Don't Teach Her Fear

The Mercedes pulled a stop at the hospital driveway. Damon barely waited for the car to stop before he threw the door open and jumped out, Lewis and two other guards following at a jog.

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. St. Mary’s Hospital rose pale and modern in the midmorning light, Damon had lost count the number of times he's had to come to this same hospital over the years.

It didn't hold good memories for him but here he was again, running in to check yet another loved one.

Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and coffee. Nurses glanced up as the group swept through the automatic doors. Damon moved with long, hard strides, every nerve on fire. He had been replaying Jack’s words the entire drive….

How well do you think you can protect her?!

And now the echo was like a spike in his skull.

At the reception desk a young nurse started to ask for identification, but Lewis stepped forward and produced Damon’s card. “Naomi Sinclair,” Damon said tightly. “Which room?”

“Sixth floor, room 604,” the nurse said quickly. “But…”

Damon was already moving. They took the elevator up, the numbers climbing too slowly. He stood perfectly still, but his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

In his head he saw Naomi laughing at breakfast that morning, her hair falling over one shoulder, completely unaware of any danger. And now she was in a hospital bed because of someone he might have taken lightly.

The doors slid open on the sixth floor. Two uniformed security officers were stationed outside 604; Patrick was there too, pale and rumpled, phone pressed to his ear. When he saw Damon he hung up immediately.

“She’s inside,” he said. “They’re running scans for internal injuries. The doctors think nothing’s broken but she’s..”

Damon brushed past him without waiting. He pushed through the door.

Naomi lay propped up on white pillows, a bruise blossoming across one side of her forehead. Her arm was in a temporary sling, an IV snaking from the back of her hand. Her eyes fluttered open when she heard him.

“Damon?” Her voice was small, as if she had been crying. “You’re here…”

He was at her side in two steps, crouching so he was level with her. “I’m here. Are you in pain?”

She tried to smile but winced instead. “Just sore. They say I hit my head pretty hard.”

His jaw tightened. He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I was coming down the stairs to the parking level,” she said slowly. “Someone was behind me. I felt a push. Then…” Her eyes went distant. “Then I was on the landing. Everything went fuzzy. Patrick was shouting for an ambulance.”

Damon’s gaze flicked to the doorway where Patrick hovered, guilt etched into his face. “Did you see who it was?”

Naomi shook her head, frustrated. “It was so quick. I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman.”

He pressed her hand lightly. “It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

She searched his face. “This isn’t an accident, is it?”

Damon forced his voice to stay calm. “Don’t think about that right now. Focus on getting better.”

“I’m not stupid,” she whispered. “Someone tried to push me down the stairs . To hurt me. Damon… what’s happening?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Patrick had stepped back, giving them space. Damon leaned closer to Naomi, lowering his voice. “I’ll handle it. Whoever it was, they’ll regret touching you.”

Her fingers tightened weakly around his. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

He almost smiled at that. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

A nurse came in to check Naomi’s vitals, and Damon stood aside, jaw working. When she left again, he turned to Patrick and crooked a finger. Patrick approached nervously.

“You should have been with her,” Damon said quietly, the words edged with steel.

“I…I stepped out to take a call,” Patrick stammered. “She insisted she’d be fine. I ran back the second I heard….”

Damon cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I’m not interested in excuses. I’m interested in names.”

Patrick swallowed hard. “Sir?”

“You know the building. You know who was there. Start digging. Discreetly. No police yet. I want to know who pushed her before they know I’m looking.”

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair,” Patrick said, voice shaking. “I’ll start immediately.”

“Good.” Damon turned back to Naomi. Her eyes were half-closed, her breathing even but shallow.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on hers. For a long moment he just watched her, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the silence.

He thought of Jack again, of the way he had smoothed his cufflinks before leaving the café.

She’s always been trusting. Don’t teach her regret.

The timing was too perfect to be coincidence. Jack had moved a piece off the board to make Damon flinch. Now he had to decide how to respond without playing directly into Jack’s hands.

Naomi stirred. “Damon?”

“I’m here.”

Her eyes searched his. “I’m scared.”

He bent down and kissed her forehead gently. “I know. But you’re not alone.”

She managed a faint smile. “You’re trembling.”

He realised he was. He forced himself to unclench his fist. “I’ll handle it,” he said again, more to himself than to her.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Lewis stepped in, expression grim. “We’ve doubled security on this floor. No one comes in without clearance.”

“Good,” Damon said. “Keep it tight.”

Lewis nodded and left.

Patrick hovered uncertainly, then said,

“Mr. Sinclair, there’s something else. The CCTV system on that stairwell went down twenty minutes before the incident. Tech says it was ‘scheduled maintenance,’ but…”

Damon’s head snapped up. “But?”

Patrick looked pale. “But it wasn’t on the schedule I approved.”

Damon exhaled slowly, fury coiling in his chest. “Find out who signed off on it. Today.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Patrick left, Damon sat back down. Naomi’s eyes were closed again, but her grip on his hand hadn’t loosened. He could feel her pulse fluttering under her skin, fragile but steady.

He stared at her, and in his mind he saw Jack sitting in the café, sipping tea as if nothing in the world could touch him. Damon had always played his battles in courtrooms and boardrooms. But this… someone had crossed a line.

He stroked Naomi’s hand once, gently. “You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I won’t let them near you again.”

She murmured something he couldn’t catch and drifted into a medicated sleep.

Damon stood, his face a mask. Lewis reappeared at the door. “Sir?”

“Clear my schedule for the next two days,” Damon said quietly. “And have a car ready tonight. We’re paying Ms. Clara a visit.”

Lewis hesitated. “Directly?”

“Discreetly,” Damon corrected.

“Yes, sir.”

When Lewis left, Damon turned back once more. Naomi lay sleeping, the bruise on her temple dark against her pale skin.

For the first time in years he felt genuinely afraid. Not for himself, but for her.

What if he underestimated this whole thing? What if her father was right about his warnings?