Chapter 14

My skull feels like it's splitting open. No—scratch that. Every inch of my body screams in agony. I try prying my eyes open, but they refuse. Heavy, like stones are weighing them down. I attempt to call for Liam, for anyone, but my voice betrays me, trapped in my throat.

I'm moving. Or rather, someone is moving me. Each jolt sends fresh waves of pain radiating through me. I silently beg them to slow down. Or better yet, just stop.

"We need a doctor—now!" a voice barks.

I don’t understand. Why a doctor? What’s happening? I fight to stay conscious, but the darkness drags me under again, and this time, I don’t resist.

When awareness returns, the pain has dulled, but my body still won’t obey. My limbs feel encased in concrete. A prisoner inside my own skin.

Voices murmur around me, distant and muffled, as if submerged underwater. Nothing makes sense. Panic claws at me—where’s Liam? He must be frantic since I never called. But I’m powerless to do anything.

The void claims me again before I can grasp my surroundings. My last coherent thought is of Liam’s face, the hurt he’d feel if I never came home.

Light assaults my vision when I finally wake. I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut against the brightness.

"You're awake," a woman’s voice says—soft, unfamiliar.

I try opening my eyes again, but the light is relentless.

"Sorry about that," she murmurs. Fabric rustles. "There. You can look now."

True to her word, the room is dim when I blink my eyes open. Curtains drawn, lights low. A nurse—late thirties, crisp uniform—stands beside me. The sterile scent confirms it: a hospital.

"Thank you," I rasp, my throat raw.

She hands me water. "Drink slowly. I’ll fetch the doctor. Your family will be thrilled you’re awake."

I sip, savoring the cool relief. The room is cluttered with flowers, balloons, and teddy bears. A stack of cards sits on the bedside table. I reach for one just as the door swings open.

Ethan Blackwood strides in.

"You look terrible," I croak, my voice steadier now.

His usually immaculate appearance is wrecked—hair wild, clothes wrinkled, shadows bruising his eyes. I’ve never seen him like this. The Ethan I know is always polished, controlled. Now, he looks like he’s survived a war.

"How do you feel?" he asks, sinking into the chair beside me.

"Like I lost a fight with a freight train." I frown. "Why are you here?"

His hand engulfs mine before I can pull away. His grip tightens when I try.

"Don’t," he whispers, voice frayed. "I need this. To know you’re real. That this isn’t some nightmare."

My confusion deepens. Did I wake up in some twisted parallel universe? None of this adds up.

"Ethan, are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?" I press my free hand to his forehead.

The door interrupts us. A doctor enters, scanning a chart before smiling at me.

"Miss Sterling, glad you’re awake. We were worried." He flips a page. "Do you know where you are? What happened?"

I nod. "Hospital. Someone—something—shoved me when I unlocked my car. I hit my head."

I’ve avoided dwelling on it since waking. Terrified to acknowledge how close I came to dying.

"Correct. Your car was bombed. The blast threw you back." He pauses. "And what year is it?"

I answer. He scribbles notes. Ethan’s hand tightens around mine. When I glance at him, something flickers in his gaze—gone before I can decipher it.

Bombed. The word echoes in my skull. A headache builds, pain seeping into my bones.

"Remembering the year, your name, and recognizing Mr. Blackwood are excellent signs. We’ll run more tests to rule out amnesia."

"Okay," I whisper.

"Now, your injuries: dislocated shoulder—repaired. Three broken ribs. Ruptured spleen. Traumatic brain injury causing fluid buildup—we drained it. Reopened shoulder stitches—repaired. The head injury remains our primary concern. Any questions?"

My free hand drifts to the bandages. The reality sinks in.

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days. We induced a coma to reduce swelling. We’ll monitor you longer for complications."

I nod, exhaustion pulling at me.

The doctor smiles. "I’ll give you and your husband privacy."

Husband? I arch a brow at Ethan as the door shuts.

He has the decency to look sheepish. "They wouldn’t let me see you otherwise."

"Liam—is he okay? Please tell him nothing." My voice cracks. The thought of him grieving wrecks me.

"Hey." Ethan thumbs away my tears. "You’re alive. Liam’s fine. He misses you."

"You’re being weird," I laugh weakly.

This is the Ethan I once loved. But I know it’s temporary. Once I’m healed, he’ll revert to cold indifference. The thought aches.

My eyelids droop. I fight it, but my body demands surrender.

"Sleep, Sophia," Ethan murmurs. Lips brush my forehead. "I’m not going anywhere."

I must be dreaming. Because the real Ethan Blackwood would never be this tender.