Page 53 of The Silent War

“You don’t owe me anything.”

I ignored that. Adjusted the blanket tighter. Made sure the IV line wasn’t pulling.

Fussing, she’d call it. Necessary, I’d call it.

Her eyes softened, but her mouth pressed into a line. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

Cold slammed into me.

“Home?”

“The doctor says I’m well enough. My arm isn’t that bad.”

I stared at her. She had no idea. No idea how incompetent they were. How easy it would be for her to miss a dose, for a nurse to slip the wrong vial, for something to go wrong when I wasn’t standing over them.

“You think you’ll get the right care there?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said gently. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

I leaned in, close enough that she couldn’t look away. “You won’t be fine. Not alone.”

Her hand lifted. Soft. She touched my arm, grounding me the way no one else could. “Luca… you’re spiraling.”

The words cut through.

She said it like it wasn’t a flaw. And she wasn’t scared of the part of me that lived in spirals.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

I shook my head. “You’re not. And you won’t be if you’re alone.”

Silence pressed heavy between us. My chest ached with it.

“Stay here. Or come with us. Anywhere but home by yourself.”

She looked at me stunned as if she had heard me wrong.

I didn’t care if it sounded like begging.

“I can run an empire,” I said, voice raw, “but I can’t handle you walking out of my sight again.”

Her hand stayed on my arm. Gentle in a way only she could be.

And I hated myself for knowing she might still leave.

“I won’t be alone,”

It wasn’t just what she said it was the tone. It hit me in the gut. Final. The kind of tone that meant I wasn’t going to convince her to stay here. Or to come with us. She was going home—back to Alexander’s penthouse.

Alexander.

The incomplete man who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. Who sat at her bedside with four security like she needed his protection, when the only thing he’d ever protected was his own position. Worthless.

I swallowed the anger, forced it into words. “Can we call you?”

Her brows pulled together.

“Or message you,” I added quickly. My chest felt too tight. It was absurd that this moment scared me more than half the wars I’d run. But it did. Because I already knew I couldn’t survive another three years of silence.