Chapter 112 I Did This
Servants rushed in at the sound of the fall. The thud had been wrong. It sounded heavy and final.
For a second, Derek just stared. His grandfather, Edward Hemsworth, was on the floor. Not seated behind his desk or standing tall with his cane. He wasn't composed and untouchable but he was on the floor.
“Sir!” one of the servants cried, already dialing for an ambulance.
Derek dropped to his knees so fast the impact stung, but he didn’t feel it. His hands slid under his grandfather’s shoulders, lifting him slightly.
“Grandfather… hey… look at me,” Derek shouted but Edward’s face had gone pale.
“Stay with me,” Derek muttered, panic rising so fast it made his voice shake. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not like this.”
His grandfather’s eyes fluttered open weakly. They didn’t look stern anymore. They didn’t look powerful. They just looked tired and for one fragile second, their gazes locked.
Derek wanted to take back every word he had just said. He wanted to take back the anger that had filled the room minutes ago felt ugly now. It just felt so wrong, childish and cruel, all at the same time.
“Grandfather,” he whispered, leaning closer, as if lowering his voice could fix this. “I didn’t mean— I just needed to understand. That’s all. I just—”
Edward’s lips moved slightly as though he wanted to say something.
Derek bent closer. “What? Say it again.”
But no sound came. Only a shallow breath. Then another. Then— nothing steady or strong. He slipped into unconsciousness.
The servants were moving around them. Voices were shouting. Someone touched Derek’s shoulder but he didn’t move. He just kept holding him.
As if he could anchor him to this world by refusing to let go. Everything happened too fast and before Derek knew it, they were in an ambulance. The ambulance ride blurred.
Flashing red lights reflected against the estate gates as they sped out. Derek sat beside the stretcher, gripping the metal rail so tightly his fingers hurt.
Machines beeped. Paramedics spoke in quick, controlled tones.
“Blood pressure dropping.”
“Stay with us, sir.”
Derek stared at his grandfather’s face and his heart broke. He looked smaller. He didn't look like the man who had built an empire. He didn't even look like the man who had taught him how to negotiate, how to stand straight, how to never show weakness.
He was just an old man and suddenly, in that moment, Derek remembered something he hadn’t thought about in years.
Being eight years old. He had fallen off a horse during riding lessons and he'd been crying in embarrassment more than pain.
Edward had picked him up himself, brushed the dirt off his jacket, and said quietly:
“A Hemsworth doesn’t stay on the ground when they fall.”
Derek swallowed hard, hot tears blurring his vision.
“Please,” he whispered now, barely audible over the siren. “Please don’t leave me.”
The anger was gone. Celia’s words were gone abd all that remained was fear and something worse.
The doctors’ earlier warnings replaying in his head. His heart is weaker than he lets on. Avoid unnecessary stress.
Derek closed his eyes briefly.
I did this. He kept saying to himself.
The hospital hallway smelled sterile, cold and unforgiving.
They wheeled Edward away without ceremony. Doctors and nurses moved quickly and efficiently.
Derek stood there for a moment, feeling useless. Then he began pacing back and forth.
His chest felt tight again, but not from rage. Rather from guilt.
If I hadn’t gone there. If I hadn’t shouted. If I had just walked away. If I had waited.
He pressed his hands against his face. He remembered that day when he had raised his voice so fiercely that even Rebecca had looked at him with something close to fear. It was his anger that had also driven her into Vanessa's claws.
Maybe his anger wasn’t just passion. Maybe it was destruction and maybe everyone around him had been quietly bracing for it.
He leaned back against the cold wall and slid down until he was sitting. For the first time in years, Derek didn’t care who saw him like that.
His head fell into his hands. What if the last thing he ever hears from me is anger?
The thought made his stomach twist. He replayed the scene in the study over and over.
You ruined everything. Protect me from what?
The words sounded harsher now, even crueler. He tried to remember if he had said anything kind afterward. Anything soft at least. But he couldn’t.
Hours stretched. The ticking clock on the wall felt louder than it should have. Derek sat outside the emergency room, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
He whispered quietly to himself. “He’s strong.”
“He’s survived worse.”
“He built everything from nothing.”
“He won’t leave like this.”
He repeated the words like prayer, but even as he said them, doubt crept in anyway.
What if strength has limits? What if even empires end?
When the doctor finally walked toward him, Derek stood so abruptly the chair behind him scraped loudly against the floor.
“How is he?” he asked, too quickly. Too desperately.
The doctor’s expression answered before his words did.
“I’m sorry.”
It was just two words, those those words shattered something inside him.
“The stress was too much,” the doctor continued gently. “His heart was already weak.”
Too much stress.
Derek blinked. The hallway seemed to tilt slightly.
“I—” he started, but nothing followed.
He nodded automatically, but he didn’t feel himself doing it.
His grandfather was gone. Just like that without any final lecture. No last piece of advice. No chance to say I’m sorry. No chance to say I understand now.
His mind rejected it.
No. He was just in surgery. They would call him back in. There must be a mistake.
He took a step toward the emergency room doors.
“I want to see him,” he said, hoping he'd go in there to see his old man strong and recovering.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. The room was quiet. Machines that had once beeped were now silent.
Edward Hemsworth lay still. Peaceful, as if sleeping. Derek stood at the foot of the bed, frozen.
He had never seen his grandfather still like this. There was always movement, authority, and presence.
But now there was none. He walked slowly to the side of the bed.
“Grandfather,” he said softly but there was no response. He reached out and took his hand.
It was already cooler than it should have been, and that was when it became real.
Derek’s breath hitched. His chest tightened painfully, but this time he didn’t try to control it.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, voice breaking in a way it hadn’t since he was a boy. “I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”
The words felt small and pointless. He bowed his head and pressed his forehead lightly against their joined hands.
“I should’ve listened,” he murmured. “I should’ve waited. I should’ve been better.”
Tears fell quietly. It was not loud sobs. It was not dramatic cries but just silent grief that soaked into the hospital sheets.
He had wanted answers. Instead, he got silence. He had wanted truth, instead, he got regret, and the worst part was knowing that the last version of himself his grandfather had seen was angry, accusing and unforgiving.
Derek stayed there for a long time, holding the hand of the man who had raised him to be strong, and realizing that strength meant nothing in the face of goodbye.
For the first time in his life, Derek Hemsworth felt small. Not like an heir, not like a leader, just a grandson who had lost his grandfather, and would carry the weight of that final argument for the rest of his life.