Chapter 75 DISCHARGED
(Eli's POV)
Morning comes softly. For a second, I forget where I am; then the hospital smell hits me.
I feel warmth beside me, and I turn my head.
Julian is already awake. He’s looking down at me.
And I scream.
“What happened to your face?!”
I sit up too fast and regret it immediately. My head throbs.
Julian winces slightly at my sudden movement.
“Oh,” he says calmly, touching his split lip. “I got into a fight with a mad man.”
“What?!” I stare at him. “What do you mean you got into a fight? With a mad man? Why?”
He stands quickly and presses a hand to my shoulder. “Relax. Don’t move too fast.”
“Your face is swollen!” I say, staring at the dark bruise forming around his cheekbone.
His cheek is swollen. His lip is cut. There’s a bruise forming under his eye. It looks painful.
“What kind of mad man?” I ask.
“The usual kind,” he replies casually. “Annoying. Talks too much.”
“That’s not funny,” I say. “Why were you fighting anyone?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing.
“Sometimes mad men get violent and seek trouble, you just can't avoid them.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You’re lying.”
He smiles slightly. “Eat your breakfast when it comes.”
“That’s not even related to what I asked,” I mutter.
Before I can question him more, the doctor walks in with a nurse.
Julian straightens immediately.
“Good morning,” the doctor says politely.
Julian nods. “Check him properly.”
The doctor gives him a look like he already planned to.
He checks my pupils with a small light. Asks me questions. Makes me follow his finger with my eyes.
“Any dizziness?” he asks.
“A little when I move too fast,” I admit.
“That’s normal,” he says. “No nausea?”
“No.”
He nods. “The head injury is mild. No signs of internal bleeding. The cuts on your side are healing well.”
Julian steps closer. “He won’t have long-term effects?”
“No,” the doctor says calmly. “As long as he takes his medication and rests.”
“And if he gets headaches?” Julian presses.
“Painkillers,” the doctor replies patiently. “If the pain becomes severe or if he vomits repeatedly, bring him back immediately.”
Julian nods slowly like he’s memorizing every word.
The doctor smiles at me. “You’ll be discharged today.”
Relief washes over me.
Finally.
After more instructions and signing papers, I finally get dressed. Moving still hurts a little, especially my side.
We stop at the hospital pharmacy to pick up my medications.
Julian reads the labels carefully before putting them in his pocket.
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” I ask.
“I trust very few people,” he replies.
“That sounds lonely.”
He doesn’t answer that.
His driver takes us home.
The car ride is quiet.
I keep staring at his bruised face.
“You really fought someone?” I ask again.
He looks out the window. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
We reach home.
The house feels too big after the hospital room.
The moment we step inside, Mrs. Thorne appears.
“Oh my poor child,” she says dramatically, walking toward me with open arms.
I stiffen slightly but let her hold my hand.
“You must be more careful around the house,” she says softly. “You’re too fragile.”
“I’m not fragile,” I say gently.
She smiles like she didn’t hear that.
“Come, let’s eat. You need strength.”
“Thank you,” I say politely. “But I’ll be more comfortable eating in my room. I’m not feeling so well.”
Her smile flickers for a second.
“Of course,” she says sweetly.
Then she turns to Julian. Her sweetness disappears.
“Why did you treat Lovia like that yesterday?” she demands.
Julian sighs quietly.
“You had her brought home by a driver instead of bringing her home yourself. That is not how a gentleman treats his lady.”
Julian’s jaw tightens.
“Mother,” he says calmly, “I do not have time for charade right now.”
She gasps dramatically. “Juliiaan.”
He ignores the tone and gently guides me toward the stairs.
I hear her muttering as we go up.
Once inside the room, I sit on the bed carefully.
Julian helps me like I’m made of glass.
“I’m not dying,” I say.
“I know,” he replies.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock.
Anton walks in with a tray of food.
I look up. And I freeze.
“You too?!” I shout.
Anton blinks. “What?”
“Your face,” I say, pointing. “You got in a fight with a mad man too? Julian said that’s how he got his bruises.”
Anton pauses.
Then he nods slowly.
“Ahh, yes,” he says seriously. “Mine was a really violent mad man.”
I narrow my eyes at both of them.
“It appears that Julian’s mad man was more violent,” I say. “How did both of you get in a fight with mad men?”
Julian walks to the window like he suddenly finds the garden interesting.
“It’s a wild story,” he says smoothly. “Why don’t you eat and rest?”
“Hmmm,” I mumble suspiciously.
Anton sets the tray in front of me.
The smell makes my stomach growl.
“This already smells better than hospital food,” I say.
Anton grins slightly. “Low standard.”
“I swear they cook without salt,” I complain.
Julian glances at me. “Eat.”
I start eating.
The food is warm, and well seasoned.
I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
As I eat, I glance between them again.
Both bruised.
Both pretending nothing happened.
Mad men.
Right.
After eating, sleep hits me quickly.
My body feels heavy.
I lie down.
The last thing I see is Julian sitting on the chair near the bed, watching me…
When I wake up again, the room is quiet.
The chair is empty.
Julian isn’t there.
Anton isn’t there.
I sit up slowly.
My head feels better. Still sore, but manageable.
I need to pee.
I stand up carefully and walk to the bathroom.
After washing my hands, I return to the room and look around.
My phone.
I haven’t touched it in days.
It’s on the bedside table.
I pick it up.
The battery is low but not dead.
When I unlock it, my screen floods with notifications:
Missed calls.
Texts.
All from an unknown number.
My stomach tightens as I open the messages.
The first one reads:
“You look good from behind.”
My heart skips.
The next:
“Hospital visits suit you.”
My fingers feel cold.
Then I see a photo.
I open it…
It’s me.
And Anton.
We’re walking into the hospital.
The day we visited Grandpa.
The picture is taken from across the street.
Zoomed in, but very clear.
Someone was watching us.
My breathing grows shallow.
There are more messages:
“Careful who you trust.”
“You never know who’s closer than you think.”
My hands shake slightly.
Who is this?
Is it my father?
The thought makes my chest tighten.
He hasn’t contacted me since he kidnapped my old friend.
Could this really be my father or just another enemy being my father's son has earned me?
My mind races.
Should I tell Julian?
If I tell him, he’ll lock me inside forever.
No work.
No stepping out.
No freedom.
But if I don’t tell him—
Another message pops up.
“I wonder if your husband knows you hang out with his buddy.”
Yeah, this isn’t random.
I swallow hard.
So I'm really being followed?
How long?
Since when?
I look toward the door. The room suddenly feels less safe.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears.
I stare at the photo again.
My fingers hover over Julian’s contact.
Should I call him?
Or delete the messages and pretend I saw nothing?
My chest feels tight again. Not from pain.
From fear.
I’m not a child hiding under the stairs anymore.
But right now, I feel just as small