On the drive back, Damien took his phone out, but the battery had died, so he had to borrow Johnny's phone to call Sam Wellington, the heir of the Wellington family. "I'm injured, so I can't make it tonight; let's move it for tomorrow. I'll have Jones notify the press early in the morning," Damien said. The contract they were about to sign was for new AI software that could revolutionize the industry, a development both companies had been fiercely competing for but decided to join forces last minute.
Sam Wellington's sarcastic tone came through the line. "Don't tell me you're dying?"
Damien spoke: "Can't give you that joy just yet."
Sam then dryly said: "Fine. Tomorrow at noon at my company. Don't be late for the signing." The line went dead.
Damien suddenly thought about his grandfather and the strange, sudden friendship with the Wellingtons. "What exactly does the old man want? He didn't know. He only knew the old man became dangerously close with the Wellingtons, and that fact alone made Damien suspicious. He ran his hand over his arm, wishing he could focus on the Wellington deal instead of a dead driver and a woman he couldn't name.
"Sam Wellington seems to dislike me."
"He's a competitive guy, sir," Johnny replied, his eyes on the road. "You two have been at odds since you both took over your family companies. Everyone in the industry sees you as the more intelligent one, so he must hold some resentment after hearing that for years—I mean, I would too if I were him." Johnny laughed.
Damien: "I don't think that's the case. Sam Wellington doesn't seem like the type who cares what others say about him."
Johnny: "Maybe he's just jealous that you're better looking."
Damien: "Why do I bother asking you anything?"
Johnny: "My mind's a blank, boss. Marco is the smart one."
Damien: "Tell Marco to take a day off tomorrow."
Johnny: "Got it, boss!"
Damien's mind went back to the accident. His breathing felt heavy, like he had a rock pressing on his chest. He could still see her face, pale and disoriented, her whispered cry still ringing in his ears... Who is she? The desire to learn more about her gnawed at him.
"We have arrived home, sir," Johnny's voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
The silence of his penthouse apartment was a stark contrast to the cacophony of sirens and shattered glass that still echoed in Damien's mind. He took a shower, changed clothes, and sat in his armchair, the leather so cold it made him shiver. Johnny came to place a bandage on his wound.
Johnny: "I've called Doctor Vance and I've told Marco to take a day off, but he said he doesn't need it; he's fine."
Damien was in a trance, the city lights twinkling below like a scattered field of diamonds, the rain still pouring. He felt like he was a world away from the chaos he'd left behind. His hand throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage Johnny had applied, a physical reminder of the night's events. He then told Johnny to tell Marco to handle everything, to ensure his name remained out of the official reports. It wasn't about avoiding responsibility; it was about control. He didn't want his name dragged through the press. He needed to understand the strange pull he felt toward the young woman, the unsettling feeling that their lives were now intertwined. Johnny understood his orders and took his leave.
Half an hour later, a knock on the door broke through his thoughts. "Come in," he called, his voice tight.
Dr. Vance, his childhood friend and personal physician, entered with Johnny, his medical bag in hand. "Damien," he greeted, his brow furrowed with concern. "Johnny called. He said you were in a car accident and injured. I'm still on duty at the hospital, which is why I'm late."
Damien: "It's fine."
Vance, with a concerned tone in his voice, said, "Let me see the wound."
"It's nothing, Vance," Damien said, waving off his concern. "Just a scratch."
Vance raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Let me be the judge of that," he said, moving toward Damien. He gently unwrapped the bandage, his expression serious as he examined the wound. "It's bad. Who placed this bandage on the wound?"
Damien said it was Johnny. Vance laughed, turning to Johnny, who was standing in the corner. "And this is why only Damien would hire you and nobody else."
Johnny: "You call yourself a doctor, don't be jealous that I can do a better job than you." Johnny turned his head up, full of pride.
Both Damien and Vance laughed it off. Johnny was the jokester, a former racer who owed a lot of money, but Damien found him, hired him, and paid off his debt, hence the loyalty. Just like Marco, Johnny would take a bullet for Damien.
Vance took a look at the wound and said to Damien, "You're lucky; it wasn't too deep of a cut. But it will leave a lasting scar." But that scar was nothing compared to the one he carried on his chest—the scar of witnessing a young man's death and a young woman's loss.
"Did you let your grandfather know about the accident?" Vance asked.
"It's late, plus, I don't want to worry him," Damien replied.
Vance nodded. As he cleaned the wound, applied ointment, and re-bandaged it, he instructed, "These pills are for the pain," handing Damien a small bottle. "Try to get some rest. Tonight, you'll most likely have to deal with a high fever. Call me if you need anything."
Damien nodded, his gaze distant. He wasn't thinking about his own injuries. He was thinking about her. The young woman.
"Vance," he said, his voice low, "do you know anything about the two people in the accident?"
Vance hesitated, weighing his words. "From what I've just heard at the hospital from my colleague about the accident," he said carefully, "the driver... he was killed. And the passenger… a woman. She was taken to the operating room. I don't know much about her condition because I rushed out to see you. My colleague Ramirez is operating on her leg, I believe."
Damien nodded. Vance was already at the door when Damien called after him, saying, "Can you text me to let me know how her surgery went when you find out?"
Vance looked at him with a slightly worried expression on his face and nodded. Two hours later, Vance called and told Damien the woman was out of surgery and still unconscious. Damien thanked him.
The truth is, he didn't even know how he felt about this tragic accident that occurred and these two strangers. Guilt was not his to carry, but he still took it upon himself to do so.
It was around four in the morning when he finally fell asleep. He was tossing and turning, the fever was high, and the wound was painful, so he grabbed the bottle of pills and swallowed a few.
He kept thinking about the accident. A man died and a woman got injured... He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. The high fever warped his vision, and the throbbing in his bandaged arm suddenly felt exactly like a phantom pressure on his cheek. This was the second time he had been in a car accident… The smell of gasoline and rain twisted into the coppery scent of blood that had filled the car twenty years ago. His mother's bloody hand cupped his cheek; she wanted to tell him something, but she struggled to speak, blood pouring from her mouth. She had the same fear in her eyes as the young woman, and she tried to tell him something, spitting blood from her mouth. He remembered her words, muffled by blood, but the words were clear to him: "You're bleeding."
Then the young woman's voice, "You're bleeding," cut through the foggy memory. That same fear in her eyes. The second accident was similar to the first one, but this time, only one life was lost.
He didn't know the woman's name until the morning came and Marco arrived.
Marco: "How are you feeling, boss?"
Damien: "I'm alright. Why didn't you stay at home today? I have Johnny here; you should rest."
Marco: "Rest would weaken me; I'm not used to it. Plus, I came to report what I found out."
Damien: "Go ahead, I'm listening."
He was slightly disoriented and really tired. He only slept for two hours in total, and that wasn't nearly enough for his body to recover.
Marco: "The dead driver's name is Ethan Evans and the woman's name is Sarah Walker."
Damien repeated the name, his voice a dry, rasping sound. "Sarah Walker." Why does this name sound familiar?
Marco continued talking: "I've spoken to Officer Harris this morning, and he said it was ruled as an accident, but to make sure, they'll follow the standard procedure and examine the car today. I left my contact info, and he said he'll stay in touch. Your name is out of all reports, and there's no way for the press to find anything." Damien nodded.
Then Damien's phone rang; it was Vance. He called saying the woman had woken up half an hour ago, but she's suffering from amnesia. Damien felt a pang of sadness pierce through his chest. "Amnesia," he repeated.