Chapter 38: Breaking Point

The world spun in a disorienting blur, the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears like a drum. I was on the ground, the cold concrete scraping against my skin, but it felt distant—like I wasn’t really there. The pain in my side burned like fire, but even that seemed muffled, as if someone had wrapped the world in a fog I couldn’t escape.

I tried to move, to get up, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, and for a moment, all I could do was focus on that—breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

“Elena!” Dominic’s voice broke through the haze, his hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me gently but urgently. “Stay with me. Elena, please—stay with me.”

His words cut through the panic that was rising inside me, and my mind snapped back to reality. The gunshots. The men. The blood. The pain.

I looked up, blinking as my vision swam. Dominic was kneeling beside me, his face pale, his brow furrowed in fear. But I didn’t have the strength to reassure him, to tell him I was okay—because I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay.

“You’re going to be fine,” Dominic muttered, more to himself than to me. His voice was shaky, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something else. Something raw. Desperate. “Just breathe, Elena. Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.”

His words were like a lifeline, but I could feel myself slipping, the edges of my vision darkening, the pain in my side intensifying with each breath I took. It was too much. Too much to handle.

“Dominic,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I coughed, the blood mixing with the words that tumbled out of my mouth. “I… I can’t feel my leg.”

His eyes widened, and in that moment, I saw the truth—the fear in his eyes, the realization that I might not make it out of this alive. His hand was on my leg now, his fingers tracing the wound as if trying to make sense of it, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his voice low and intense. “We’re going to get you help. You have to stay with me, Elena. Please.”

But I could feel the life slipping away from me, piece by piece, and I didn’t know if I could fight it. I didn’t know if I wanted to.

Suddenly, I was being lifted, Dominic’s arms strong as they scooped me up, cradling me against his chest. I didn’t even have the strength to protest, my body going limp in his arms. His heart was pounding beneath my ear, the frantic rhythm of it matching my own.

I wanted to say something, anything to make him understand—anything to make him know how much I hated this, hated that he was here, that he was the one to see me like this. But the words were slipping away from me, just like everything else.

“We’re almost there,” Dominic said, his voice tight with panic. “Just stay with me. Just a little longer, Elena.”

I felt myself drifting, the edges of my consciousness becoming soft and blurry. The world around me felt distant, too far away for me to hold on to. But then, as if through a haze, I felt Dominic’s lips brush against my forehead, his breath warm against my skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, and for the briefest of moments, I could have sworn I heard sincerity in his voice. But it was so quiet, so soft, that I couldn’t be sure.

I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, that I hated him for everything he had done. For the lies. For the betrayal. But the words stuck in my throat, too heavy to lift.

I closed my eyes, not out of choice, but because my body was giving in, and I felt the darkness claim me once more.

The next time I opened my eyes, the world was different. Brighter. My head was resting against something soft, and I could hear the faint beep of machines in the background. The sterile smell of a hospital filled my nose, and I knew—I was alive.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I didn’t want to face whatever reality awaited me. I didn’t want to face Dominic, to hear him talk about what had happened, about how close I had come to dying. But there was a weight on my hand—warmth—and I knew, even before I turned my head, who it was.

When I did turn, I found Dominic sitting in a chair next to the bed, his head bent low, his fingers laced through mine. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and there was a darkness in his gaze that made my heart clench.

“Elena,” he breathed, his voice raw. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

I didn’t answer at first. I wasn’t sure what to say. The weight of everything that had happened, everything that had been said, was too much to process. My mind kept circling back to that moment when he had held me in his arms, when he had whispered those three words.

“I love you.”

I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t make sense of him, of what we were, of how we had ended up here—of what was real and what was just a manipulation.

But the silence between us stretched, and in that silence, I knew—he had been there when I needed him. He had kept me alive.

“Why?” I asked, my voice weak, barely a whisper. “Why did you… why did you say that?”

Dominic’s face tightened, and I saw the struggle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. Finally, he said, “I don’t know, Elena. I don’t know why I waited so long to say it.”

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to gather my thoughts, trying to make sense of everything. But everything was spinning again, too fast, too much.

“Did you mean it?” I whispered, the question slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

He stared at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place—longing? Regret? But most of all, truth. He didn’t pull away, didn’t look like he regretted what he had said.

“I meant it,” he said softly. “I meant it more than anything I’ve ever said.”

I swallowed, my chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. My hand was still in his, and I didn’t pull away. Despite everything—the manipulation, the lies, the betrayal—I didn’t pull away.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t want to.