Chapter 6
HAILEY'S POV
I felt a pang in my chest as I thought of how Kingsley may be struggling for his life in the theater room.
A surge of emotions filled me as I kept staring into the blank space.
My brother patted my back as he led me to the waiting chair.
I slumped into a leather chair that’s too soft to be comforting, my back straight, my hands folded on my lap.
I cried, I prayed, and I hoped for Kingsley to awaken soon.
The blood on my dress has dried.
It’s no longer red. The bright red colour turned a dull brown, stiffening the fabric where it soaked in. I keep noticing it in my peripheral vision, like a stain that refuses to be ignored no matter how many times I look away.
The hallway is quiet in that expensive way hospitals reserve for people with . Thick carpet. Muted lights. No echoing cries. No chaos. Just the low hum of machines somewhere behind the walls and the red “IN OPERATION” sign glowing steadily at the end of the corridor.
It hasn’t changed.
Footsteps approached, I didn't look up until they stopped in front of me.
My grandfather was the first person I registered—his posture still rigid, his expression carefully controlled.
Grandfather looked at me with concern etched on his face without saying anything more he draped a cashmere coat over my shoulders, his hands lingering for a while comforting me.
“You should come home,” he says gently.
“Change. Rest. The staff will inform us when—”
The cold hard stare I gave grandpa made him to keep mute.
“Absolutely not.”
My grandfather stiffens slightly. “Hailey—”
“I walked a dying billionaire into this hospital tonight,” I said, my voice flat. “ I’ll be right here to hear it. When he awakes. Not from staff, not from a call.
From a doctor.”
The coat slides off my shoulders as I shrug it away.
I didn't look at him when I did it.
He didn't argue again.
Brandon leans back against the wall near me, crossing his arms. For a while, none of us spoke. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the faint movement of nurses passing at the far end of the wing.
My eyes drift back to the doors.
I kept seeing his face right before he fell.
That infuriating, arrogant half-smile. The one that made it feel like he knew something I didn’t. Like he knew exactly how much I was beginning to owe him and found it amusing.
The deal presses down on me like a weight.
I had cornered him. Used the one thing he couldn’t ignore—his missing mother—to make him agree to a marriage he never asked for. I’d told myself it was clean, it was transactional, that men like Kingsley Geralt understood this kind of thing.
And he’d repaid me by taking a vase to his ribs and head for me.
Twice.
My fingers curled against my thigh.
Brandon breaks the silence. “Tyler and Lillian didn’t get far.”
I turned my head slightly. “I assumed as much.”
“Security intercepted them at the gates. Police are questioning them now.” His mouth tightens.
“Tyler is crying. Says it was an accident, Lillian’s blaming the decor.”
That earns a breath of air through my nose,not quite a laugh.
“Of course she is.”
“They’re both being held for assault pending further investigation.”
“Good.”
I didn't feel satisfied, I didn't feel anything but anger and resentments towards them.
All I want is for the man behind those doors to stop being a hero and start being the arrogant cold, ruthless billionaire I striked a marriage deal with.
Minutes stretch into hours.
Nurses come and go. Doctors pass without stopping but yet the red sign stays lit.
I didn’t move from the chair. At some point, Brandon drew my cold body into his, comforting me as he could while my grandfather stepped away to take calls, his voice low and controlled as he speaks in hushed tones about contingencies and optics.
None of it reaches me, it wasn't my business.
I kept staring at the door.
I kept thinking about the scar-it felt familiar!
Five hours passed.
I knew because the clock across the hall finally changed, the digital numbers blinking over as if mocking me for counting.
Then, without warning, the red light clicks went off.
The hallway seems to inhale all at once.
The doors open.
A surgeon stepped out, pulling off his mask with a tired motion. His shoulders sag slightly, like the weight of the night has finally caught up to him.
His eyes lift and landed on me.
His long silence dreaded me.
I rushed to him.
“Doctor, how is my fiancee?” I asked with deep concern etched in my face.
“Ms Norway, Mr Kingsley is out of if danger for now”
“For now?” I stammered cutting the doctor off before he could complete the words.
“Yes, for now “ he replied.
“He is still unstable and needs to be monitored and taken well care of” the doctor informed me.
My body trembled slightly as I heard those words.
“Was everyone I loved meant to be hurt?” I asked myself unconsciously.
“What was I thinking?” I hit my head hard. I didn't even know when I had start thinking otherwise.
“Can I see him doctor?” I asked, trying to remain calm.
“Yes, Miss Norway, this way please,” the doctor escorted us into the room before closing the door behind us with the nurses inside, cleaning up the theater and his body.
My chest became so heavy when I saw how wounded Kingsley was. The wounds on his ribs, the marks from the shattered glasses, the amount of blood he lost.
His once bright face has lost it's beauty and his eyes were tightly shut, his lips cracked from dryness.
Instinctively, I walked over to his side, bent over him and kissed him, wetting his dry lips.
My hands hovered to his ribs- the mark.
Just then, a calm weak voice called out my name with a hushed tone.
“Hailey?”
