a seat in the corner, running a hand over his face before bowing his head, lost in thought.

“I’m not sure,” Javier said, frowning. “But it looks like Reed knows him.”

Sure enough, their younger brother had risen from his seat and was walking toward the newcomer, greeting him with a quick handshake before sitting beside him.

“Probably one of Clara’s friends,” Javier murmured, though something about the man’s posture — the heavy stillness around him — left an uneasy feeling in his chest.

---

Two long hours crawled by before the door to the operating suite finally opened.

A doctor stepped out, still in his crimson-stained scrubs, fatigue visible in the slump of his shoulders. He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket before addressing the waiting room.

“Relatives of Clarabelle Summers?”

He hadn’t expected what happened next — nearly every person in the room shot to their feet and rushed toward him, a wave of anxious faces.

“I’m her oldest brother,” Thornton said, stepping forward and tightening his grip around Ava’s hand. “How is she?”

For a moment, the doctor didn’t answer. The silence pressed against the walls, heavy and suffocating. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights filled the void, amplifying every heartbeat in the room.

Finally, the doctor exhaled. “She sustained several broken ribs,” he began carefully, his tone professional but laced with empathy. “One of them punctured her left lung, which caused significant internal bleeding.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Color drained from every face, the weight of his words falling like a stone in still water.

“But,” he continued quickly, “we managed to locate the bleeder and stop it. She’s been given a transfusion for the blood she lost, and she responded well to it.”

Relief came in waves — visible, palpable, as though everyone had been holding the same breath.

“She’s stable,” the doctor confirmed. “Right now, she’s in the recovery room. We’ll continue monitoring her closely, and if her vitals remain steady, she’ll be transferred to her room within the hour.”

He scanned the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for someone in particular. When his gaze landed near the back, he seemed to find what he was looking for — and the faintest flicker of amusement ghosted across his face.

“Nurse Sonata will inform you when Clarabelle is moved,” he added, his tone brisk again. “She’ll also explain visiting hours and the post-op care she’ll need.”

He gave a small, polite nod. “Any questions?”

He probably regretted asking the moment the words left his mouth.

The Summers siblings spoke all at once, their collective anxiety exploding into a barrage of questions:

“Is there any permanent damage?”

“How long will it take her to recover?”

“Has the critical stage passed?”

“Will she be able to breathe normally again?”

“Does she need more blood?”

“When will she wake up?”

“Are there activities she has to avoid?”

“She’ll be alright, won’t she?”

For a brief second, the poor man looked overwhelmed — but to his credit, he stayed composed. He answered each question patiently, voice steady, every explanation detailed enough to soothe even the most worried among them.

“We’ll monitor her progress hour by hour,” he said finally. “I can’t make promises, but we’re doing everything we can to ensure she makes a full, speedy recovery.”

His professional smile held, gentle but reassuring. “Is there anything else?”

No one spoke this time. A few murmured quiet thanks. Thornton exhaled a long, shaky breath, squeezing Ava’s hand as if anchoring himself to the relief washing over him.

The doctor turned to leave — but then, from the entrance, a crisp female voice with a faint British lilt sliced through the room.

“Which one of you brilliant souls thought you could get away without telling me?”

The air froze.

“Shite,” Draven muttered under his breath.

Every Summers sibling turned in unison, their expressions a perfect blend of guilt and dread.

There, standing in the doorway like a storm wrapped in designer calm, was Tiffany Summers — arms crossed over her cashmere coat, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

“Well?” she demanded, her tone deceptively smooth. “I’m waiting.”