ARIA
When I walked into the hospital that morning, I already knew something was wrong. The air felt heavier, thicker like grief had been waiting in the corner all night and was now stretching its arms. The fluorescent lights hummed too loud. The nurses moved too fast.
And then I saw him.
Dalton Gray. Again.
He was standing by the doorway like he belonged there tall, still, perfectly put together while the rest of us were falling apart. My stomach twisted.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. "What are you doing here again?"
He didn't even look up right away, just adjusted his cuff as if I'd interrupted some quiet ritual. Then his voice calm, low, unbothered. "Don't flatter yourself, Aria. I'm here to see your father just ignore me I'mnot here for you."
Fucking asshole.
Why I'm I always so mad around him.
I blinked, stunned for a second before scoffing. "Right. Of course. Because billionaires suddenly care about old drivers now?"
He gave me one of those infuriatingly blank looks, the kind that says you can scream all you want; I'm not moving.
"Whatever," I snapped, pushing past him and heading to Dad's bedside. The air smelled like antiseptic and metal. Machines beeped rhythmically the same beeping that had become the soundtrack of my life.
I poured some water from the jug just to have something to do, something that wasn't watching my father fade. When I turned back, Dalton was still there, standing by Dad's bed, saying something too quiet for me to catch.
Dad smiled faintly, that same tired, loving smile that hurt to look at.
But his color God, his color was wrong. His skin was pale, lips tinged with blue.
"Dad?" I whispered, setting the cup down so fast it nearly spilled. "Hey, you okay?"
He turned his head toward me, eyes glassy. "My girl…"
Dalton's posture shifted immediately. He pressed the nurse's call button and leaned forward. "Get a doctor. Now."
The tone in his voice made my blood run cold. This wasn't the commanding billionaire voice that made people tremble in meetings it was sharper, urgent, human.
"Dad, I'm right here," I said, grabbing his hand. It felt so cold. "Please, just breathe, okay? You're fine. You're fine."
He tried to smile again. "It's… okay."
"No, it's not okay!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "You promised you'd fight this!"
Dalton said something to the nurse that I didn't hear because suddenly all I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
The doctor came in, barking orders. The nurses rushed to adjust tubes, check monitors, and in that whirlwind of chaos, I saw it the look in the doctor's eyes. That quiet kind of pity. The one that meant it's too late.
Then, through the noise, Dad's voice weak, raspy, but clear. "Can I… say goodbye to my daughter?"
Everyone froze. The room went still, except for the machines. Even Dalton stepped back.
My throat closed up. "No, no, no. Don't say that, Dad. Please don't say that."
He tried to reach for me, but his hand trembled. I grabbed it before it could fall. "Look at me, sweetheart," he said softly. "It's time."
"No," I choked. "No, you don't get to say that. I'm not ready."
He smiled faintly, as if I were still that little girl with scraped knees who thought her father could fix anything. "Neither am I."
My tears came fast and hard, blurring everything. "Please… don't leave me. I'll take you home. We'll go somewhere quiet. You'll get better.."
He shook his head, slow, barely there. "You need to let me go."
The monitor's beeping grew weaker, the rhythm slowing.
Dalton turned away, jaw tight, like he couldn't bear to watch. For a moment, I forgot he was even there. It was just me and Dad.
"Aria," he whispered, every word costing him effort, "promise me something."
"Anything." My voice cracked.
He took a shallow breath. "Let him help you."
I froze. "Dad, please "
"Promise me."
His tone carried that same authority it always had when I was being stubborn gentle, but unbreakable.
I wanted to argue, to scream that I didn't need Dalton Gray or his pity. But one look at my father
his face, pale and trembling and I swallowed the words. This wasn't about pride. It was about peace. It was about him knowing I'm well taken care of after he dies.
I have to let him rest peacefully without worrying about me.
"I promise, Dad," I sobbed, the words tearing from my throat. "I'll… I'll take care of myself too. I'll go back to school. I'll get a good job. I'll make you so proud. I promise."
A single tear traced a path from the corner of his eye into his hairline. "You've… always… made me proud. I love you… so much." His eyes flickered to Dalton and back to me. "Trust him… I do."
Dalton moved closer then, as if drawn by instinct. Dad looked at him really looked at him and said, "Take care of her. Please."
Dalton's expression cracked. Just a little. "You have my word," he said quietly. "I'll do everything I can just like I promised you before."
My father nodded faintly, satisfied, his gaze flickering between us. "That's good… that's good…"
His chest lifted one last time shallow, shaky and then… nothing.
The monitor gave a long, steady beep that sliced through the silence like a knife.
"Dad?" I whispered. My voice was barely audible. "Dad?"
I shook him gently, then harder. "Dad, wake up. Please, wake up."
The nurse's hand touched my shoulder, but I jerked away. "Don't touch him! He's not he's not gone, he can't be gone!"
I pressed my forehead against his hand. It was already cooling. "Please, please don't leave me too."
The doctor murmured something about time of death, but I didn't hear it. My world had narrowed to that bed, that hand, that silence.
Dalton stood frozen by the wall, fists clenched, his face unreadable but pale. He looked like a man watching a promise turn into a chain around his neck.
The nurse whispered condolences and quietly stepped out. Dalton stayed. He didn't say a word.
I don't know how long I cried. Minutes, maybe hours. My throat burned, my eyes ached, my whole body trembled like it had forgotten how to function.
At some point, Dalton moved closer. I felt his presence before I saw him. The quiet shift of air, the faint warmth beside me.
He didn't try to touch me. He didn't offer empty words. He just stood there, silent like even he knew nothing he could say would make this any less cruel.
When I finally looked up, my vision blurred with tears, he met my gaze. His blue eyes usually so cold were softer now. Still guarded, but softer.
And I hated him for it. Because how dare he look at me like he understood? How dare he promise things he couldn't possibly fix?
I turned away, gripping my father's hand tighter. "You should go," I whispered.
He hesitated. For a moment, I thought he might say something. But then he nodded once, quietly.
Before leaving, he glanced at Dad one last time. His voice was barely a murmur. "Rest easy, John. I'll keep my word."
Fuck you Dalton Gray and your fucking promises.
Then he walked out, and the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving me alone in the cold silence.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
He was gone.
My dad was gone.
The numbness spread through me, a cold void where my heart had been.
My world had just stopped but everything around me in that hospital was moving on as if I hadn't just lost my dad.
But I didn't really feel or hear any of it. All I could see was my father's peaceful, still face. The memory of another hospital room, a decade ago, slammed into me. My mother. My twin sister, Olivia. The same smell. The same silence. The same crushing, world-ending loss.
Back then, I had my dad to hold me. He had been my rock. He had been the one to promise me that we would be okay.
Now, he was gone too.
I was alone.
Truly, completely, and utterly alone in the world.
I laid my head on his still chest, on the spot where I used to listen to his heartbeat as a child, and I finally let the sound of my own shattered heart fill the silent room.
What am I gonna do without him?