Chapter 17: The Accident
Everything hurt.
The world around me was muffled, voices echoing in fragments I couldn't piece together. Sirens. Footsteps. Rain tapping against metal.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was white — bright, sterile white. The faint scent of disinfectant filled the air. I was in a hospital.
And sitting beside me, his hands clutching mine tightly as if I'd vanish if he let go — was Lucas.
His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and soaked with dried rain. His eyes… God, his eyes looked haunted. Red from sleeplessness, dark from guilt.
"Vierrah…" His voice broke the moment my name left his lips. He stood up, reaching for me with trembling fingers. "You're awake. Thank God, you're awake…"
I blinked, confused and groggy. "W-What happened?"
He swallowed hard, his throat moving as if even words hurt him. "You were in an accident. The brakes— they failed. You hit the guardrail. The police called me so I rushed all the way here I was really worried. Thank god someone saw you that night and called an ambulance.
But this time, I couldn't bring myself to be angry.
I could still feel the tremor in his hands as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch gentle yet desperate. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, voice cracking as he sank into the chair beside me.
There was silence, only the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor. I studied his face — the dark circles under his eyes, the faint stubble, the exhaustion that clung to every movement.
"How long… have I been here?" I asked weakly.
"Two days," he answered. "You've been unconscious. I haven't left."
I glanced at the couch beside the bed — a blanket, an untouched cup of coffee, and his phone left forgotten on the floor.
He really hadn't left.
Lucas exhaled shakily, bowing his head. "This is my fault."
"Lucas—"
"No," he interrupted, his tone sharp but filled with anguish. "You were coming home alone. I should've been there. I should've—" He clenched his fists. "Damn it, I swore to protect you. And yet you still got hurt."
I watched him fall apart in front of me — the man who once ruled entire boardrooms now trembling like a boy who lost everything.
"You can't blame yourself for everything," I murmured, my voice faint.
He looked up, eyes glistening with restrained emotion. "But it is my fault. I didn't even went to pick you up-"
He stopped, his voice breaking.
I hesitated before reaching out, touching his wrist. "Lucas… you didn't do this. It was an accident."
For a moment, he froze — as if the simple act of me touching him shattered something inside him. Slowly, he turned his hand and laced his fingers through mine, gripping tight like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
"I'm not leaving you again," he said, his tone low and resolute. "Not until you're better."
And he didn't.
Days passed, and Lucas stayed by my side — silent, constant, unwavering. He handled work through phone calls, barked orders from the hospital room, and personally checked every meal the nurses brought me. He made sure I had flowers in the room, my favorite snacks, fresh blankets.
Sometimes, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I'd find him asleep on the couch — his body slumped forward, one hand still resting on my bed as if to make sure I was real.
And sometimes, he'd just watch me — his eyes soft but filled with something deeper. Regret. Hope. Love.
One afternoon, when the nurse came in to change my bandages, Lucas insisted on helping.
"Mr. Alvarez, we can handle this," the nurse said politely.
But Lucas shook his head. "No. I'll do it. Please."
His hands were careful — trembling slightly as he replaced the gauze on my arm. Every touch was gentle, reverent, like I was made of glass.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head. "Not really."
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You always say that. Even when it does."
Something inside me softened.
There was a time when I would've pushed him away — when his nearness felt suffocating. But now, watching him this way, I saw a different man. Someone trying, desperately, to make up for the monster he once was.
That night, as rain pattered softly outside the window, I spoke first.
"You should rest, Lucas."
He shook his head. "Not until you're asleep."
"Lucas—"
"Please," he said, his voice breaking into a whisper. "Let me stay."
And so I did.
He sat beside me, holding my hand lightly, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.
"I'm scared," he admitted after a long silence. "Because every time I try to let you live freely, something happens. And I don't know if the world's punishing me for what I did to you or if I just… don't deserve you."
I turned my head toward him, my heart aching at the rawness in his words. "You don't need to prove anything, Lucas. You just need to change for real."
He met my eyes — that familiar fire burning, but tempered now by vulnerability. "I am changing. For you. Because even if you never love me again, I'll spend my life making sure you're safe."
Tears burned behind my eyes, and I squeezed his hand tighter.
Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was something else — but I didn't pull away. Not this time.
Lucas leaned closer, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead. "Rest now, my love," he whispered. "I'll be right here when you wake."
And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.
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