All Chapters of Too Late Mr. Hawthorne I Already Married Your Rival : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Elena’s POV“Damian left you here for Isabella, didn’t he?”Samantha’s voice hung in the air between us, sharp enough to cut. I stared at the thin hospital blanket covering my legs and at the white bandage wrapped tight around my upper arm, at anything except her face. The fluorescent lights above the bed buzzed faintly.My throat felt dry.“He… he got a call,” I said finally. The words came out small. “From her. She was shaken. He said she has trauma and that these things are hard for her to bear.”Samantha made a sound that was half laugh, half something uglier.“Hard for her to bear? Oh, please. You just got shot, Ellie. You’re the one sitting here with stitches while he runs off to hold her hand.”I pressed my good hand against the edge of the mattress. “It happened fast. He panicked. He thought the gun was aimed at her.”“And then he left you alone in a treatment room so he could go check on the woman who wasn’t even hit.” Samantha stepped closer, arms crossed. “This isn’t about

Elena’s POVI didn’t look back.The corridor stretched ahead of me in a blur of white walls and scuffed linoleum. My arm pulsed with every step, the bandage pulling tight against the stitches. Somewhere behind me, raised voices still echoed,Lucas’s fury, Damian’s defenses, Isabella’s soft cries.But I kept walking.Samantha caught up first. Her hand brushed my uninjured elbow, light enough that I could have shaken her off if I wanted to.“Elena.” Her voice was low. “Slow down.”I didn’t. The exit signs glowed red above the double doors.He had managed to free himself from the orderlies, but he didn't say a word.His jaw was set, eyes still burning. He fell into step on my other side without speaking. The three of us moved together through the automatic doors and into the cooler dark.Outside, the city noise rose around us,distant traffic, a siren somewhere far off. I stopped under the covered walkway and drew a breath that scraped. My hands were steady. That felt wrong. They should ha

Elena’s POVAt security I had to remove the sling and hold my arm carefully while the agent checked the medical note Lucas had printed. People stared. But I stared at the floor. On the other side Lucas helped me put the sling back on without making a big production of it. His hands were careful. He still looked like he wanted to go find Damian and finish what the orderlies had stopped.We reached the gate with twenty minutes to spare. Lucas bought water and protein bars. Samantha offered me half of a chocolate croissant she didn’t really want. I took a few bites because she watched me until I did. The gate agent called first-class and priority boarding. Lucas stepped forward with the three tickets and the medical documentation. That was when the mix-up started.While he was explaining the arm injury and asking if we could board early, Samantha was helping me zip my jacket without catching the fabric on the bandage. One of the boarding passes slipped. Another got folded the wrong way

Elena's POV Dad’s arm stayed locked around my shoulders. The warmth that had spread through my chest a second ago turned thin and cold. “Why is Mr. Carter here?” His voice was low, controlled, the way it got when something serious had walked into the room. I followed his gaze. The stranger from the plane,the one whose jacket had still been folded under my arm when the plane landed,was sliding into the back seat of a black car. The driver shut the door. The car pulled away from the curb without hurry. I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out. “Do you know him?” Dad asked.“I don’t know,” I said finally. “He was on my flight. That’s all.” Dad’s eyes stayed on the disappearing car for another second. Then he looked down at me. The hard line of his mouth softened, but only a little. “Carter doesn’t take commercial flights for fun.” Lucas stepped closer, suitcase handle gripped tight. “What are you talking about? Who’s Carter?” “Business,” Dad said. “Not now.” He squeeze

Elena’s POV I woke up to the same dull throb in my arm and the same wrong-side-of-the-bed feeling that had followed me since the restaurant. My old bedroom still smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the lemon polish Dad used on the dresser. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I tried to move. Pain pulled sharply through my arm, dragging the memories back with it,the restaurant, the gunshot, Damien, the blood. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly until the ache settled into something bearable. Getting out of bed took longer than it should have. I swung my legs over the side, braced my good hand against the mattress, and stood carefully. The bathroom was only a few steps away, but with one arm strapped into a sling, even those few steps felt like a negotiation with my own body. I made it to the sink. I managed to get the toothpaste open one-handed. That was the easy part. Squeezing it onto the brush while keeping the tube from shooting across the counter was another s