Chapter 183

Damian's POV

Olivia was the most impossible woman I'd ever met.

The women before her weren't exactly obedient, but none of them pushed back at me the way she did. If I said no, they stopped. She was the only one who seemed to hear a challenge every time I drew a line.

She backed up a couple of steps, nearly losing her balance in her panic.

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to explain herself, but the words died. Then she lowered her head and clutched my sleeve with a helpless, shaky grip.

She finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't ask anyone to come in. No one outside is looking for me."

"You're not going out either. Your body can't handle walking that far."

The security footage flashed across my mind, irritation prickling through me until my fingers trembled. "I honestly didn't expect you'd manage to wander around the hospital for that long."

Her eyes widened. She looked up at me, as if thinking out loud. "So the look I kept feeling on me…"

"That was the camera I installed," I said. "If I don't keep an eye on you, how am I supposed to know whether you're doing what I told you?"

Her hands dropped. She looked genuinely hurt.

Her lips moved a couple of times before she forced herself to speak. Even terrified, she couldn't stop herself from arguing. "Even if you're doing it for my safety, you can't monitor me like that."

I stared back at her, her nervous sweat glinting along her hairline, and my patience slipped. "You don't have the right to negotiate with me right now."

I opened the door and pointed toward the busy hospital hall. "Either stay here and behave, or walk out of this room. But if you leave, I won't guarantee Owen wakes up smoothly."

A shiver ran through her, twice, maybe three times. Then she lifted her head slowly, tugged up a small, brittle smile, and said, "Of course I'm staying. If I leave this room, nobody cares whether I live or die."

"Smart choice."

I would've been happier if her smile hadn't looked so forced.

She sat obediently on the bed, hesitating several times as if she wanted to say something.

I felt her watching me. I finally looked up. "If you have something to say, just say it."

With my permission, she raised her head. "Owen, has he woken up? You were gone for a long time. I figured you were checking on his surgery. Did it go well?"

I frowned, and she shut her mouth instantly. She froze, staring at me as if afraid to breathe.

I pushed down my irritation and tried to keep my voice level. "Is Owen the only thing you can talk to me about?"

She shrank a little and stayed quiet, though in my peripheral vision she kept sneaking glances at me, searching for an opening.

I ended it. "The surgery's done. He's old, so he'll need two or three days to wake up. Ethan is already moving the shares. Is there anything you want from this? I can arrange it."

She went silent, thinking so hard she barely seemed to blink. The way she looked at me made it obvious—if she asked for Ethan's entire company, she believed I would order Eli to buy it by tomorrow morning.

But she didn't ask for anything. And she didn't care about Ethan anymore.

She cared about Sophia.

"Sophia," she said. "If Ethan is transferring shares, what is she doing?"

I narrowed my eyes. A flicker of surprise passed through me.

She was right. Sophia definitely had other schemes.

She looked up, waiting for my response.

But instead of explaining, I pulled her blanket up again and tucked it around her gently. "You don't need to worry about her. Whatever she's planning, I won't let her get what she wants."

There was something sharp in my tone, and she must've heard it, because she grabbed my hand, panic tightening her voice. "So it's dangerous?"

I thought for a moment before answering. "Not that serious. But you're better off not knowing."

She frowned, visibly distressed.

I smoothed the small crease between her brows with my thumb and touched her shoulder in a quiet attempt to calm her. "Nobody's getting hurt on my watch. But if Ethan wants to jump off a cliff with her, I'm not stopping him."

Olivia's POV

Damien's words left my head spinning. I didn't know the details of whatever he and Ethan were tangled in, but even I could tell they were close to dragging each other down.

I tightened my grip around Damien's hand. For the first time that afternoon, I said something that was actually about him. "Then you need to be careful. To me… you matter more than they do."

It sounded sentimental, almost embarrassingly so, but it was the truth.

No matter what Damien thought of me, he was still the father of my child.

Everyone else could collapse around us, but he couldn't. I didn't want my baby to be born without a father.

And he had a family waiting for him, responsibilities that went far beyond today.

Sophia was reckless when she lost control. The fact that she had dared to target Owen told me she was willing to sacrifice anything for profit.

Going head‑to‑head with someone like her never ended well. More often than not, you dragged yourself down with her.

Damien seemed genuinely startled. His eyes widened a fraction before he asked quietly, "You mean that?"

"Of course. I don't want you getting hurt."

His gaze shifted to my stomach. He placed a hand there and brushed his thumb over the fabric, almost absentmindedly, and asked, "Are you worried about me, or just worried the baby won't have a father?"

Another one of his impossible questions.

I tilted my head, not sure what answer he expected, so I chose the only safe path. "Both."

The truth leaned more heavily toward the first, but saying it would only lead to misunderstandings. And I didn't want him digging deeper, so I gently squeezed his wrist and said, "Either way, don't put yourself in danger. I'll be here waiting for you."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how passive I sounded, like I expected him to fight my battles. I rushed to fix it. "Actually, I can handle things myself. Once my body recovers, I—"

"No." His hand pressed a little more firmly against my stomach. His eyes flickered with something I couldn't name. "You just need to rest."

I looked up at him. There was a faint glow in his eyes—cold on the surface, but somehow warm underneath.

I nodded slowly, placed my hand over his, and said with a sincerity I didn't bother hiding, "Thank you, Damien. Whatever your reasons are for helping me, thank you."

He gave me a look I couldn't decipher, deep and unreadable, before he said, "You don't need to thank me."

No sweet lines. No tenderness. Just that one sentence.

And somehow, it was more than enough.