Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in the hospital ER.

The sterile white light blinded me, and a quick glance at the clock on the wall made my heart drop. I had been unconscious for an entire day and night.

The doctor told me the post-miscarriage infection was severe and that I had to be admitted immediately.

That night—the night I finally woke up— Damian called. His voice held a trace of exhausted tenderness. "Why aren't you home yet? I brought you those sweets you like."

He didn't even realize I had been missing for over thirty hours.

I lied without missing a beat. "I’m working late at the office. I won’t be back tonight."

Damian didn't push. He sighed, his tone shifting into a calm, matter-of-fact arrangement:

"Don't overwork yourself. Sophia needs someone around her 24/7 right now, so it’s probably better you’re not home anyway—keeps you two from getting into it again. Once this chaos settles, I’ll make sure to spend some real time with you."

In the past, if I worked late, he’d have a full squad of soldiers guarding the building downstairs.

Now, his head and heart were entirely occupied by his "dying" childhood sweetheart.

He didn't call again that night. I assumed he was pulled up next to Sophia’s hospital bed.

The following morning, as I was being discharged and picking up my meds, I ran into Damian and Sophia at the hospital entrance.

The girl was in a wheelchair, bundled under a thick blanket. Damian was meticulously tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Damian froze when he saw me, then walked over to take my hand.

"Elena? What are you doing here? Why do you look so pale?"

The concern in his eyes looked genuine, like he actually felt for me.

I looked at him, my expression flat. "Just my period. Picking up some meds."

That finally jogged his memory of the desperate call I had made two days ago.. A flash of guilt crossed his face.

"I'm sorry. Sophia’s situation was too critical that day. When we get home, I’ll have the chef brew you some tonics. I’ll even feed you myself, alright?"

Sophia took that moment to let out a couple of coughs, speaking in a frail voice:

"Elena, don't be mad at Damian. It’s just this damn body of mine failing; I’m always dragging him down. If you’re angry, just take it out on me."

The second Damian heard that, he gripped her hand, his heart clearly aching for her.

"Don't talk like that. Just focus on getting better. Elena isn't that petty."

He turned back to me, his eyes filled with that "you need to be the bigger person here" expectation.

"Come on, let’s go. I’ll drop you at the office. We’ll grab dinner tonight—consider it my apology."

I turned him down flat, claiming I had an emergency at work.

He didn't take no for an answer and pulled me into the car.

Sophia sat in the passenger seat like a pampered little princess.

"Elena, Damian canceled several major international sit-downs just to stay with me. He really loves you most; it's just that with me like this, he can't bring himself to leave my side."

In our eight years together, Damian had never canceled a single meeting for me.

Yet Sophia’s "terminal illness" had made him break every rule in his book.

I stared out the window, only to be interrupted by Sophia’s gasp.

"Oh! Damian, I think I messed up your seat... I’m so sorry..."

On the passenger seat, there was a jarring smear of red.

Damian has always been a neat freak.

But now, facing Sophia, his gaze was soft. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it away without a second thought. "It’s fine. Seats can be replaced. Don't scare yourself. I’ll have someone get rid of this car later and get one in a color you actually like."

As the words left his mouth, he reflexively checked me in the rearview mirror.

Seeing my lack of reaction, a flicker of unease passed through his eyes, but Sophia’s voice quickly pulled him back.

When we reached my office, I ran into my mentor the moment I stepped out of the car.

He lowered his voice. "Elena, the paperwork is finished. You’re on a flight the morning after tomorrow. Are you really not going to tell him?"

I was about to answer when Damian rolled down the window. His tone was gentle but left no room for argument.

"Elena, Sophia wants to spend some time by the ocean before she goes. About the wedding next month—we’ll just do a small, simple ceremony for now. I’ll make up the honeymoon to you next spring, okay?"