The next afternoon, Elaina sought refuge in a SoHo gallery, the stark white walls and abstract art a welcome distraction. She lost track of time. When she stepped outside, the sky had opened up. A torrential downpour was turning the streets into a gray, blurry mess.
She was wearing a thin silk dress, utterly inadequate for the sudden chill. She reached for her phone to call a car, only to find the screen black. Dead. She'd forgotten to charge it in the chaos of last night.
Taxis, their lights hazy in the rain, sped past with passengers already inside. A profound sense of helplessness washed over her. The humiliation of the past twenty-four hours, the physical and emotional exhaustion-it all crashed down on her at once.
She just wanted to be home.
Gritting her teeth, she stepped off the curb and into the deluge.
The rain was instantly, brutally cold. It soaked her dress and hair in seconds, plastering the thin fabric to her skin. By the time she stumbled into the lobby of their building, her teeth were chattering, and a violent shiver had taken over her body.
A long, hot bath did nothing to chase away the bone-deep chill.
She crawled into the bed in the guest room, pulling the covers up to her chin, but the shivering wouldn't stop. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. Her thoughts grew foggy. She was getting sick. Really sick.
Late that night, Eleazar returned from a marathon of meetings.
He walked instinctively toward the master bedroom, only stopping when he found it empty. A flash of irritation crossed his face as he remembered. He'd told her to move out.
He turned and strode to the guest room at the end of the hall.
He pushed the door open and was met with a stale, feverish heat.
Flipping on the light, he saw her. Curled in on herself, her face flushed a painful red, her breathing shallow and rapid.
He touched her forehead. The heat radiating from her skin was alarming.
His first instinct was to call their family doctor. He had his phone in his hand when it buzzed with an incoming call.
Kallie.
Her voice was sweet, almost cloying, through the speaker. "Eleazar? Are you coming over? I'm all alone and it's a little scary here."
He looked from the phone to the woman burning with fever in the bed. He was torn, a war waging within him.
Finally, he spoke, his voice strained. "Something's come up. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He hung up, his gaze fixed on Elaina's delirious form. Her lips were parted, a soft, pained sound escaping them.
For a long moment, he just stood there. Then, he turned, walked out, and quietly closed the door.
In the hazy space between consciousness and fever-dream, Elaina thought she felt his presence, a cool hand on her skin. Then, the presence was gone. He'd left her alone in the dark. The silence that followed was a cold, heavy blanket, suffocating her last flicker of hope.
She was going to be left here, to burn up alone.
Thirty minutes later, the door opened again.
It wasn't Eleazar. It was his personal assistant, Leo Vance, flanked by two paramedics in crisp uniforms.
Leo's voice was calm and respectful. "Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Hudson asked me to arrange for your transport to the hospital."
Elaina was too weak to speak, to question.
The paramedics gently moved her onto a gurney, covering her with a thick, warm blanket.
As they carried her out of the apartment, her vision swam. Through the blur, she thought she saw a figure standing in the shadows of the long hallway. A tall silhouette that could only be him.
Then he was gone.
He hadn't abandoned her completely. Not yet. And that contradictory, reluctant care was a poison, seeping into the cracks of a heart she thought had already turned to stone.
