Chapter 124
Blake
Pain. Fucking blinding, searing pain radiates from my chest, spreading through every nerve ending in my body like molten metal.
I can't move. Can't open my eyes. Can't do anything but float in this strange limbo between consciousness and darkness, silently screaming into the void.
Voices swirl around me, urgent and panicked. The squeaking of wheels against linoleum floors feels like nails on a chalkboard inside my skull. Beeping machines count heartbeats I'm not sure I want to keep having. Someone shouting for blood.
"BP's dropping!"
"We need to stabilize him before surgery."
"Multiple fragments... proximity to the aorta..."
The words wash over me like waves, sometimes clear, sometimes muffled. I try to make sense of where I am, what happened. The memories come in disjointed flashes, each one a knife twisting deeper.
A gun. Amanda's face twisted with rage. Sophia's amber eyes wide with fear. Oh God, Sophia...
Despite the pain threatening to pull me under, a strange sense of peace washes over me. I saved her. I got between Sophia and that bullet. Whatever happens now, I protected her. That's all that matters. Even if I die on this fucking table, at least I did one thing right.
"I'll grant you three wishes, Blake Sterling," Sophia whispered, eyes sparkling as I fastened the delicate silver charm bracelet around her wrist at our Princeton graduation. The spring air carried the scent of blooming magnolias, and sunlight caught in her honey-brown hair. My heart felt too big for my chest in that moment, like it might actually burst with how much I loved her.
"And what if I only have one wish?" I asked, pulling her closer, drinking in the softness of her skin under my fingertips.
"Then save the other two for later," she replied, pressing her lips to mine. "We have our whole lives ahead of us."
I never did use that third wish. What a goddamn waste. I should have wished to never forget her, to never let her go.
The memories float through my mind, crystal clear despite the fog of pain. I can smell her perfume—vanilla and something uniquely her—feel the softness of her skin, hear the cadence of her laughter that always made my stomach flip.
Our senior year formal. Sophia in that burgundy dress that hugged her curves and made my mouth go dry. The way she tilted her head back and laughed when I stepped on her toes during our waltz, the sound cutting through all the noise in the ballroom and going straight to my soul. The chandelier light reflecting in her amber eyes as she looked up at me, making them look like pools of honey and fire.
"You're terrible at this," she teased, but her eyes were soft with affection that made my chest ache.
"I'm better at derivatives than dancing," I admitted, trying not to show how she affected me, how one look from her could make me feel like a fumbling teenager instead of the confident Sterling heir.
"Good thing I'm not marrying you for your dance moves, Blake."
Jesus, I would have given anything to hear her call me again, with that little smirk that was just for me.
More voices now. Different ones. Medical terms I don't understand. Someone is cutting away my clothes. The pain intensifies, and I want to scream but can't find my voice. My chest feels like it's being torn apart by savage hands. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts so goddamn much I want to die.
The four of us—me, Sophia, Leon, and Lauren—sprawled across the floor of our shared apartment, surrounded by finance textbooks and empty pizza boxes. Leon arguing passionately about market inefficiencies while Lauren threw balled-up napkins at his head. Sophia leaning against my chest, her laughter vibrating through me as she mediated their debate. The weight of her body against mine, perfect and right, like she belonged there. Like we were created to fit together.
Our road trip to the Adirondacks. Leon's terrible singing. Lauren's even worse navigation. Sophia asleep on my shoulder, trusting me completely. I remember watching her sleep, thinking that no financial success, no business victory could ever compare to this feeling.
The memories shift, darker now, tainted with the bitterness of loss.
Sophia's face, pale and drawn, as the doctor delivered the diagnosis. Endometriosis. Severe. The chances of natural conception "extremely unlikely." Her hand gripping mine so tightly I could feel my bones compress, but I welcomed the pain, wished I could take all of hers onto myself.
"It doesn't change anything," I whispered against her hair as we sat in the sterile hospital room, my throat burning with unshed tears. "We're going to have an amazing life together, with or without children."
She nodded against my chest, tears soaking through my shirt, but her spine straightened with that resilience I'd always admired, that core of steel that made her a survivor. "We still have each other. That's enough."
It was never just enough. It was everything. She was everything, and I threw it all away when I couldn't remember her. What kind of fucking monster forgets the love of his life?
The pain recedes slightly, replaced by a floating sensation. Am I dying? The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel strangely calm. More memories surface, this one so vivid I can almost feel the sand between my toes, taste the salt in the air.
Our wedding on that secluded Hawaiian beach. No family present—her choice as much as mine. Just us and the setting sun, the waves providing our wedding march. My hands were shaking as I waited for her, and then she appeared, and everything else faded away.
"I promise to love you through every storm," she vowed, her bare feet in the sand, wearing a simple white dress that danced around her knees in the ocean breeze, her beauty so pure it made my chest ache. "To stand by you when the whole world stands against you. To believe in you when you stop believing in yourself."
I slipped the ring onto her finger, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me, my heart pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "I promise to be your shelter, your partner, your greatest champion. To love you without condition or reservation, today and every day that follows."
And I broke that promise. I fucking broke it when she needed me most.
The airplane. I remember now. The private jet from Hawaii back to New York. Sophia had been unwell, complaining of a headache that grew increasingly severe, her face contorted with pain that scared the hell out of me.
"Switch seats with me," I insisted, worried about how pale she'd become, my gut churning with fear I couldn't name. "The right side is smoother on this aircraft."
She protested weakly but eventually relented, allowing me to help her to my seat on the left side of the cabin, her body leaning heavily against mine.
"Always trying to save me," she murmured, eyes glazed with pain.
"Always," I promised, brushing hair from her forehead, my voice thick with emotion I couldn't contain. "Until my last breath, Sophia."
Then the turbulence started. Violent, unexpected. Warning lights flashing. The pilot's voice, tight with controlled panic. The oxygen masks dropping. The sudden, terrifying lurch as the plane began to lose altitude.
The impact came from my side of the aircraft. Metal screaming. Glass shattering. The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Sophia's face, her mouth forming my name as the airbag deployed between us, and I thought, At least she'll be okay. At least I could protect her this one last time.
New voices cut through my memories, these ones hushed but intense. Familiar.
"This is your doing. You almost killed my son!" My uncle's voice—James—low and furious, vibrating with a rage I've rarely heard from him.
It turns out that my biological father is my uncle！God！
"My son, James. Never forget that." My mother's voice is cold, controlled as always. The sound of it sends ice through my veins even in this semi-conscious state.
"They weren't supposed to switch seats that day." My mother's words slice through the fog, and my mind reels with the implication. Holy shit. No. She couldn't have... "It was supposed to be her, not Blake."
"If he dies, I will kill you myself, Juliana." James's threat carries a deadly promise that shocks me even through the haze of pain.
"He won't die. Dr. Harriman induced the coma to help the brain swelling subside. He'll wake gradually, just like we planned."
"Planned? Like you planned with Noah?" What the fuck? Noah? My stepfather?
"Dr. Harriman is very professional. Just like last time. Nothing that can be proven."
Noah? Is my stepfather? The man I believed was my father until I was eighteen? The man who died suddenly of a stroke? Oh God, did she kill him too? What kind of monster is she?
I try to push through the darkness, to open my eyes, to demand answers. Wake up, goddammit! Wake the fuck up! But the medication pulls me under again, dragging me back into the darkness despite my desperate struggle to surface. The last thing I hear before slipping away completely is my mother's voice, clinical and detached.
"Everything is under control, James. It always is."
No, it's not. Not anymore. When I wake up, you'll pay for what you've done to Sophia. To all of us. I swear to God, I'll make you pay.