The first thing Elijah felt was the warmth of her back against his chest. The sheets clung to their bodies like memory—familiar, perfumed, suffocating. Rain still tapped against the windows, but it was softer now, like a lullaby after a storm.
He didn't move.
Lilian lay still beside him, her breath steady, strands of pale hair fanned across the pillow they once shared willingly. Her bare shoulder peeked from under the silk covers, glowing faintly in the early morning light. He knew that shoulder. Had kissed it a thousand times. Bitten it softly once, after a joke she'd whispered in the dark.
Elijah stared at the ceiling, unmoving, as memories bled through the cracks of silence.
Back then, it had been different.
He wasn't supposed to fall for her. Not when he was hired to protect her, shadow her every move. Just another ex-military grunt tucked into a tailored suit, background-checked and body-scanned.
But Lilian Slade had never been careful.
She flirted like it was oxygen. Called him "soldier boy" with a crooked smile and a challenge in her eyes. She'd sneak him looks during dinner parties, drop things so he'd pick them up, brush his hand when no one was watching. She liked danger. And Elijah — poor, dutiful Elijah — became her favorite game.
He'd tried to keep his distance. For weeks and months. Until that night during a thunderstorm,when she had pulled him into her car and kissed him like she'd been drowning for years. She tasted like wine and secrets. She tasted like home. A home he never had.
That was the beginning.
And once it started, it didn't stop.
Hallway kisses. Backseat touches. Weekend escapes to lake houses under fake names. Her nails down his back, her voice in his ear, whispering things no Slade daughter should've ever said to a man like him.
They got caught once. Or almost caught.
Her father had nearly fired him. Instead, he pulled Elijah into his office and offered him something else — cybersecurity training. A test. A warning. A leash.
And Elijah, like a fool, had taken it. Anything to stay close to her.
They got married two years later. A quiet ceremony in the garden she loved, with more photographers than guests. Elijah wore a new suit. She wore his last name.
But the garden had died long before the wedding ended.
Now, she barely looked at him.
She didn't hold his hand anymore. Didn't correct her family when they insulted him, when her brothers made snide jokes about "the charity case." When Jeremy called him a pet project, she just sipped her wine and smiled.
And last night?
She slapped him in front of everyone, like he was a stranger. Less than a stranger.
Elijah blinked slowly, the ceiling above him unchanged. Lilian shifted slightly in her sleep, unaware.
Maybe she had been dreaming of someone else.
He sat up, gently untangling himself from her without waking her. His side of the bed was cold. He hadn't really slept.
---
The closet lights flicked on with a quiet hum. He dressed in silence, his motions automatic. A crisp shirt, dark slacks, polished shoes that felt too stiff against his aching feet.
His reflection in the mirror didn't surprise him.
Tired eyes. Bruised chin. That faint cut on his cheek from where the guards had slammed him into the gravel. He pressed a towel against it until the bleeding stopped.
Lilian stirred behind him as he slipped his tie over his collar.
"Elijah…" she mumbled, not even opening her eyes.
He didn't answer. Just looked at her through the mirror. The woman who had once kissed his wounds and now didn't notice them.
He left without a word.
---
The Slade Tech tower rose into the skyline like a blade — steel, glass, and arrogance. Elijah walked through the lobby with practiced steps, flashing his ID badge to the security scanner. No one stopped him. No one greeted him, either.
He passed rows of desks, murmured "morning" to a few nodding interns, then locked himself in his office.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
He exhaled through his teeth, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the chair. The glow of three computer monitors painted his face in shifting tones. He sat and stared at them without moving, hands clasped together in front of him like he was praying.
And then… that hum again.
Low. Electric. Familiar.
A tremor ran through his spine. His hands twitched.
Not again.
He gritted his teeth and reached for the keyboard, typing in his login.
But the screen blinked.
For a moment—just a breath—it wasn't the Slade network logo. It was something else.
Red.
A spiral.
A flash of white corridors. Screaming.
"No, no, no—"
Elijah shoved himself back from the desk, hitting the wall behind him. His skull throbbed. His vision blurred. Heat bloomed behind his eyes.
A cold room. A chair with straps. His hands clawing at restraints. A voice—his voice—screaming.
And over it all, that name again.
E-07.
His breath caught. His stomach twisted. He stumbled to his feet, knocking over a stack of files.
Not now. Not here.
He grabbed the edge of his desk for balance, but the migraine roared, brutal and sudden. The lights overhead flickered like faulty memories. He couldn't breathe.
His knees buckled.
And then the floor came up fast.
The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the spiral again—burning behind his eyes.
The antiseptic tang of hospital air was the first thing he registered.
Then came the fluorescent lights — harsh, unwavering — drilling into his retinas. His head throbbed in slow, pulsing beats. He groaned quietly and shifted, trying to sit up.
"Elijah."
He blinked.
The voice was unmistakable. Cold. Familiar. Poison dipped in perfume.
Lilian stood at the foot of his hospital bed, arms crossed over her pale lavender coat, brows arched like they'd been sculpted into disappointment.
"About time."
He didn't answer. He couldn't—not yet. The pain still clung to the edges of his skull like shattered glass. He looked around slowly. Private room. Expensive equipment. But only one chair in the corner… and she didn't sit in it.
"You passed out," she said flatly. "At the office. Gave everyone a scare. It's all over the employee Slack threads. Dominic was livid." She paused, eyes narrowing. "And of course, a few media rats caught wind of it. A Slade son-in-law collapsing like that? Not a good look."
His throat was dry. He reached for the water cup by the bed, hand trembling. She made no move to help him.
"Why are you here?" he asked hoarsely.
Lilian scoffed. "Trust me, it wasn't out of concern. Dominic insisted someone from the family make an appearance. PR management. I pulled the short straw, plus it would be a bad look if your wife wasn't here with you, can't have them thinking you were being mistreated because of your background or lack of it."
Right. Of course she didn't care.
The door creaked open before he could speak again. A man stepped in, dressed in a charcoal-grey blazer over pale scrubs — the Slade family's long-time physician.
"Ah. You're awake," said Dr. Arlo Richmond. He gave a tight smile and approached with the confident gait of someone who'd spent too long around egos larger than hospital wings.
Elijah gave him a nod. "Doctor."
Arlo tapped on the tablet in his hand, his face unreadable.
"Well..the preliminary scans show a mass," he said matter-of-factly. "A brain tumor, left temporal lobe. Mid-stage, likely pressing on neural pathways — which explains the migraines, disorientation, possibly even the fainting spell."
Lilian made a sharp noise, something between a scoff and a laugh.
"Oh. So that's why you were acting like a stunned animal at the gala," she said. "I was starting to think you were just that dumb to be pulling stupid stunts at important events."
Elijah flinched, not from the insult, but from the way she said it — like she wasn't even trying to hurt him anymore. Like it was just… natural.
"I was trying to protect you," he said quietly, looking at her. "Clarissa was going to humiliate you in front of everyone."
She blinked once. Shrugged. "You humiliated yourself by trying to play hero ,Elijah. If you'd stayed where you belonged, none of this would've happened."
"Excuse me Lilian," Arlo interjected gently. "This isn't the time."
As if oblivious to his statement.
"How bad is it?" she asked, looking at Arlo, not Elijah.
"Surgery is the best option," Arlo replied. "Soon. Within weeks. We'd need to remove the tumor before it causes permanent neurological damage. However, it's complex. High-risk. It won't come cheap."
Her arms crossed again, tighter this time.
"And what does 'not cheap' mean doctor?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand," Arlo said simply.
Lilian whistled, low and sarcastic. "Right. Just lying around in the drawer next to the spare diamonds."
Elijah swallowed the rising bitterness in his throat. "I have some savings. Maybe I could—"
"Oh please." She cut him off. "You think your measly salary covers this kind of care? You'd need five years, minimum of intense working with no break to even gather half of that. We'll have to consider alternatives."
Arlo looked uncomfortable. "There are medications that may help slow the growth, at least temporarily. But they're intensive. And also expensive."
"How expensive?" she asked sharply.
"Twenty-five thousand for the first three-month batch," Arlo answered. "And that's not including hospital monitoring."
Lilian turned to Elijah. Her expression didn't shift, not even a flicker of worry.
"Well," she said coolly, "you'll just have to behave, won't you?"
He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'll cover your medication," she said, brushing imaginary lint off her coat sleeve, "if—and only if—you stop making a mess of things. No more fights, no more outbursts, no more dragging my name through public gossip like yesterday's trash."
Elijah stared at her, his chest tightening.
"So that's it?" he said. "You'll help keep me alive, as long as I play house pet?"
"Don't be dramatic." She rolled her eyes. "My family nearly cut me off for marrying you. I've bled enough for this relationship. You should be grateful I'm willing to lift a finger after the stunt you pulled."
"I collapsed," he said, voice rising slightly. "I didn't stage a scandal."
"You embarrassed me," she snapped. "And yourself. And by extension, the entire Slade name. You think the board will take me seriously now that they've seen my husband passed out like a malfunctioning Roomba?"
Arlo cleared his throat. "If I may—this tension isn't helping his condition. Elijah needs rest. Stable emotions. There are serious decisions ahead."
"Great," Lilian said with a sigh. "I suggest you talk to Dominic."
That name froze the air between them.
Elijah stiffened. "Why him?"
"Because you work under him," she said, tone flat. "And because he controls the department budget. If you want a miracle surgery, you'll need a miracle sponsor."
"You think he'd actually help me?"
"I hope," she said coldly, stepping toward the door, "but you need to know your place, that will do you a lot of good "
She opened the door and paused, as if trying to say something . But decided not to.
And then she was gone. Leaving him with Dr Arlo.
The room was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Elijah sat in the bed, hands clasped in his lap, staring at the blank wall ahead. Dr. Arlo lingered for a moment, then set a small white box on the bedside table.
"Starter dose," he said gently. "One per day. Take it with food. I'll schedule check-ins. Once I'm sure you are stable,you will be discharged"
Elijah nodded without looking up.
"And…I'm sorry you have to go through all this" he said with an intensity that freaked me out a little.
But the emotion disappeared as quickly as it came and He left without waiting for a reply.