The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 168

Chapter 168: Chapter 168 – Hospital Confessions

Aria’s POV

By the third morning my shoulder had settled from sharp agony to a deep, insistent ache that was manageable with medication and bad with movement. The doctor was satisfied. Barnes came by briefly to go over what had happened in the restaurant, the shot, the angle, the fragment, and to tell me that Marcus had died on impact from the sniper’s shot, and that his network, thin and mercenary without him, was already unraveling.

"It’s over," Barnes said, for what I suspected was the third or fourth time, as though repetition would help it.

Then he was quiet for a moment. "Ms. Monroe." He didn’t quite meet my eyes, which from Barnes, a man I had never once seen uncomfortable meant something. "The ricochet, that shouldn’t have happened. I had people in position, I had the angle accounted for, and you still ended up" He stopped then cleared his throat. "I’m sorry, you trusted us with your safety and we weren’t careful enough."

I looked at him for a moment, this man who had built the entire operational architecture around keeping me alive through a few minutes in a restaurant, who had put a sniper across the street and a wire at my collar and agents at every exit.

"Barnes," I said. "He drew a weapon in a crowded room. Your team neutralized the threat in seconds." I paused. "A ricochet is not carelessness. It’s a restaurant floor with has a bad geometry."

He nodded once, slowly.

"I understand," I said, and meant it simply. "It’s okay."

He left as the room went still. Damien had stepped out to take a call something legal, something about Marcus’s estate and the loose pieces that death didn’t automatically resolve — and I lay there in the thin hospital light, arm aching and head clear for the first time in days.

It was over, months of being in Marcus’s shadow, the kidnapping, the photographs, the hidden cameras including the ones I would never stop feeling violated by. The lockdown, the call in the kitchen at 11:47 PM with the kettle screaming behind me. The restaurant floor, the shot, the hours of Damien in a chair beside me, not leaving, not sleeping properly, not going home. It was over.

I waited to feel something definitive and found instead a complicated, layered quiet. Relief, yes. Exhaustion underneath that. And something else — smaller and more persistent — that I recognized after a moment as grief. Not for Marcus himself, not exactly, but for the fact that it had to end this way at all. For Damien, who had spent years being made of the same damage as his brother and had chosen, somehow, to become something different.

For the family that might have been, if different choices had been made decades ago in a cold house with an abusive father. I was thinking about all of this when Damien came back.

He read my face the moment he walked through the door — he’d gotten frightening good at that, the way you do when someone’s emotional state becomes your primary concern — and he didn’t say anything, just crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed with the careful weight of someone not wanting to jostle the bad side, and looked at me.

"Talk to me," he said.

"I was thinking about Marcus," I said.

Something moved across his face. "Yeah."

"Not with grief exactly." I paused, searching for words. "More with the waste of it. Everything that led to that restaurant, your father and what he did to both of you, and Marcus taking all of that damage and turning it outward, and you taking it and turning it inward, and neither of you knowing how to do anything else for so long."

He was quiet.

"You could have been him," I said.

"I know," he said.

"You weren’t."

"I came close." His hands were linked between his knees, his gaze on the middle distance. "In the years after you left — after I found out what I’d done, what I’d thrown away — I could feel it. The place where you choose to burn everything down rather than sit with the guilt of having caused it. I understood why he chose that path, I understood it from the inside."

"What stopped you?" I asked.

He looked at me. "I found out about Noah."

"Damien." My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

"That’s what stopped me," he said simply. "Not any virtue of my own. Him. You, through him." He exhaled slowly. "I sat in that chair for days while you were in surgery and recovery, and I kept thinking — I almost lost you. Not through my own stupidity this time. Through circumstance. And somehow that was almost worse, because there was nothing to fix. No apology that would have changed the physics of a bullet fragment."

"Hey." I found his hand with mine. "I’m here."

"You’re here," he repeated, turning his hand over to hold mine properly. "But Aria — I need you to know. I cannot survive losing you. I know that’s not how I talk, I know I’m not dramatic." His voice came out rougher than usual"But it’s the truth. These past few days were the worst of my life, and the worst part was knowing there was nothing I could do except sit there and need you to survive."

I looked at him — this man who had spent most of his life believing love was weakness, built by a father who weaponized that belief, who had dismantled that lie piece by piece over the last year until now here he was, in a hospital room with no walls left at all, telling me the plainest and most terrifying truth he knew.

"That’s what love is," I said quietly. "You’re not defective for feeling it. You’re just finally letting yourself feel it all the way."

"It’s awful," he said, with complete sincerity.

I laughed — it pulled my shoulder and I winced, and he was immediately worried, and I laughed again. "You’re terrible at this."

"I’m trying."

"I know." I looked at him steadily. "Damien, I don’t want to wait for the wedding. Whatever we planned — next month, the venue, all of it — I want to move it, I want to do it sooner." I held his gaze. "I don’t want Marcus to have taken even that from us. I want to get married while the ring is still new and Noah still remembers practicing with Mrs. Dora’s sister, son, and before something else comes along and makes us wait again."

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