Elara Moretti POV:
The ICU door flew open with such force it slammed against the wall. Dr. Evans and two nurses rushed past me, their faces grim masks of concentration. The force of their passage made me stumble, but my eyes were glued to the scene inside.
I saw them swarm around Luca’s bed, a flurry of blue scrubs and urgent, unheard commands. The world went silent. The frantic beeping, the doctor’s shouts, my own ragged breathing—it all disappeared, replaced by a low, dull roar in my head.
The phone, still warm, was plastered to my ear. Dante’s words echoed in the void. *I’m busy.*
In that terrible, suspended moment before the end, a memory surfaced, unbidden. It was three years ago, in this same hospital. Luca was recovering from another surgery, one that had almost taken him.
Dante, not yet my husband but well on his way, had come to visit for the first time. He wasn't wearing one of his thousand-dollar suits. He was in jeans and a soft gray sweater, carrying a boxed set of Luca’s favorite science fiction novels. He had done his research, a predator studying his prey.
He sat by Luca’s bed for over an hour, listening with genuine-looking interest as my brother, weak but excited, explained the complex plotlines. There was a gentle smile on Dante’s face, a warmth in his eyes that I had mistaken for love.
I had watched them from the doorway, my heart swelling with a painful, unfamiliar hope.
Later, he pulled me into the hallway and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my head.
“Don’t worry anymore, Elara,” he’d whispered into my hair, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. “I’ll take care of you both. I’ll find the best doctors in the world for him.”
He had turned me to face him, his hands cupping my jaw. “I love all of you. That includes your family. They’re my family now.”
He was so sincere, so utterly convincing. And I, exhausted from years of fighting alone, had believed him. I thought I’d finally found someone I could lean on.
“Family,” I breathed the word now, and it tasted like poison.
The memory wasn’t a comfort. It was a dagger, twisting in my heart. Every sweet promise, every tender look, was just more proof of what a fool I had been. He hadn’t seen a woman to love; he’d seen a weakness to exploit.
I had put my faith in a monster.
The regret was a physical thing, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. I hated him for his cruelty, but I hated myself more for my blindness. If I hadn’t trusted him, if I hadn’t put all my eggs in his gilded basket, maybe I would have found another way. Maybe I would have fought harder.
My stupidity had cost Luca his life. The thought was so cold, so absolute, it froze me from the inside out.
A gentle hand touched my shoulder. I flinched, spinning around to see a young nurse with wide, worried eyes.
“Mrs. Volkov?” she asked softly. “Dr. Evans sent me. It’s… it’s critical. He said you need to make a decision.”
Make a decision? What decision?
I stared at her, my mind unable to process the words.
The nurse urged again, her voice laced with pity, “Mrs. Volkov, we can’t wait any longer. You have to decide if you want us to… continue resuscitation.”
