Chapter 71 HUSBAND'S WIFE
Eli's POV
When I wake up, the first thing I feel is a really heavy pain. It's like someone stuffed my head with wet cotton and rocks.
I groan softly and try to move, but my side burns. My ribs protest. My skull throbs.
And then it hits me: stairs… wet stairs, broken glass.
That plastic doll face Lovia. She pushed me.
My eyes snap open.
The ceiling above me is white and unfamiliar. The room smells clean.
I turn my head slowly and regret it immediately.
Anton is standing beside the bed, arms crossed, staring at me.
“You look like trash, so much it's making my heart hurt.” He says calmly.
I blink at him. “Good morning to you too.”
His shoulders relax slightly. “You’re awake.”
“Obviously.”
“You were out for hours.”
I look around.
This room is big, private, a couch by the window, a large TV, the same soft lighting.
VIP.
Just like Grandpa’s.
“Where…” My throat feels dry. “Where am I?”
“Hospital,” Anton replies. “You fell down the stairs, burst your head, and passed out.”
Of course.
Before I can say anything else, the door bursts open.
Julian walks in.
Lovia is right behind him.
Julian doesn’t even look at Anton. He walks straight to my bed and practically pushes Anton aside.
Anton steps back with a quiet sigh.
Julian sits on the edge of the bed immediately.
His hand comes up to my face. His fingers brush the bandage wrapped around my head.
He exhales slowly.
“You need to be more careful,” he says.
I stare at him.
“That staircase isn’t a playground, Eli,” he continues, his voice low but sharp. “Why were you rushing? Why weren’t you watching where you were stepping?”
For a second, I just look at him.
I don’t know what I expected.
Anger at her? Concern for me? Maybe both.
But instead, I scolding.
I glare at him.
“How careful should I be,” I ask quietly, “to avoid getting pushed down the stairs by your soon-to-be wife?”
The room goes still.
Lovia gasps softly. “Oh, Eli, don’t be so spiteful.”
I slowly turn my head toward her.
She looks perfect in her guise; all worried and innocent.
“You ran into me and slipped,” she continues gently. “You fell on your own. I didn’t push you. Why would I be that malicious?”
I let out a humorless laugh, which immediately makes my head pound harder.
“Julian,” she says softly, stepping closer. “Please tell him I’m not that low level.”
Julian doesn’t look at her.
He looks at me.
“It was an accident,” he says calmly. “Lovia wouldn’t do something like that.”
There it is.
Something inside my chest cracks.
“She pushed me,” I repeat.
Lovia shakes her head, eyes wide. “Why would I push you? That’s ridiculous.”
I try to sit up straighter, but my side burns and I hiss.
Julian’s hand immediately presses gently against my shoulder. “Don’t move too much.”
The door opens again.
A doctor walks in with a polite smile.
“Too much noise,” I mutter. “Too many people.”
The doctor nods. “The patient needs a calm environment. Only one person should stay.”
Before Julian can say anything, Anton walks over to Lovia.
“Let’s go,” he says lightly, placing his hands on her shoulders.
She looks at Julian as if waiting for him to stop it.
He doesn’t.
Anton guides her out.
The door closes.
The doctor steps closer to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“Like I fell down a flight of stairs,” I reply.
He smiles slightly. “That makes sense.”
Julian straightens. “Explain everything.”
The doctor nods. “He has a mild concussion. No signs of brain bleeding or serious trauma. The CT scan was clear.”
Julian’s jaw tightens. “You’re certain?”
“Yes,” the doctor replies calmly. “We monitored him closely. The headache and dizziness are expected. They should reduce within a few days.”
“And his ribs?” Julian asks.
“Bruised. No fractures.”
“And the glass that pierced him?”
The doctor flips through his tablet. “A few superficial cuts along his side. One piece pierced deeper than the others, but it did not damage any major organs. We removed all the fragments and cleaned the wounds. They will heal.”
Julian leans forward slightly. “There is no internal bleeding?”
“No.”
“No nerve damage?”
“No.”
Julian’s voice drops lower. “Are you absolutely sure?”
The doctor meets his eyes. “Yes. He is lucky.”
Julian exhales slowly.
The doctor looks at me. “You will be prescribed pain medication. Strong enough to help, but not addictive.”
“I don’t want to feel like a zombie,” I say.
“You won’t,” he assures me. “You’ll stay overnight for observation. If there are no complications, you’ll be discharged tomorrow.”
Julian nods once. “And long-term?”
“No serious brain injury,” the doctor says. “But if you experience persistent headaches, blurred vision, vomiting, confusion, or any worsening symptoms after discharge, you must return immediately. Concussions can sometimes show delayed effects.”
I nod slowly.
Julian speaks again. “He will have follow-up scans.”
“If symptoms persist, yes.”
“Schedule them anyway,” Julian says firmly.
The doctor gives a small smile. “Very well.”
He checks my IV, adjusts something on the monitor.
“Rest,” he tells me. “Minimal stress. Minimal noise.”
I almost laughed at that.
Minimal stress.
In my life?
The doctor leaves, and the door closes again.
It’s just us.
Julian turns back to me.
His fingers brush my hair gently away from my forehead.
His touch is soft, and careful.
Almost afraid of hurting me.
“You scared me,” he says quietly.
I stare at him.
Did I?
He traces his thumb lightly over my cheek.
I hate that my body relaxes at his touch.
“She pushed me,” I say again.
He brings his finger to my lips softly. “Shhh.”
His thumb presses gently between my eyebrows.
He leans down and kisses that exact spot.
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers.
Baby.
My chest tightens painfully.
It’s okay?
What part of this is okay?
You believed her.
You didn’t even hesitate.
I swallow hard.
My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry.
“I need to sleep,” I say quietly.
He studies my face.
“You can leave,” I add.
He doesn’t respond immediately.
His hand lingers on my cheek for a few seconds longer. I turned away and faced the wall.
Then I feel the bed shift as his weight leaves it.
I keep my eyes turned away.
I hear his footsteps move toward the door.
He pauses.
For a second, I think he might say something else.
He doesn’t.
The door opens, and closes.
Silence fills the room again.
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Why am I this angry? Why does it hurt this much?
I should be planning my escape.
I should be figuring out how to get away from him.
Not—
Not feeling this sting because he didn’t choose my side fast enough.
I turn onto my side carefully. Pain shoots through my ribs and I hiss softly.
I press my face into the pillow.
Why do I want him to believe me so badly?
Why do I care?
I told myself I didn’t want this marriage.
I told myself I didn’t want him.
So why does it feel like betrayal when he defends her?
Why does it feel like something broke inside me?
I close my eyes.
Maybe I’m just angry because I lost.
Maybe I’m angry because she’s winning.
But why does it matter?