Chapter 145
Chapter 145
NAYA'S POV
As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, the air in the corridor felt different—too wide, too quiet, like it carried the echo of everything I couldn’t put into words. I folded my arms around myself, not because I was cold but because it was the only way I could keep from unraveling. My emotions were scattered like loose papers in the wind, and I couldn’t gather them fast enough.
Why did I feel like this? Was it just Arthur? The way his absence had carved out a hollow in me, the kind that kept me restless, searching, even when nothing was wrong on the surface? Or was it simply anxiety clawing its way up, taking advantage of the silence and uncertainty to convince me something was bound to go wrong? I didn’t know. And not knowing made it worse.
Every step toward the lobby felt heavier than the last, as though my body resisted moving forward, wanted to stay in that room just to keep an eye on Jordan and Stella—two people who had already found their moment of relief. Maybe I was jealous of that, not in the selfish way, but in the sense that they had something solid right now. Jordan had woken up. Stella had hope back in her arms. Meanwhile, all I had were questions that looped in my head and refused to die down.
Where was Arthur? Why hadn’t he reached out? Did he even realize how much space his silence took up in my mind?
I paused halfway down the hallway, pressing my hand against the cool wall just to steady myself. For a second, I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, but it barely helped. My chest still felt tight, like I was walking around with invisible weights strapped to my ribs.
I hated this version of me—the one who was consumed by thoughts she couldn’t control, the one who cared too much, the one who let herself feel empty when someone wasn’t there. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. But still, when it came to Arthur, I couldn’t help it.
The sterile brightness of the hospital lobby came into view, its bustle of nurses, relatives, and hushed conversations filling the air. Normally, I would’ve found comfort in the normalcy of it—life moving on, people caring for their loved ones, order in the middle of chaos. But right now, I felt like an outsider in my own skin, watching everything through a pane of glass I couldn’t break.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself and slowed my steps, as if dragging time out would somehow give me an answer. But all I had were questions, and the deeper I sank into them, the harder it was to breathe evenly. Was this ache in me truly because I missed Arthur—or was it my mind spiraling into places it shouldn’t, my anxiety sharpening every silence into a threat?
I couldn’t tell. And not knowing scared me more than anything.
The television mounted high in the corner of the hospital lobby suddenly shifted to a breaking news banner, the red letters practically burning themselves into my vision. My feet slowed before the words even registered. And then I heard it—Victor Cain. His name. The newscaster’s voice was brisk, professional, but all I caught were fragments: arrested… his gang… police raid… half-completed building… overwhelming evidence.
My breath hitched so sharply I thought my chest might collapse. My hand flew up to my mouth, muffling the sound that almost tore free. It was unbelievable, and yet so real I felt it ripple through me like a wave. Relief should have come with that news—any normal person would feel safe knowing Victor was finally behind bars. But instead, a fresh current of dread gripped me by the throat. Because if Victor was taken, then what about Arthur? What had he gone through to make that happen? Was he even—
The thought cut itself off before it reached the end. I couldn’t bear to complete it.
My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone, my thumb fumbling over the screen, desperate to dial Arthur’s number. Each ring felt endless, like a needle dragging down my spine, and when it went unanswered, I nearly lost it. I started pacing across the polished tiles of the lobby, my heels echoing faintly, my arms wrapping tighter around myself even as I clutched the phone like it might tether me to him somehow.
The people around me blurred—doctors moving swiftly, nurses pushing charts, visitors carrying flowers. My world shrank down to the frantic hammering of my heart and the silence on the other end of the call that refused to break.
And then, as if pulled straight out of my desperation, I saw him.
Arthur.
He stepped into the hospital lobby with that unmistakable presence, flanked by two of his men. He looked tired—edges worn down, his shirt slightly rumpled, a shadow of exhaustion in his eyes—but he was there. Whole. Breathing. My Arthur.
Before I even realized I’d moved, I was running. The phone slipped into my pocket as instinct took over. The air caught in my throat, and by the time I reached him, my arms were already around him, clutching him like I’d drown if I let go. His scent, faintly sharp with smoke and something warm that was just him, wrapped around me. My forehead pressed against his chest, and I felt the solid thud of his heart, proof that he was real, alive, here.
Relief broke through me so violently it nearly brought me to my knees. All the worry, the pacing, the endless questions that had gnawed at me through the night and morning dissolved the second my arms locked around him.
“Arthur…” The whisper slipped out of me before I could stop it, muffled against him, trembling with all the fear I hadn’t said aloud.
And in that moment, it didn’t matter who was watching or how chaotic the world outside had become. A ll I knew was that he was safe in my arms.