Chapter 158

Chapter 158
Arthur's POV

The rebuke stung, but I deserved it. I moved closer to the bed, looking down at Julian's unconscious face. He looked younger like this, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen him.

"How is he?"

"Stable. The surgery went well. He'll recover." Eleanor's answers were clipped, professional.

"When will he wake up?"

"The doctor said probably this evening."

I nodded, processing this. "Good. That's... good."

A pause stretched between us, filled with everything we weren't saying.

"Well," I heard myself say, the words coming out before I could stop them, "if he's not going to die, then there's nothing to worry about."

Eleanor's eyes flashed with anger. "Nothing to worry about? Julian almost died, Arthur. He stabbed himself three times to save me."

"But he didn't die." The defensive response was automatic. "He's going to be fine."

The words sounded callous even to my own ears, but I couldn't seem to stop. Jealousy was making me cruel, turning my concern into something ugly.

"This must have brought you two even closer, huh?" The bitterness leaked through despite my best efforts. "He saves your life, now you're even more devoted to him."

Eleanor stared at me, disbelief and anger warring on her face.

I kept going, unable to stop the words pouring out. "Is that how it works? Whoever saves you gets your loyalty? Because I remember saving you once too. Ten years ago. And you spent years following me around after that."

My voice dropped. "I wish I'd been the one to save you this time. Maybe then..."

I trailed off, but the implication was clear. Maybe then she'd be looking at me the way she looked at Julian.

Eleanor stood slowly, her face pale with anger. "You think I love Julian because he saved me? You think my feelings are that shallow?"

"I didn't mean—"

"You have it backwards, Arthur." She cut me off, her voice shaking. "When you saved me at eight years old, I felt gratitude. That gratitude became... something I mistook for love. But it wasn't real."

She took a step toward me. "With Julian, it's the opposite. I fell in love with him first. I loved him before this happened. And I would love him even if he'd never saved me, even if he'd never done a single heroic thing."

She paused, her eyes blazing. "I love him because of who he is. Not because of what he's done for me."

Something broke inside me at those words. I grabbed her hand, desperate now. "Elle, please. Listen to me. Whatever he can do for you, I can protect you, provide for you, give you everything—"

Eleanor pulled her hand away. "I don't want everything from you, Arthur. I want nothing from you."

"Why?" The word came out as a plea. "Why him and not me? We have history, Elle. We have years together—"

"Because you're not him, Arthur." Her voice broke on my name. "You're not Julian. And I don't want you to be."

The finality in her voice was like a door slamming shut.

"I think you should leave," Eleanor said, her voice cold now. "You clearly didn't come here out of genuine concern for your brother."

I reached for her again, one last desperate attempt. "Elle—"

"If you don't leave right now, I'm calling security."

The threat was real. I could see it in her eyes.

I grabbed her hand one more time, holding it perhaps too tightly. "Just think about it. Please. Just think about what I'm offering—"

"Let go of me." Her voice was hard.

"Elle—"

"I said let go, or I'm calling someone."

I released her hand, took a step back. The look on her face—disgust, pity, exhaustion—was worse than anger.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."

I turned and left before she could respond, my hands shaking as I walked down the corridor. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my breathing.

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?

---

Eleanor's POV

I sat back down in the chair after Arthur left, taking Julian's hand again with trembling fingers. My thumb traced over his knuckles, the familiar gesture grounding me after Arthur's disturbing visit.

"I'm not leaving you," I whispered to Julian's unconscious face. "No matter what anyone says, no matter what happens. I'm staying right here."

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to our joined hands. "So you need to wake up. You need to come back to me."

My voice broke. "Please, Julian. Please wake up."

The weight of the day finally crashed over me—the terror of the cabin, watching Julian stab himself, the surgery, Arthur's desperate plea. I didn't cry—I was too exhausted for tears—just sat in quiet devotion as the sun set over Greenwich, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.

The monitors beeped steadily: proof of life, promise of recovery.

I closed my eyes and waited.

Dusk slipped into night, yet Julian remained unconscious. A nurse stopped by at ten, checked his vitals. “The doctor had hoped he'd wake earlier, but the blood loss and anesthesia are making recovery slower than expected.”

---

Dawn came softly, filtering through the window in pale gold light.

I'd dozed off in the chair at some point, my head resting on the edge of Julian's bed, still holding his hand. I'd been there all night, refusing to leave even when nurses suggested I get proper rest.

Something soft brushed against my cheek.

I stirred, half-asleep, thinking it was my imagination. Then it happened again—a gentle pressure, warm and deliberate.

My eyes fluttered open.

Julian was awake, propped slightly up on the pillows, looking at me with those gray-blue eyes that were tired but alert and full of mischief.

"Morning, Red." His voice was hoarse but unmistakably his.

My brain took a moment to process. Then I was moving—launching myself at him but stopping just short, suddenly aware of his injuries.

"You're awake." The words came out breathless, tears already falling. "Oh my God, you're awake."

I wrapped my arms around him carefully, mindfully avoiding his bandaged arms and chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

Julian's good hand came up to stroke my hair. "Hey, hey. I'm okay. I'm right here."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my hands framing his face like I needed to confirm he was real. "You scared me. You scared me so much. I thought—"

"I know." His voice was gentle. "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever do that again. Do you hear me? Don't ever—"

Julian cut me off with a kiss. It was soft, tender, tasting of salt from my tears and the antiseptic hospital air. But it was real, it was alive, it was proof that he was here and safe.

When we broke apart, both of us were smiling despite the tears.

"I missed you," Julian said, grinning.

I laughed through my tears. "I was here the whole time, you idiot."

"Yeah, but I wasn't conscious to appreciate it. Doesn't count."

I shook my head, but I was smiling now, the terror of the past day finally releasing its grip on my chest.

"How long was I out?" Julian asked, more serious now.

"About sixteen hours. The surgery went well. The doctor said you'll make a full recovery."

"See?" His grin returned. "Told you I was too stubborn to die."

Julian's hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. "Come here."

This kiss was different—deeper, hungrier, carrying all the fear and relief and desperate love we'd been holding back. I responded in kind, my fingers threading through his hair, careful of the IV line in his arm.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing harder.

"You just had major surgery," I said, my face flushed. "You should be resting."