The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic burned Elliana's nostrils.
She slowly peeled her eyes open. The harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room made her wince. She was lying on a narrow hospital bed, the steady beep of a heart monitor echoing in her ears.
She turned her head slightly.
Damon was sitting in a plastic chair right beside her bed. His usually immaculate white dress shirt was wrinkled and smeared with dust from the deployed airbags. His tie was gone. The top buttons were ripped open. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He looked utterly exhausted.
Hearing the rustle of the sheets, Damon's head snapped up.
He was out of the chair in a fraction of a second, hovering over her. The cold, impenetrable CEO was gone. His dark eyes were wide, frantic, and scanning every inch of her face.
"How do you feel?" His voice was tight, strained to the breaking point.
Elliana reached up and touched her forehead. Her fingers met the rough texture of a gauze bandage. She offered him a weak, reassuring smile. "My head is spinning a little. But I'm not going to die."
The curtain around her bed was pulled back. A doctor in a white coat stepped in, holding a clipboard.
"Mr. Stirling," Dr. Allen Spencer said respectfully. "The CT scan is clear. Mrs. Stirling suffered a mild concussion and some superficial lacerations. She's going to have a headache for a few days, but there's no serious trauma. We can keep her overnight for observation, or she can be discharged tonight if she prefers to rest at home."
Elliana's heart did a tiny, joyful flip. Mrs. Stirling.
Damon hadn't corrected the doctor. When he brought her in, terrified and bleeding, he had claimed her as his wife.
Damon nodded curtly to the doctor. "Thank you."
He turned back to Elliana. He didn't ask what she wanted. He simply leaned over the bed and slid one strong arm under her knees, the other behind her back.
"I want to go home," Elliana whispered, leaning into his touch.
Damon lifted her effortlessly into his arms. He held her tightly against his chest, as if terrified she might shatter if he let go.
Elliana rested her cheek against his collarbone. She could hear the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, a profound sense of safety washing over her.
The drive back to the Stirling Estate was a blur. When the car finally pulled up to the grand entrance, it was past midnight.
Marge Kowalski, the head housekeeper, hurried out the front doors as Damon carried Elliana up the steps. Marge's eyes widened when she saw the bandage on Elliana's head and the protective way Damon was holding her.
Damon walked straight into the main living room and gently lowered Elliana onto the plush velvet sofa.
"Go to the kitchen," Damon ordered Marge without looking at her. "Prepare something light. Soup or porridge."
Marge nodded quickly, her posture already deferential, and turned to leave.
"Wait."
Elliana's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room with absolute authority.
Marge stopped and turned back.
Elliana studied the housekeeper's face for a long moment. The condescension she had once seen there was gone—replaced now by a wary, genuine attentiveness. Satisfied, Elliana gave a small nod. "Never mind. You can go."
Marge bowed her head and hurried toward the kitchen.
Elliana looked up at Damon. "I'm hungry. But I don't want to eat anything they make."
She pushed herself up from the sofa, but the sudden movement sent a violent wave of dizziness crashing through her skull. Her vision blurred, and her knees buckled instantly.
"Elliana!" Damon lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist before she could hit the floor. He easily lifted her back onto the cushions, his jaw tight with anxiety.
"You have a concussion," Damon ordered, his voice harsh to mask his panic. "Sit down and stay there."
Elliana grabbed his wrists as he tried to pull away. Her grip was weak, and her head was still spinning, but her eyes were fiercely stubborn. "No. I promised you this morning. I told you I would cook for you."
"You can barely stand," Damon argued, his dark eyes flashing with frustration.
"Then I'll sit on a stool and tell you exactly what to do," she countered softly, refusing to let go of him. "Damon, starting today, I want to make food for you. I want to take care of you, even if I need your hands to do it right now."
Damon felt as if a physical blow had struck his chest. The raw, burning sincerity in her eyes scorched him. He opened his mouth to order her to stay put, but the words died in his throat. He couldn't refuse her. Not when she looked at him like that.
Elliana used his hesitation to pull herself up slightly, leaning heavily against his side. She kept her hand wrapped around his wrist and let him support her weight as they moved slowly toward the kitchen.
She pushed open the swinging doors. A young maid, Patty, was standing by the stove.
"Leave us," Elliana told the maid. "I don't need any help."
Patty scurried out, leaving the husband and wife alone in the massive, gleaming kitchen.
