The hospital room smelled sharply of antiseptic, a smell that made my stomach turn and my head pound. The bright lights above me stabbed at my eyes, and every movement sent jagged waves of pain through my body. My chest ached, my limbs felt heavy, and even breathing was an effort. The memory of Damian's hands, cold and brutal, burned in my mind, and I flinched at every shadow and sound.
I tried to open my eyes fully, but the world tilted, forcing me to close them again. My body trembled violently, and nausea rose up in my throat. I pressed my hands against my face, trying to hold myself together, but I felt hollow, broken in ways I couldn't describe. Two nights in that dark underground cell had taken everything from me. The fear, the hunger, the constant threat, it had shredded my body and my mind.
"Ms. Ariana," Melinda whispered, her voice trembling, "you're awake."
I didn't answer. I didn't want to. My distrust, sharpened by fear, wrapped around me like armor. I hadn't trusted anyone before, and I certainly didn't trust her. Every nerve in my body screamed that danger was still close, that Damian's shadow still loomed, and that any moment could bring more pain.
Melinda's hand hovered near mine, careful not to touch me. She looked… terrified, her face streaked with tears. I noticed the way her shoulders trembled as she tried to keep her composure. She had cared, yes, but I couldn't allow myself to depend on anyone. Not even her.
"You're safe now," she said again. "You're going to be okay."
I shook my head violently. Safe was a lie. Nothing had been safe for me for a long time. Not my home, not my body, not even the shadows that seemed to follow me in every corner. I pressed my hands against the sheets, trying to ground myself, to remind myself that I was alive, but it felt like a fragile thread I could barely hold onto.
Hours passed in a haze. Melinda stayed by my side, whispering reassurances, coaxing me to sip water, brushing my hair gently from my face. I flinched at every touch, recoiling as though even kindness could betray me. She didn't push. She simply stayed, patient, and terrified in her own way. I could feel her heartbeat in the room, a rhythmic reminder that someone cared, but I didn't allow myself to believe it.
My body ached in ways I hadn't thought possible. Every slight movement reminded me of what had been done to me, the bruises, the broken ribs, the way my body had been violated and used as a tool for someone else's control. I shivered violently as the memories replayed, and for a moment, I could almost feel Damian's gaze on me again.
Then came the phone call that made my blood run cold.
Melinda's expression stiffened, her hand going to her mouth as she answered. My ears caught the harsh, cold timbre of Damian's voice immediately. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Why is she not under my control?"
I froze, heart hammering. My body refused to respond. Even lying in this hospital bed, weak and vulnerable, I could feel his presence crushing the room. Every muscle in my body tightened.
"She… she's under care, sir," Melinda said, her voice shaking but measured. "Her condition… she's unstable. She needs medical attention before she can be moved."
"I don't care about unstable," Damian snapped. "She is my responsibility. Bring her back immediately, or I will personally shut this hospital down and ensure every person who interferes pays for it."
Melinda's hands shook on the receiver, but she steadied herself. "Sir, please. You've seen what happened. She's fragile, physically and mentally. If she is moved now, she might not survive the transfer. Please, allow the doctors to stabilize her first. This is… in her best interest."
There was silence for a moment. Then Damian's voice, low and dangerous, filled the room. "I do not need a lecture on her well being. You forget your place, Melinda. You are not her protector. You are my..."
"I almost forgot, sir," Melinda interrupted, her voice firm but quiet, "that my place has always been that of a servant in your house, not her nanny. I am here to follow orders, yes, but I also remember what it means to keep her alive. I raised you with love Damian, but you also taught me to know consequences."
The line went quiet. I could hear the faint sound of Damian exhaling, as if he had been caught off guard. "Do not think you can lecture me," he said finally, softer, a hint of tension in his voice. "I will allow the transfer but she is to remain under the strictest observation. Guarded, private. Do not fail me."
Melinda let out a shaky breath. "Yes, sir. I understand."
I felt my stomach twist as the reality of Damian's decision sank in. Private ward, heavily guarded, doctors watching my every move. Safe? Perhaps physically, but nothing about it felt safe. I had escaped the immediate harm, yes, but the weight of his control, even from afar, pressed down on me like a stone.
When I finally drifted into a long, exhausted nap, I was unaware of the quiet flurry of activity around me. Doctors whispered instructions to nurses, security guards stationed themselves outside the doors, and Melinda oversaw the arrangements, tense, tearful, yet precise.
Hours later, I awoke slowly, the sterile light of the private ward stabbing at my eyes. My throat was dry, my body stiff and trembling. I blinked, disoriented, and that's when I noticed the guards stationed near the door, the doctors' sharp, watchful eyes, the secure locks, and the meticulous order of the room. Panic rose like a wave, a visceral terror clawing at my chest. I had not expected this.
Every instinct screamed danger. My heartbeat thundered painfully in my ears. I wanted to curl into myself, to disappear, to somehow vanish from their view, but my frail body could not respond. I was trapped, observed, powerless. Damian's control, indirect but absolute, was everywhere in this room. Even in sleep, he had found a way to assert dominance.
Melinda sat quietly at the edge of the bed, her hand brushing mine, and I recoiled instinctively. "You'll be fine, I promise" she whispered softly. I shook my head. I could not trust her yet. Not fully. Not until the shadow of Damian had lifted entirely from my life.
Then the door opened, and my stomach dropped.
Damian entered, tall and imposing, his presence filling the room with cold authority. Every instinct in me screamed danger. His eyes scanned me briefly, sharp and calculating, taking in my frail state, my trembling hands, the wary glare in my eyes. He did not linger.
"Everyone else, leave," he ordered, his voice low but deadly. The guards, the nurses, the doctors moved immediately, Melinda also following suit. I grabbed her arm, panic twisting my chest. "Please, Melinda… don't leave me alone with him," I whispered, my voice trembling.
She hesitated, but Damian's gaze sliced through the room. "Now," he said sharply. Melinda stepped back, reluctantly, casting me a pleading glance before obeying.
Damian moved closer, his cold gaze never leaving mine. "You've learned your lesson," he said quietly, the words precise, controlled, dangerous. "Do not mistake your freedom for defiance. There is a line, and you've crossed it."
"I… I understand, sir," I whispered, my voice shaky, a trace of sassy defiance trembling beneath my fear. "I… I won't do it again."
He nodded slightly, the barest twitch of acknowledgment. "Good. You'll be dead the next time you defy me." His eyes lingered just long enough to ensure I understood, then he stepped back.
"You will be discharged from this hospital immediately," he said.
Without another word, Damian turned and walked out of the room, the door closing silently behind him.
Leaving me to my own fear..
******
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