EstellaI sit in a wheelchair, my fingers curled around the thin blanket draped over my lap. The walls of the hospital room feel like they’re closing in, pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe.It’s been a week since I woke up. Since Dr Sanders’s word changed everything for me. I think back to our exact exchange that day. "Mrs. De Luca" Dr. Sanders sits beside my bed, chart in hand. "Your blood work showed elevated hCG levels." She pauses. "It appears you're pregnant."The words don't make sense at first. Like they're in a language I don't quite understand."That's... that's not possible." I finally find the words to answer, my voice sounds distant. "You see I had an the accident...""I have your previous medical records already." She checks her tablet. "A truck collision one year ago. Your doctors believed the trauma would make conception difficult." She looks up. "But not impossible."My hand finds my stomach. Flat. Unchanged. But..."Six weeks along," she continues
Estella "What did you need to talk to me about?"I freeze at the sight of Alejandro. He fills up the doorway, his suit jacket gone and sleeves rolled up. His eyes catch on my tear-stained face.Clara squeezes my hand before standing up. "I'll give you two some privacy."I wheel myself toward the window, turning away from him to hide, desperately trying to wipe away the evidence of my breakdown. The tears won't stop though - these damn hormones making everything worse."Why are you crying, mi estrella ?" His voice is closer now, worry threading through each word."How long were you going to hide it from me?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.He did not insult my intelligence by pretending not to understand. "Until you were stronger.""Stronger?" A laugh escapes me. "Marco's out there right now, planning God knows what, and you didn’t think to tell me? How long have you known?”"Estella—""No." I wheel myself away from him. "Don't 'Estella' me. Not now." "Just... tell me how lo
Third Person POVClaudia couldn't appreciate the beauty of the setting sun over the city. She was staring at the city below, fingers gripping the stem of her untouched wine glass. Not when every shadow could hide one of Alejandro's men. Not when her nerves were shot from a week of jumping at every sound. Every noise made her flinch. People going about their lives as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t barely escaped death.She exhaled, rubbing her temples. One more day.That’s all she needed.She had it all planned. A new identity again, a new passport, a flight booked under a fake name. She just had to get through tonight. Then, she’d disappear—far away from Alejandro, from his wrath, from the grave she had helped dig.She pulled the curtains shut on the fortieth-floor penthouse. The same routine - check the windows, the doors, the street below. Her bodyguard, Vincent, watched with barely concealed impatience."No one's found us," he said, not for the first time. "This building
Claudia's head pounded as she stared at the computer screen. The flight manifests blurred together on the screen—long lists of scheduled private jet departures, filled with coded information that only airport officials should be able to access. Three days. Three days of walking on eggshells around Marco's increasingly unstable moods. Three days of watching him spiral deeper into whatever hell prison had carved into his mind.Across the penthouse study, Marco paced in front of the window, his phone highlighted the sharpness of his face, deepening the hollowness in his eyes, the angles of his cheekbones. He had barely slept since escaping. Barely eaten. The only thing keeping him standing was sheer hatred.Hatred for Alejandro.Hatred for the empire stolen from him.Hatred for the woman who he walked away from and built something stronger."Anything?" His phone open to a business news site. The same one he'd been obsessing over for hours."Six private flights scheduled for next week."
Third person pov Vincent stepped into the penthouse study, his military training evident in the way he scanned every corner. His eyes caught on Marco by the window, on the shattered glass by the wall, on Claudia's tense posture."Sit." Marco didn't turn from the window.Vincent ignored the order and remained standing. "I don't take commands from-""Ramos." Marco cut him off. "Carlos Ramos. That's your old war buddy, right? The one flying private charters now?"Vincent's face hardened. "How do you-""You had three tours together." Marco finally turned. "In Afghanistan. Special ops. You were both decorated for bravery, then you got out and joined the private sector.” His gaze flicked to Vincent’s gun holster. “Now you babysit billionaire leftovers while he flies them to safety.”Claudia flinched at 'leftovers' but kept her eyes on the screen. More flight data scrolled past."What do you want?"Marco's smile grew. "I want you to make a call. Tell your old buddy you've got a good juicy o
Estella I stare at the open suitcase on my bed which stared right back at me, my clothes neatly folded but still not packed. My hands won’t move. How do you pack for running away? What do you take when you're leaving everything behind?My hand drifts to my stomach before I can stop it. "Still not done?" Clara appears in the doorway, arms crossed. "The car will be here in an hour."she reminds me, but I hear what she’s really saying in her mind. You can still change your mind. "I'm almost finished." I tell her as I fold the same shirt for the third time. "Just double-checking everything."She sighs and moves to sit beside me, shoving the shirt away. “You know you don’t have to do this.”"Clara-""I mean it." She grabs my hands, forcing me to look at her. "Please stay. I’m sure we can figure something else out. Alejandro-""Will die trying to protect me." The words were bitter in my throat. “You know that's what'll happen if I stay. Marco won't stop. He’ll use me as bait, hostage to
EstellaThe private jet climbs higher into the sky, each mile taking me further from him, stretching the distance between us. Between me and the only man I have ever truly loved.I press my forehead against the cool window, watching as everything disappears beneath the clouds. Somewhere down there, I know he’s still standing on that airstrip, watching this plane carry his heart away. I wonder if he regrets it. If he wants to take it all back.My fingers trace the edge of his letter, still sealed. I couldn’t bring myself to open it yet."Ms De Luca?" The flight attendant appears with a gentle smile. "Would you like some water? We have about four hours until we reach the Amalfi Coast."Four hours. In four hours, I'll be in a foreign country, alone except for the two security men Alejandro insisted on sending with me. They sit several rows ahead."No, thank you." My voice sounds strange to my own ears.The cabin is quiet except for the hum of the engine. A middle aged businessman types o
Alejandro One Month LaterI slam my fist into the wall, pain shooting up my arm. I welcome it. Anything to feel something other than this fucking hole in my chest.The TV drones on in the background, some society reporter standing outside the church where they're burying a goddamn empty casket. _"...the tragic death of Estella De Luca has shocked the business world. Sources close to the family say her husband, billionaire Alejandro De Luca, is too overcome with grief to attend today's service..."_I grab the remote and hurl it at the screen. Glass shatters, sparks fly. The sudden silence is almost worse.Someone knocks. I ignore it.The door opens anyway. Raúl. "Boss," he says quietly, stepping over broken furniture. My office looks like a war zone. "The funeral's starting. People are asking where you are."I don't turn to face him. My eyes remain fixed on the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere out there, she's alive. I feel it in my fucking bones."Let them
Five Years LaterEstella had insisted on having the windows open despite the doctors' protests—she needed to breathe something other than antiseptic and fear."Almost there," The matron encouraged from between her legs. "One more big push, Estella."Alejandro's hand was nearly crushed in her grip as another contraction seized her. The twins had decided to arrive three weeks early, sending them rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night."You're doing amazingly," Alejandro murmured against her temple. The entire pregnancy had been classified high-risk from the beginning.Estella bore down with a primal scream, feeling the first baby slide from her body."It's a boy!" The matron announced, lifting the wailing infant for them to see before placing him on Estella's chest.She touched her son's dark, wet hair. "Hello, little one,"The moment of joy was short-lived. The monitors beside her bed began beeping erratically."Blood pressure dropping," a nurse called out.The doctor in ch
The following weeks were filled with medical tests, therapy sessions, and small but significant milestones.Three weeks after waking, he took his first unassisted steps, gripping the parallel bars with so much intensity as he forced his atrophied muscles to cooperate. I watched from the sidelines, heart in my throat, as he pushed through pain that would have stopped a lesser man."Fuck," he growled through gritted teeth when his legs threatened to give out halfway through. "I'm not stopping."His physical therapist—a no-nonsense woman who'd quickly learned to match his intensity—nodded approvingly. "Two more steps. You can do two more."He did three before collapsing into the wheelchair afterward with sweat pouring down his face."Next time I'll do ten," he promised, breath coming in harsh pants.I handed him a towel, leaning in to whisper, "Watching you fight like this is incredibly sexy, you know."His exhausted laugh was all the reward I needed.By the six-week mark, he was walking
When we broke apart, I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent beneath the antiseptic hospital smell. "Don't ever scare me like that again," I whispered."I'll try not to make a habit of getting stabbed in the heart," he replied dryly."This isn't funny, Alejandro." I lifted my head to meet his gaze. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought our daughter would grow up without her father."His expression sobered. "I know. I'm sorry." He squeezed my hand weakly. "How bad was it?""Bad," I admitted. "The knife nicked your heart. You lost so much blood... They weren't sure you'd make it through the first surgery." My voice caught. "And then you didn't wake up. Days turned into weeks, and you just... stayed asleep.""I'm sorry," he repeated. "For putting you through that. For not being there for you and Arielle.""You're here now," I said. The door opened quietly, and we both looked up to see Dr. Matthews returning, accompanied by a neurologist I recognized from previous consultat
Two months laterThe hospital room had become my second home. The nurses knew my schedule better than I did—when I'd arrive each morning with fresh clothes for both of us, when I'd step out for coffee, which chair I preferred to sit in while reading aloud to Alejandro's unresponsive form.Sixty-one days of talking to someone who couldn't answer. Sixty-one days of watching for the slightest movement of an eyelid or the smallest twitch of a finger. Sixty-one days of hope slowly eroding into something that felt dangerously close to despair."The medical journal says coma patients show increased brain activity when family members speak to them," I said, turning the page of the medical text I'd been studying obsessively. "So I'm going to keep talking, even if I'm starting to repeat myself."Alejandro remained motionless. They'd removed his breathing tube last week when he started breathing on his own—a positive sign, Dr. Matthews had assured me. But his consciousness remained locked away,
"Aunt Eleanor," I gasped, shocked to see her. In the chaos, I'd almost forgotten she'd been injured in the initial car crash where Arielle was taken."You look worse than me," she said weakly, attempting a smile that turned into a wince.For some reason, it was the sight of her—battered but alive, just like the rest of us—that finally broke through the numbness I'd been hiding behind. The tears came suddenly and violently, sobs wrenching themselves from my chest as she wheeled herself closer, reaching out with her good arm to pull me against her."I was so scared," I admitted between sobs. "I thought we were all going to die. I was scared history was going to repeat itself self. And this time Arielle, Alejandro—""But you didn't," she reminded me. "You saved them both."I shook my head, glancing at Alejandro's still form. "I didn't save him. He's still—""Fighting," Eleanor cut in. "Just like he always has. Just like you have."I cried until I had no tears left, letting go of the fear
I must have dozed off despite my determination to stay awake, because the next thing I knew, someone was gently shaking my shoulder."Estella? Can you hear me?"I forced my heavy eyelids open to find Raul standing over me, his face lined with worry. Clara hovered behind him, her eyes red-rimmed."Raul," I croaked, my throat dry. "Alejandro?""He's out of surgery," Raul said. "It was touch and go for a while, but he made it through."Relief made me dizzy. "He's okay?"Raul and Clara exchanged glances."What aren't you telling me?" I demanded, suddenly fully awake.Raul sighed. "The damage was extensive. They repaired what they could, but... he's in a coma, Estella.""A coma? For how long?""They don't know," Clara said gently, stepping forward to take my hand. "All they said was the next 48 hours are critical."I struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain that shot through my body. "I need to see him.""You need to rest," Clara countered. "You're no good to him or Arielle if you collapse."
"BP's still dropping," one of the paramedics called as they loaded Alejandro into the ambulance. "We need to move!"I climbed in after them, collapsing onto the bench seat as the doors slammed shut."Arielle," I suddenly remembered, panic clawing at my throat. "My daughter—where is she?""Already en route to Memorial," one of the paramedics replied without looking up from Alejandro. "She's stable."That small mercy gave me the strength to stay upright as I watched them work frantically to keep my husband alive. They'd cut away his shirt completely now, revealing the full extent of his injuries. The wound in his abdomen wasn't as deep as I'd feared, but the chest wound—it was a different story altogether."Left hemothorax," the paramedic muttered. "Need to decompress."I watched in horror as they inserted a large needle between Alejandro's ribs. Blood gushed out immediately, filling a collection bag."What's happening?" I demanded."Blood's filling his chest cavity, compressing on his
He yanked the makeshift blade free and shoved Alejandro toward me with such force that we both crashed onto the wooden planks of the dock. I barely registered the pain through my ankle as I caught Alejandro's limp body."No, no, no," I sobbed, cradling him against me. His eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on my face as blood bubbled from his lips."Est...ella," he managed, each syllable a battle."Don't talk," I begged, pressing one hand against the stomach wound while frantically trying to stem the bleeding from his chest with the other. It was too much—too much blood, too many wounds.Marco staggered to the boat, his own strength clearly waning. He tossed the bloodied metal shard into the water and began fumbling with the ropes that secured the craft to the dock. His movements were clumsy, his injuries making the simple task laborious."Pressure," Alejandro whispered, his voice so faint I barely heard it. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his ashen lips crimso
We dove behind a heavy chest of drawers just as the explosion tore through the room. The blast was deafening, sending splinters of wood and plaster raining down on us. Dust filled up the air in the room.Through the ringing in my ears, I heard movement—Marco is making his escape in the confusion. I struggled to my feet, eyes stinging from the dust, and saw a shadow moving toward the far windows."Alejandro," I croaked, pointing.He was already up, blood trickling from another cut on his temple where debris had struck him. Together, we staggered through the devastated room toward the windows.Marco had reached what appeared to be a balcony beyond the shattered glass. As we emerged into the clean night air, I saw his plan—a rope, hastily secured to the balcony railing, leading down to the ground below. Near the edge of the property, barely visible in dark of the night was a small dock with what looked like a speedboat tied up."Stop!" Alejandro shouted, raising his gun.Marco turned, hi