Chapter 166 The Truth in the Waiting Room
Chapter 166 The Truth in the Waiting Room
Lorelei‘s POV
I couldn't answer him.
My throat had closed up completely, my lungs refusing to pull in air.
I could only stare at his face—soot-streaked, eyes red from smoke, that desperate expression as he searched me for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" he asked again, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "Lorelei, talk to me—"
"I'm fine," I managed. "I'm not—"
His eyes rolled back.
Just like that. Mid-sentence. His hands slipped from my face and his whole body went slack, folding in on itself like a puppet with cut strings.
"Dante—" I lunged forward, catching him before he hit the pavement. "DANTE!"
His weight was dead in my arms. I couldn't hold him—we went down together, my knees slamming concrete, his head cradled against my chest.
"No no no—" My hands were shaking, searching for the source. "Where are you hurt? Dante, wake up—"
That's when I saw it.
Blood. Matting his dark hair on the left side. Trickling down past his ear in a thin red line.
The beam. The one that had fallen in the ballroom. He'd twisted to take the impact on his back, but it must have clipped his head—
"HELP!" My throat finally unlocked itself, and I coughed desperately as I screamed. "SOMEBODY HELP US!"
They ran toward us with a gurney. I held Dante tighter, feeling his chest rise and fall—shallow breaths, but breathing, he was still breathing—
"Ma'am, we need you to let go—"
Hands on my shoulders, pulling me back. I fought them for a moment before my brain caught up with my panic.
Let them help him. Let them save him.
I released him and they swarmed—checking vitals, stabilizing his neck, lifting him onto the gurney with efficient precision.
"Head trauma," one of them said into a radio. "Male, early thirties, unresponsive. Pupils unequal. Possible subdural hematoma—"
The words were just noise. I watched as they loaded him into the ambulance, as one of them turned back to me—
"Are you family?"
"I—" The word stuck. No. Yes. I don't know what we are anymore.
"She's with me." Julian appeared, his face pale but composed. "She's my fiancée. I'll make sure she gets to the hospital."
The doors slammed shut.
I watched the ambulance pull away, sirens wailing, and felt something inside me crack open.
He saved me. Again. And now he's—
"Lorelei." Julian's voice, gentle but firm. "We need to go. I'll drive you—"
"No." I pulled away from him, already moving toward the nearest cab. "I'll take a cab and catch up with him myself."
---
The ride took twelve minutes.
Twelve minutes of sitting in the back of that cab, still in my champagne silk wedding dress—now grey with soot and spotted with Dante's blood—trying to make my brain work.
This is my fault.
The thought arrived with brutal clarity.
He came to the wedding. He saw the fire. He ran inside to save me. And now he's—
I pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to hold back the sob building in my chest.
The cabbie kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his expression worried. "Miss? You okay?"
"I'm fine." My voice came out mechanical. "Just—please hurry."
---
The emergency room was chaos when we arrived—people everywhere, patients, doctors, nurses, the walking wounded from the fire.
I pushed through the crowd, my eyes scanning for anyone who could tell me where they'd taken him.
"Excuse me—" I grabbed a nurse's arm. "Dante Ashford. He just came in by ambulance. Head injury. Where—"
"Are you family?"
That question again.
"Yes." The lie came easily this time. "I'm his sister."
The nurse's expression softened. "He's in trauma bay three. But you can't go back there right now—the doctors are working on him. As soon as they stabilize him, someone will come talk to you." She gestured toward the waiting area. "Please. Have a seat. We'll update you as soon as we can."
---
A few people were scattered around the waiting room.
SURGERY IN PROGRESS
The wedding dress was ruined. Completely destroyed. Grey with soot, torn at the hem, spotted with blood—Dante's blood—across the bodice.
I'd been about to marry Julian in this dress.
Three hours ago, I'd been standing in a hotel room, looking at myself in the mirror, trying to convince myself I was making the right choice.
And now—
"Lorelei."
I looked up. Julian stood in front of me, his face pale but composed. He'd found time to change—no longer in his tuxedo, just dark pants and a white shirt.
"I came as soon as I heard." He sat down beside me, careful to maintain distance. "How is he?"
"In surgery." My voice came out flat. "Subdural hematoma. They're—" I stopped, unable to finish.
"He's going to be okay." Julian's voice was gentle. "Dante Ashford doesn't give up easily."
Silence stretched between us.
"Julian." I turned to face him, my hands clenched in my lap. "We need to cancel the wedding."
He went still. "Postpone, you mean. We can reschedule once he's—"
"No." I cut him off. "Cancel. I can't—" I stopped, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I can't marry you."
"Lorelei—"
"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out. "I thought I could do this. I thought I could treat our lives like a business deal, be practical, and ignore everything else. But I can't.”
"I can't." I pressed my hands to my face. "I can't lie to myself anymore. I can't stand at an altar and promise you forever when I can't even imagine—" My voice broke. "When I can't even imagine waking up next to you every morning. Coming home to you every night. Building a life with you."
Julian was quiet for a long moment. "It's him, isn't it? Dante. But you can't be with him."
I looked up, startled. "How did you—"
His voice was matter-of-fact. "I noticed your mother acting a bit strangely toward Dante before, so I looked into it. Futhermore，I heard you. In New York, at the hospital. I was standing outside the door when you told him.""
My chest tightened. "You know."
"Half-siblings." He said it quietly, almost gently. "I'm sorry. That must be—" He stopped. "I can't imagine how difficult that is."
"I know." I stared at my hands. "I know we can't be together. I've known for a long time. But that's not—" I stopped, searching for the right words. "That's not why I can't marry you."
"Then why?"
"Because it wouldn't be fair." I looked at him directly. "To either of us. You deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Someone who chooses you first. Someone who doesn't have to convince themselves to want you."
He stood slowly, his expression unreadable. "I understand."
"Julian—"
"No, I do." He looked down at me, and there was something sad in his eyes. "I think part of me always knew. The way you looked at him at the gala. The way you flinched every time I touched you, like you were trying to convince yourself to accept it." He paused. "I told myself it would get better. That eventually you'd—" He stopped. "But you can't force love, can you?"