Chapter 9
I told myself I wasn't going to the hospital for him.
I was going because Marcus called. Because there might be legal implications. Because if Dominic died before the divorce was finalized, the acquisition would collapse into probate chaos.
I told myself a lot of things in that taxi.
None of them were true.
The ICU was cold and bright. Marcus met me at the nurses' station, his face gray.
"Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Head trauma—they're monitoring for swelling."
"Will he live?"
"They think so. But—" He rubbed his face. "Elena, there's something else."
He handed me his phone. On the screen was a text conversation between Vivian and someone saved as "K."
*"Make it look like an accident."*
*"He knows too much. If he talks to Elena again it's over."*
*"I don't care how you do it. Just make sure he doesn't walk away."*
My stomach turned.
"This is attempted murder."
"I've already called the police. But Elena—she's gone. Left the country two hours ago."
I stared through the glass partition at Dominic's unconscious form. Tubes in his arms. Bruises blooming across his face. A machine breathing for him.
In my past life, I never got this moment. I was already dead by the time anything could have changed.
But here I was. Alive. And he was the one on the table.
I pressed my hand flat against the glass.
"He's a bastard," I whispered to no one. "He deserves this."
But even as I said it, something ancient and stubborn in my chest refused to agree.
I stayed until dawn.
When the doctor came out at 6 AM, he addressed me directly.
"Mrs. Ashford?"
I didn't correct him.
"He's stabilized. The lung is reinflating. He woke briefly and asked for you."
My hand tightened on my bag.
"He asked for me?"
"He said your name. Several times."
I went in.
Dominic looked smaller in that bed. The machines around him beeped softly, steadily. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against the bruises underneath.
I sat in the chair beside him. I didn't touch him.
His eyes opened. Barely.
"Elena."
"Don't talk. Your lung is—"
"She tried to kill you too." His voice was barely a whisper, each word costing him. "The surgery. It was supposed to kill you."
"I know."
"I would have lost you." His eyes closed. "I already lost you."
I sat there for a long time after he fell back asleep.
Then I stood, pressed the nurse's call button, and walked out.
In the hallway, I made three calls.
The first to my legal team: proceed with the acquisition at full speed.
The second to Marcus: file the divorce today, uncontested.
The third to an international private investigator.
"I need you to find Vivian Reed. She fled the country. I don't care where she is—I want her found."
"Alive?"
"Alive. She owes me a kidney, and I intend to collect."
Not literally. But she would pay. In every way that mattered.
---
I was going because Marcus called. Because there might be legal implications. Because if Dominic died before the divorce was finalized, the acquisition would collapse into probate chaos.
I told myself a lot of things in that taxi.
None of them were true.
The ICU was cold and bright. Marcus met me at the nurses' station, his face gray.
"Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Head trauma—they're monitoring for swelling."
"Will he live?"
"They think so. But—" He rubbed his face. "Elena, there's something else."
He handed me his phone. On the screen was a text conversation between Vivian and someone saved as "K."
*"Make it look like an accident."*
*"He knows too much. If he talks to Elena again it's over."*
*"I don't care how you do it. Just make sure he doesn't walk away."*
My stomach turned.
"This is attempted murder."
"I've already called the police. But Elena—she's gone. Left the country two hours ago."
I stared through the glass partition at Dominic's unconscious form. Tubes in his arms. Bruises blooming across his face. A machine breathing for him.
In my past life, I never got this moment. I was already dead by the time anything could have changed.
But here I was. Alive. And he was the one on the table.
I pressed my hand flat against the glass.
"He's a bastard," I whispered to no one. "He deserves this."
But even as I said it, something ancient and stubborn in my chest refused to agree.
I stayed until dawn.
When the doctor came out at 6 AM, he addressed me directly.
"Mrs. Ashford?"
I didn't correct him.
"He's stabilized. The lung is reinflating. He woke briefly and asked for you."
My hand tightened on my bag.
"He asked for me?"
"He said your name. Several times."
I went in.
Dominic looked smaller in that bed. The machines around him beeped softly, steadily. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against the bruises underneath.
I sat in the chair beside him. I didn't touch him.
His eyes opened. Barely.
"Elena."
"Don't talk. Your lung is—"
"She tried to kill you too." His voice was barely a whisper, each word costing him. "The surgery. It was supposed to kill you."
"I know."
"I would have lost you." His eyes closed. "I already lost you."
I sat there for a long time after he fell back asleep.
Then I stood, pressed the nurse's call button, and walked out.
In the hallway, I made three calls.
The first to my legal team: proceed with the acquisition at full speed.
The second to Marcus: file the divorce today, uncontested.
The third to an international private investigator.
"I need you to find Vivian Reed. She fled the country. I don't care where she is—I want her found."
"Alive?"
"Alive. She owes me a kidney, and I intend to collect."
Not literally. But she would pay. In every way that mattered.
---