Chapter Ninety Five

Chapter Ninety Five
Eros
A uniformed officer approached me while I waited to see her. His face was somber, black notebook in hand.

“Mr. Belmonte,” he said, “I'm Officer Kincaid. Here’s what we’ve gathered so far.”

He flipped to the report.

“The driver of the black Jaguar that hit Ms. Carter was identified as Lysander Carmichael’s father, Robert Carmichael. Surveillance shows he tailed her for nearly fifteen minutes before the crash. There’s no doubt he intended to cause harm. Speed, angle of impact—it was a deliberate attempt to run her off the road. He died on impact. She… she’s lucky to be alive.”

Lucky.

If only it felt that way.

When I stepped into Athena’s hospital room, I froze.

Machines hummed softly around her, cold and clinical—like silent metal sentinels standing guard. An endotracheal tube was secured between her lips, pale and lifeless. 

She lay motionless—too still. A faint cut marked her brow, a dark bruise bloomed on her shoulder, and her skin appeared almost translucent beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

But it was her. My Athena.

The door opened quietly behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know it was the doctor. His footsteps were slow, shoulders heavy, burdened with the kind of news no one ever wants to deliver.

“We managed to stabilize her,” he began, voice low. “But… the trauma to her head was extensive.”

I turned sharply, my voice hoarse. “What does that mean? She’s going to wake up, right?”

He hesitated—just long enough to make my heart drop.

“She made it through the surgery. There is a chance,” he said carefully. “It's pretty slim, but I need to be honest with you, Mr. Belmonte. The brain trauma was severe. There’s swelling, and we’re monitoring it closely. But even if she wakes… it’s unlikely she’ll ever be the same. There may be significant damage.”

The words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

No.

The ground shifted beneath me, and suddenly I was on my knees. My chest cracked open with the weight of it, unable to breathe through the tightness crushing my ribs. I crawled to her side, trembling fingers reaching for her hand.

It was warm.

Still warm.

“You hear that, Athena?” My voice wavered. “They think you won’t come back to me. But they don’t know you like I do. You’ve always been stronger than anything life threw at you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her bruised forehead, my thumb lingering just a second longer.

“I saw them… our kids. A boy and a girl. They’re beautiful—just like you. So you don’t get to give up. Not now. Not after everything. You don’t get to leave them… or me. Not again.”

I pulled the chair closer and sat beside her, our fingers still locked.

And I didn’t let go.

~~Present time~~
My twins, Rhea and Rhys, were born via C-section at thirty-two weeks—fragile, weighing less than I had ever envisioned seeing them. They looked so small, so impossibly delicate, but they fought. God, they fought harder than anyone expected. And a month after the accident, they were discharged.

During that time, work never crossed my mind. I couldn’t even think of stepping out of the hospital, much less reporting to the office. I lived there. Ate there. Changed clothes there. But I hardly slept.

How could I sleep when I had no idea when Athena would wake up—if she would ever wake up—or if she’d silently slip away from us without ever giving me the chance to tell her how sorry I was for everything that had happened between us?

Regret is a hell I live in daily. I should have done more. Been more. Said more. Loved her better, sooner, louder.

I wasn’t a religious man. Never had been. But every day, I found myself in the hospital’s chapel for at least an hour, praying—for Athena, for our kids, for the chance to make things right. 

Sometimes I didn’t even have the words—I’d just sit there, eyes stinging, fists clenched, my heart begging God not to take her from me. It felt absurd at first. Me, on my knees. But it was all I had left to give. 

The twins pulled through. But Athena didn’t.

Nine long months passed. Nine months of silence from her. Then her doctor took me aside, his expression solemn and clinical, and said the unthinkable. 

He told me to let her go. That she was gone in every way that mattered. That life support was only delaying the inevitable.

He wanted me to kill the love of my life.

He spoke of mercy. I heard murder.

But I knew her. I know her. Athena had been a fighter since the moment she was born. She fought through hell as a teenager, scraped her way through trauma as an adult, survived things that would break the strongest of men. There was no way she would give up now.

So I told the doctor, bluntly, that I wasn’t giving up on Athena. Not then. Not ever.

I had her transferred to Villa Isadora. I had one of the rooms recreated exactly like a hospital room—every wire, every monitor, everything she needed. I hired a nurse to look after her round the clock. It wasn’t hope I was clinging to—it was faith in the woman I loved.

It’s been eight years since that day. And Athena still hasn’t woken up.

Eight years. Eight years of heartbreak. Eight years of hope. Eight years of watching my children grow up without their mother.

Sometimes I ask myself how I keep going. And the truth is, I don’t know.

Today, deciding that I’d had enough of the twins’ screams echoing through the estate like a siren in my skull, I left my office and walked down the hallway, turning the corner and pushing open the doors to their playroom.

Creselda, their nanny, looked like she was at the end of her rope, her voice rising in desperation as she pleaded with them to let each other go.

“Rhea! Rhys! Enough!” I bellowed, my voice sharper than I intended.

As if they’d been scalded, they immediately released each other’s hair, stepping five feet apart. They looked stunned—wide eyes, slightly trembling. I’d never yelled at them before. Not like that.

But I was exhausted. Drained. Frustrated. Well, who wouldn’t be fed up with them? They were chaos in capital letters.

“What in God’s name is wrong with both of you?” I demanded, glaring at them.

They didn’t miss a beat. As usual, both of them pointed fingers at each other, crying out simultaneously, “He started it! She started it!”

Their voices overlapped in chaotic harmony.

“I don’t care!” I barked. “This ends today. The next time I hear either one of you scream your head off, I’m going to ship you off to Greece.”

Rhys blinked. “But we don’t know anyone in Greece.”

His innocent, confused tone almost made me laugh. Almost. But I was too on edge to find humor in anything right now.

“Well, I do,” I said sharply. “Maybe if both of you are apart from each other, you’ll learn to be nice to each other.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.” Rhea apologized, shooting me her best puppy dog look.

Rhea’s voice was soft, her amber eyes pleading, her expression a near-perfect reflection of her mother’s. Looking at her was like looking at Athena—those same eyes, same stubborn tilt to her chin—and it shattered me inside every time.

A wave of guilt hit me square in the chest. I sighed, the anger draining as quickly as it had flared. I walked over to both of them, crouching down and pulling them close.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I said, my voice gentler now. “I’m just... so worried and frustrated...” I paused and pulled back slightly to look at them. “Can you forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive us, Papa. We promise not to fight anymore,” they said in unison.

They meant it, at that moment, but I knew better. Their bickering was practically genetic. And truthfully, it was my fault. I hadn’t enrolled them in school. I hadn’t let them play with other kids their age.

I’d locked them away in this estate like rare treasures behind glass.

Because I was terrified. Terrified of letting them out of my sight. I had enemies—more than I could count—people who would stop at nothing to see me fall. And if they couldn’t get to me, they’d go through my children.

And I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen. My grandparents passed away five years ago, and even though I still had uncles and aunts, it didn’t feel the same as having my grandparents alive.

“Okay,” I finally said. “But I think we’re all feeling a little cooped up in the house. What do you say to ice cream?”

“Yay!” they exclaimed, bouncing with joy.

I smiled faintly, straightened up, and planted kisses on their foreheads. Then I turned to Creselda. “Please take them upstairs so they can change. You’re also coming with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Creselda nodded and gestured for the twins to follow her.

Once they were gone, the silence settled in. I sank onto the sofa, my elbows resting on my knees, my hands covering my face.

What was the point of all this wealth if I couldn’t use it to save Athena?

I’d gone to the best doctors. The best hospitals. I’d flown across continents for a glimmer of hope.

And every time, I got the same answer: Let her go. Let her go. As if she were just another project. As if she weren’t my soul.

No one believed she’d come back.

But I did. I had to.

Feeling the weight of it all press down on me again, I did the only thing I could: I closed my eyes and prayed. Not for miracles or second chances. Just for her. For Athena.

No brain damage. No death. No final goodbyes.
I just wanted Athena back.

Just... come back to me.

Come home.