Simon groaned as consciousness slowly crept back into his aching body. His head throbbed, and his limbs felt like lead. Every breath sent a sharp pain lancing through his ribs. The pavement beneath him was cold, wet with dew, and sticky with blood.
Where the hell was he?
He blinked against the morning sun stabbing at his eyes and tried to move. Pain screamed through his shoulder, but he forced himself upright, swaying like a drunk. His mouth was dry, and the bitter taste of iron clung to his tongue. He glanced around.
Home.
He was outside his own damn house.
He staggered toward the door, each step heavier than the last. His vision blurred as his knuckles weakly tapped against the wood. "Help…" he rasped. The world tilted. His hand dropped. Darkness teased the edges of his sight again.
Inside, Fiona was rifling through Simon's drawers, panic in her eyes as she dug through papers, phones, USB drives—anything that could provide clues. Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded with guilt and urgency. She had no idea what happened to Simon exactly, but she knew it wasn't good. And she needed to know what Simon knew—anything she could use to protect herself from getting dragged into his mess.
Then came the knock.
She froze.
Another weak knock, then silence.
She crept to the window and peeked through the blinds.
Her breath caught.
Simon.
He was slumped against the doorway, blood streaked down his temple, shirt torn, his left hand trembling at his side.
"Oh my God," she whispered, stepping back.
Panic surged. She rushed to erase any trace of her presence. The pillows were fluffed. The drawer slammed shut. She wiped down the bedside table, kicked her shoes under the bed, and tossed the files she'd found back into the closet.
He can't know I was here.
Twenty agonizing minutes passed.
Then, finally, the door creaked open.
Simon barely looked up. "F-Fiona?"
She gasped, covering her mouth. "Simon?! What happened to you?!"
He collapsed into her arms.
"Call—call an ambulance," he whispered. "Please…"
But Fiona, still shaken and trying to mask her own fear, tried to steady him. "No, no, no. Don't close your eyes. Stay with me, okay? I—I'll drive. I'll drive you there."
Simon's eyes fluttered. "A-ambulance…"
"Stay with me, Simon," she repeated more urgently, trying to suppress the panic rising in her throat.
But he was already slipping again.
Fiona wrapped an arm under his and, using all her strength, dragged him slowly to her car. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her mind raced with questions, too many but right now, Simon needed help. Fast.
---
The hospital was chaos the moment Simon arrived.
Within the hour, the news had already leaked.
#TheSCAMintheHospital
#CEOSimonBeatenUp
#WhoDidThisToSimon
Hashtags exploded across social media.
Reporters and camera crews swarmed the front of the emergency wing, shouting, snapping pictures, blocking entrances. Nurses struggled to hold them back. Fiona, who had stayed by Simon's side until he was wheeled into surgery, tried to keep herself hidden behind a nurse's station.
But they spotted her.
"There she is!" someone shouted. "That's the woman who brought him in!"
Microphones lunged toward her.
"Ma'am, are you his assistant or girlfriend?"
"Do you know who attacked him?"
"Was it a rival CEO?"
"Is he in critical condition?"
Fiona stepped back, shielding her belly with both hands.
"Please," she said. "Let me through. I—I need to sit down—"
They pushed closer, cameras flashing.
Then pain stabbed through her stomach like a bolt of lightning.
"No," she gasped, her eyes going wide. "No—no, not now—"
Her knees buckled.
And she screamed.
A blood-curdling cry that brought everything to a stop.
"I'm pregnant! I'm four months pregnant, get away from me!" she sobbed, clutching her stomach. "Please, I can't—I can't lose this baby…"
The crowd froze.
A doctor who had been watching from the second-floor window stormed down.
"Enough!" he barked. "Get these people out now or I swear I'll call the police and sue every damn news outlet here!"
Security finally moved in, clearing the reporters from the hallway. Fiona was rushed into a separate wing for monitoring, trembling and pale, whispering prayers under her breath.
Meanwhile, Simon remained unconscious in surgery, his body fighting to stay alive.
And the world was watching.
---
In another ward...
"What's the commotion outside?"
"I don't know, Mom," the man replied flatly, not bothering to look up from his phone.
"Go and check. The noise is disturbing me."
He sighed and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Alright."
Dragging his feet down the hallway, he headed toward the ruckus. He had no interest in Simon or Fiona, and even less sympathy. Whatever drama was playing out, it had nothing to do with him.
He turned a corner and paused.
Security was pushing reporters away. A woman, Fiona, was being wheeled off, looking pale and terrified. Nurses surrounded her like a protective shield. Her hands clutched her stomach. Her face was soaked with tears.
The boy raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Figures," he muttered, turning on his heel.
Back in the room, he plopped down on the couch like nothing had happened.
"Just paparazzi," he said flatly. "Simon's in the hospital or something. Fiona too. Looked like a war zone."
The woman sat up straighter. "What?"
"Yeah. She looked like she was about to pass out. Might've been bleeding. I don't know."
Her eyes narrowed, dark with interest. "Hmm…"
But the man had already resumed scrolling through his phone, completely uninterested in the chaos unraveling around them.