Novelas y relatos de Damian X Flatline

"I'm here to support my wife at her commendation ceremony." "That's impossible!" Damian's face twisted in fury as he stormed forward, trying to tear us apart. "Evelyn is my fiancee! She's here to marry me!" Before he could even touch me, the bodyguards standing behind Sebastian stepped up and pinned him to the floor. Damian had been out of the military for four years, and his fitness was nowhere near what it used to be. His cheek rubbed against the carpet, his suit wrinkled, leaving him looking thoroughly pathetic.

“Take this off me. Now. And discharge me immediately.” “Mr. Damian, please, your wound—” “I said now!” Damian’s voice thundered, his blue eyes blazing with a ferocity that left no room for negotiation. The doctor hesitated, looking to me for help. I shook my head, silently begging Damian to stop, but he didn’t even glance my way. Reluctantly, the doctor set to work, removing the IV and carefully unhooking the other monitors attached to Damian. My heart clenched as I watched him wince but stubbornly refuse to show any sign of weakness.

“Voss.” “It’s me,” Damian said, his voice low, stripped of its usual control. “I need to talk.” There was a pause. Then, “You’re not in your lab. You missed your scheduled scan.” “I know.” Another pause. “You had contact.” Damian closed his eyes. “Yes.” “How bad is it?” “That’s the problem,” Damian said slowly. “It isn’t bad. I touched her. I… was with her. For hours. And there was no reaction. No pain. No inflammation. Nothing.”

"What?" "The music. Kill it." He looks at me for a beat, then nods to the driver. The violin dies mid-note and the silence that follows is just as loud and suffocating. Well, it feels a lot better now. I can think in silence, or I can't think at all. Either way, it's better than pretending Dr Albright gives a fuck about my medical license circling the drain. "We're going to fix this Lin. I just need you to be more optimistic." Damian's voice cuts through. Calm and soothing as always. Like he's never failed at anything in his life. Maybe he hasn't, but that's definitely a lie.

Damian walked straight toward them. “Damian—wait!” Eli started to rise. Damian didn’t turn. “Eli. Trust me.” His voice carried through the corridor—deep, calm, and lethal. Eli froze. The drones opened fire. And Damian moved like a storm unleashed. He wasn’t evading the shots—not exactly. He anticipated them, weaving between the bursts of plasma, striking the drones with precision and violence. A swift kick shattered one; he spun and slammed another into the floor, crushing its metal shell under his boot. Sparks rained around him, lighting his silhouette in flashes of electric blue.

Let me pray to gods I did not believe in. At 3 AM, the machines started screaming. Alarms. Flashing lights. Chaos. "He is crashing!" The nurse hit a button. "Code blue! Room seven!" Doctors flooded in. Pushed me aside. Working frantically. "V-fib! Charging—" "Clear!" Damien's body jerked. The monitors flatlined. "Again! Charging—" "Clear!" Nothing. Just a long steady tone. Death. "Come on—" The doctor pressed the paddles again. "Clear!"

Fresh tears threatened to fall. Damian grabbed my shoulders as he turned and was facing me. “Stop that. Right now! If he was going to die, he would have been happy to die for someone he cared for. This was an honorable way to go. He did what he should have done. Nothing you could have done to stop him. There was no way you would have known to put a shield up.” I just broke down crying. Damian held me in his arms as I cried until exhaustion finally won, making me pass out. I was barely conscious when someone came into the gym. “Good, she is asleep. The medicine in the water worked.”

“This isn’t your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself.” They sat like that, the silence broken only by Zara’s trembling breaths. In his office, Damian sat hunched over his laptop, his eyes fixed on the grainy footage Christian had sent. The timestamp ticked across the corner of the screen as he watched Jaxon fight—throwing punches, holding his ground like the soldier he was. But then, a brutal blow to the head sent him staggering. In the next moment, masked men dragged his limp body toward a waiting van.

There was only her, the rhythmic beep of the monitor, and the unbearable quiet between heartbeats. --- By the time dawn broke, the rain had stopped. The city outside began to stir — headlights cutting through mist, people starting their day as if the world hadn’t just fallen apart. Inside the ICU, Damian hadn’t moved. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the back of Amara’s hand. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Please.” The monitor beeped steadily — proof that she was still here, still fighting. For the first time in his life, Damian Cruz prayed.

“I thought my personal life wasn’t any of your concern.” A brief silence followed. Then Damien replied calmly, “At the moment, I’m less interested in your personal life than I am in whether you’re safe.” His answer caught me completely off guard. It wasn’t the cold calculation I had come to expect from him. I found myself telling him everything including the fake nurse, the attempted injection, the arrest, my father’s whispered warning. Damien listened without interrupting, his silence attentive rather than dismissive. When I finished, he said only one sentence. “Stay where you are. I’m coming.”