I surfaced from the dark slowly, as though I were dragging myself out of deep water. My body felt heavy, my head thick, and for a long mont I couldn’t tell if I was awake or still lost sowhere in the fog of fever. Shapes swam in and out of view, a dull light cutting through the haze.
Then I saw her.
Mira, sitting in the chair by my bed, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes fixed on as if she was willing to open mine.
I thought I was dreaming again. My mind had played that trick before, conjuring her face when I drifted in and out of half-consciousness.
‘Mira?’ My voice was rough, barely more than a whisper.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Relief flooded her face so fiercely it almost hurt to look at.
She reached for my hand, holding it between both of hers as if she was afraid I might vanish.
‘You’re awake. Thank God, Ashton, you’re awake.’
I tried to shift, the simple act of moving my right arm sending a bolt of pain up to my shoulder. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to flinch. My fingers barely responded, the dull weight of them making my stomach twist.
She must have seen it. She didn’t say anything, but her grip tightened.
‘How long?’ I managed.
‘Almost a week. You’ve been in and out, fever mostly. The doctors said you needed rest.’
Her voice was soft, steady, but I caught the exhaustion in it, the edges frayed from nights spent watching over . Guilt settled like lead in my chest. She shouldn’t have been here, wasting herself on .
I closed my eyes for a mont, then forced them open again. ‘The company.’
Mira leaned closer, her lips curving into a faint smile. ‘LGH is safe. The moratorium’s been withdrawn. Investors are calm again. You don’t need to worry about it anymore.’
Safe. Withdrawn. Words I wanted to believe, but I knew the cost of such victories. Nothing in this world ca without a price. And if she was the one delivering this news, that ant she had been the one paying.
I studied her face. She looked worn, shadows under her eyes, but there was fire in her expression, a determination I recognised. She’d been fighting for . Fighting battles that should have been mine.
‘What did you give up?’ My voice ca out rougher than I intended.
She frowned. ‘Why do you assu I—’
‘Because I know you,’ I cut in, sharper than I ant. ‘You would throw yourself into fire if you thought it would help. What did you sacrifice this ti, Mira? What did you risk for ?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing that matters. What matters is you’re still here. That’s all I care about.’
Her words should have soothed , but instead they twisted the knife deeper. I turned my head away, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the sick, hollow dread in my stomach.
The doctors’ voices echoed in my mory, half-heard through fever. Nerve damage. Limited recovery. Possible permanent loss of function.
They hadn’t said it outright, but I had enough sense to know what it ant. My right hand might never work the way it used to.
And what use was a man who couldn’t fight his own battles, who couldn’t even hold a pen without trembling?
I let out a low laugh, humourless. ‘I may never use this hand properly again. Do you know what that ans?’
Her gaze snapped to . ‘I don’t care.’
The words were out of her mouth before I could stop her. Firm, desperate, raw.
I turned my head, eting her eyes sharply. She looked as if she had just bared her soul, cheeks flushed, lips pressed tight as if she regretted the outburst but wouldn’t take it back.
My chest tightened. For a heartbeat, I wanted to believe her, wanted to let the warmth of those words sink into and banish the doubt clawing at my ribs. But then the thought crept in, insidious and cold.
She was here because she felt guilty. Because she thought she owed . Because she didn’t know any better than to throw herself into a cage and call it love.
I couldn’t let her chain herself to out of pity.
So I closed my mouth, retreating into silence.
She searched my face, waiting. When I didn’t speak, her shoulders sagged slightly. She smoothed the blanket over , her touch lingering at my arm.
The door opened, doctors ca in, checking charts, murmuring instructions, pressing stethoscopes to my chest. They nodded to each other, spoke to Mira more than , then left just as briskly as they ca.
The room was quiet again. Mira hovered, eyes filled with questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
‘I need rest,’ I said, keeping my tone even, polite, the words carefully chosen.
Her lips parted, the faintest flicker of hurt crossing her face. She nodded slowly. ‘Of course.’
She stood, smoothing her skirt, gathering her bag. She gave one last look, as though hoping I’d change my mind, call her back, say sothing to stop her.
I didn’t.
When the door shut behind her, the silence was deafening.
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