Chapter 29 The Hospital
Elena: POV
"I didn't push her."
The words came out flat. Empty. Like they'd been scraped out of me with a dull knife.
Julian wasn't listening. He never fucking listened.
His hands were gentle on Victoria's bleeding head, so gentle it made me want to scream. The same hands that had grabbed me, threatened me, thrown me out of a moving car—those hands were cradling her like she was made of glass.
He murmured to her. "Don't move. The ambulance is coming."
Victoria's eyes fluttered open, focusing on his face with perfect timing. Her voice came out weak, trembling. "Julian... I'm sorry. "
"Don't talk," he cut her off, but his tone was so fucking soft it made my stomach turn. "Save your strength."
She reached up, her fingers touching his jaw. "I know she hates me. I understand. I should have stayed away."
"This isn't your fault," Julian said, and the certainty in his voice hit me like a physical blow.
He'd already decided. Judge, jury, executioner—all in the span of seconds.
I stood there, frozen, watching the blood pool on the marble floor. Watching him tend to her like she was the only person in the world who mattered.
He thinks I did this. He actually thinks I'm capable of this.
The sirens came too fast. Or maybe time had stopped, I couldn't tell anymore. Everything felt distant, like I was watching this scene through thick glass.
The EMTs burst through the door, their radios crackling with static. Julian moved aside, still holding Victoria's hand, giving them space to work.
"Ma'am, can you tell me your name?" One of the EMTs knelt beside her.
"Victoria Astor," she whispered. Her eyes found mine over the EMT's shoulder. Just for a second, I saw it—the flash of triumph. Then it was gone, replaced by pain and fear.
Her performance was really good. I'd give her that.
"We need to get her to the hospital," the lead EMT said, already preparing the stretcher. "Head wounds bleed a lot, but we'll need a CT scan to check for internal damage."
Julian nodded, his jaw tight. "I'm riding with her."
The EMTs lifted Victoria onto the stretcher, strapping her in with practiced efficiency. Julian followed them out, not once looking back at me.
Not once.
I stood in the foyer, staring at the blood on my floor. At the console table with its sharp corner, still decorated with Victoria's DNA.
This is my home. My fucking home.
And she'd bled all over it.
My phone buzzed. Julian's name flashed on the screen.
"What?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
"Get to NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. Now." His tone was cold. Commanding. Like I was one of his fucking employees.
"Julian—"
"I said now, Elena."
"I didn't push her," I tried again, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. "You have to believe me—"
"We'll discuss what happened when you get here." The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
He wants me to go to the hospital. To watch him fuss over her. To play the villain in their fucking drama.
I could refuse. Tell him to go fuck himself. Stay here in this apartment with its blood-stained floor and Victoria's lingering perfume.
But I knew Julian. If I didn't show up, he'd make my life hell. Fire my mother. Destroy what little career I had left. He had all the power, and we both knew it.
You're trapped. You've always been trapped.
I grabbed my coat and bag, my movements mechanical. Pulled on shoes. Locked the door behind me.
The Uber driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering why I looked like I'd seen a ghost.
Maybe I had. Maybe my marriage had finally died, and this was just its corpse twitching.
---
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and despair.
I found them in the emergency wing. Of course, Victoria had been fast-tracked—rich people always were. Julian sat in the waiting area, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
He looked up when I approached. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie loosened.
Then his expression hardened.
"Sit down." He gestured to the chair beside him.
My legs were shaking.
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I could hear everything—the beep of monitors, the squeak of nurses' shoes, someone crying down the hall.
"Tell me what happened." His voice was flat. Emotionless.
"I already told you—"
"Tell me again."
I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "She let herself in. Using the code you gave her. Your precious fucking code that you never changed."
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't respond.
"She came to gloat," I continued, my voice steadier now. Anger was better than fear. "About how you spent the night with her. About how this was never my home. About how I was just... temporary."
"And then?"
"And then you showed up." I met his eyes. "She heard your footsteps. Started backing away from me, putting on a show. She wanted you to think I'd attacked her."
"So you're saying she hit her head on purpose." His tone made it clear what he thought of that theory.
"I'm saying she staged it." My hands clenched into fists. "She's been doing this from the start, Julian."
"That's convenient." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Blame the injured woman."
"I'm not—" I stopped, swallowing the scream building in my throat. "You know what? Believe whatever you want. You already have."
"Mr. Sterling?"
We both turned. A doctor stood there, clipboard in hand, looking tired but professional.
Julian stood immediately. "How is she?"
"Ms. Astor has a mild concussion and a laceration that required eight stitches. No skull fracture, no internal bleeding. She's extremely lucky."
I felt Julian's body relax slightly beside me. Relief. He was fucking relieved.
"Can I see her?" he asked.
"In a few minutes. We're just finishing up the paperwork." The doctor glanced at me, then back to Julian. "She mentioned there was an... incident at your home?"
My stomach dropped.
"There was an accident," Julian said carefully. "She fell."
The doctor's expression remained neutral, but I saw the flicker of doubt. "I see. Well, if there are any concerns about safety—"
"There aren't," Julian cut him off. "Thank you, doctor."
The doctor nodded and walked away, leaving us alone again.
"Eight stitches," Julian said quietly. "Simple bandaging, my ass."
I didn't respond. What was the point?
"When we see her," he continued, his voice dropping to something dangerous, "you're going to apologize."