Chapter 5
Elaina Berger POV:
I woke up to the smell of roses and the soft beep of a heart monitor. Brennan was sitting by my bed, his eyes red-rimmed, his face a perfect picture of remorse.
"Elaina," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "The doctor said... your wrist... the nerve damage is severe. You might not be able to operate again."
The words hung in the air, heavier than any diagnosis I had ever delivered. I looked down at my right hand, encased in a plaster cast. I tried to wiggle my fingers. Nothing. Just a dull, throbbing ache where my future used to be. My world, once so clear and defined by the clean lines of a scalpel, dissolved into a terrifying, formless void.
Hollie appeared at the door, her face a mask of sorrow. "Oh, Elaina, I'm so, so sorry," she wept. "This is all my fault."
Brennan rushed to my side, taking my uninjured hand. "It doesn't matter, my love," he said, his voice earnest and pleading. "I'll take care of you. I'll give you everything. My fortune, my company, my life. It's all yours. You'll never have to work another day in your life."
He tried to wipe a tear from my cheek, but I flinched away from his touch.
I looked at him, my eyes feeling dead in my skull. "When the horse was charging at me," I asked, my voice a dead monotone, "who were you looking at?"
He looked shocked, as if the question had physically struck him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't lie. Not about this. In that moment of pure instinct, he had chosen her.
He grabbed a fruit knife from the bedside table. "If you don't believe that I love you," he said, his voice cracking, "I'll carve my heart out right here to prove it to you." He pressed the tip of the blade against his chest.
I watched him, my expression unchanging. I felt nothing. No shock, no fear, not even pity. The man I had loved was gone, and this dramatic, manipulative stranger in his place meant nothing to me. My silence was more effective than any words. He slowly lowered the knife, defeated.
For the next few weeks, he played the part of the devoted husband flawlessly. He filled my room with flowers, hired a private chef to cook my favorite meals, and sat by my bedside reading to me for hours. One night, he even arranged for a private fireworks display outside my hospital window, spelling out my name. The nurses swooned. "You're so lucky, Dr. Berger," they'd say. "He loves you so much."
I would just smile, a bitter, knowing smile. On my spare phone, the one he didn't know about, I saw the bank alerts. After every grand romantic gesture, a large sum of money was transferred to Hollie's account. It was hush money. A payment for her silence, for her part in the performance.
He came into my room one afternoon, beaming. "I have a surprise for you," he announced.
I felt nothing. No anticipation, no curiosity. Just a weary resignation. I knew I would be leaving soon. My application for the Doctors Without Borders mission had been approved. My escape was just days away.
I was discharged from the hospital and Brennan drove me back to the penthouse. As we approached our bedroom, I heard them. Giggles. Moans. The unmistakable sounds of two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other.
I pushed the door open. They were on the bed. Our bed. Hollie was straddling him, her hands tangled in his hair.
"Brennan, my love," she cooed, "you were so clever. That accident was brilliant. Now Elaina is crippled and completely reliant on you. She'll never leave you now."
Brennan laughed, a low, satisfied sound. "She's mine. She always has been."
A wave of nausea washed over me. I stumbled back, my hand knocking over a vase in the hallway. It shattered on the marble floor.
The sounds from the bedroom stopped.
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