Chapter 68 …ready to strangle him with my IV line
Elena's POV
I surfaced into consciousness like someone dragging me out of deep water. Sound came first—muffled voices, the distant beeping of a monitor—then the blinding hospital lights.
And then him.
Damian.
Sitting stiffly beside my bed like he’d been carved out of expensive marble, jaw locked so tight the muscle twitched. His elbows rested on his knees, both hands clasped together like he was praying—or trying very hard not to smash something.
He noticed the moment my eyelids fluttered. His head snapped up.
And God… his eyes.
Cold. Guarded. Calculating.
The ultrasound picture lay folded with surgical precision on the bedside table, placed there like evidence in a crime scene.
I blinked, throat tight. “Damian?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just watched me—too intensely, like every breath I took was suspicious.
Finally, he spoke. “You passed out.” His tone was clipped. Controlled. “The doctor said it was stress, exhaustion… and the pregnancy.” The last word came out like it personally offended him.
My stomach tightened.
There it was.
His voice wasn’t confused anymore. It was distant. Clinical. Detached.
“Are you okay?” he asked, but it was the kind of question people ask out of duty, not concern.
I swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
He nodded once, sharply. Then leaned back in the chair like he was putting physical distance between us on purpose.
Silence stretched—awkward and sharp enough to cut skin.
Finally, he said it.
“Earlier… before you fainted.”
My heart thudded.
Here it comes.
“You told me the pregnancy… belongs to you,” he continued quietly, eyes trained on me like he was solving an equation. “But I want to be absolutely clear, Elena.”
His jaw clenched.
“I’m not making assumptions.”
My pulse spiked with fury.
He still didn’t see it.
Damian inhaled slowly. “I know Lucas was your boyfriend.”
Oh.
Oh, God.
Of course.
Of course he’d go there.
His next words broke the last remaining thread of my patience.
“So the father could be him.”
I laughed.
Not a cute laugh. Not a sane laugh.
The kind that makes nurses peek into rooms.
He frowned. “What’s funny?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I said, pressing my palms into my eyes before I committed homicide.
Damian misread the gesture instantly—because of course he did. “If this is overwhelming, you don’t need to ex—”
“Damian.” I lowered my hands. “Why would you think the baby is Lucas’s?”
His expression didn’t change. “Because he’s your ex. And despite his… actions,” he said through gritted teeth, “you two clearly have a… history.”
A history.
A HISTORY.
The man blew up his car.
But sure—let’s focus on the history.
I stared at Damian, stunned. “You think I’m pregnant for the man who tried to kill you?”
His jaw flexed. His eyes flicked away. “People go back to their exes all the time.”
I choked. “Lucas is psychotic.”
“Some people like toxic relationships,” he replied under his breath.
I sat up too fast. The world swayed. He moved forward instinctively to steady me—and then stopped halfway, pulling back like touching me would be crossing some unseen line.
The rejection burned in a place I didn’t know still existed.
I forced my voice steady. “I haven’t seen Lucas since the day he tried to murder you.”
That finally made him look at me—really look.
But the suspicion didn’t leave his eyes.
It softened.
Just a little.
And then hardened again.
“Then when exactly did this happen, Elena?” His tone cut sharp. “When was the last time you two were together?”
I stared at him, stunned silent.
He really thought that.
He really believed I had been with Lucas around the time I got pregnant.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered.
And then he did the worst thing.
The thing that made me want to throw a chair out the window.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping, eyes softening with… pity.
“Elena,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be ashamed.”
Ashamed.
Ashamed?
Of what?
My voice cracked. “Damian, listen to me—”
“I’m listening,” he said, gently, like he was soothing a child. “And it’s okay. Really. You don’t owe me anything.”
My chest burned.
“Damian, the baby—”
He stiffened.
His entire body went rigid.
“Elena,” he cut in sharply, “don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I snapped.
“Don’t try to protect me,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend.”
WHAT PRETENDING??
I stared at him, speechless.
He continued, tone maddeningly calm:
“I know this is difficult. You were emotionally attached to him.”
WHAT.
“Attached?!” I choked. “To someone who planted a bomb—?”
He talked over me like he didn’t hear a word.
“And pregnancy can bring up old feelings. Complicated feelings.”
I blinked at him, stunned.
He wasn’t hearing me.
He wasn’t processing anything I said.
He’d decided his own truth and boarded the train all the way to delulu land.
I swallowed hard. “Damian, the timeline—”
“I checked the date on the ultrasound,” he said quietly.
“And yes. It lines up.”
LINES UP?!
I stared at him like he had lost his mind.
“But that doesn’t change anything,” he added, voice low with something like pain he didn’t want me to see. “It’s okay if he… if you two…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Not because he didn’t know the words.
But because the words tore him apart to think.
His throat bobbed. He looked away. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
I almost screamed.
“I’m not embarrassed because of LUCAS!” I shouted.
He winced.
“Right,” he said softly. “I understand.”
HE DIDN’T.
He understood absolutely nothing.
I dragged a hand down my face. “Damian, listen to me—”
But right then, a nurse walked in with a chart.
“Mr. Cross? Doctor needs to discuss her recovery plan with you.”
Damian hesitated.
Then he nodded slowly.
He looked at me one more time—guarded, gentle, tragic, completely wrong.
“We’ll talk later,” he said quietly.
“We need to.”
And then he walked out.
Still convinced the baby belonged to Lucas.
Still convinced I’d been with my psychotic ex.
Still convinced he was stepping back for my sake.
Still completely, utterly clueless.
And I lay there in the hospital bed…
…ready to strangle him with my IV line.