The light was too white when I woke.
Blinding, sterile, humming faintly.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling above me wasn't the one in my office. The air smelled like antiseptic instead of burnt coffee and rain. There was a steady beeping somewhere near my ear — a heart monitor, soft but relentless, matching the dull ache behind my ribs.
My throat felt like sandpaper when I tried to speak. "Where—"
"Don't move," a voice said.
I turned my head — slowly, carefully. My father sat beside the bed, his suit jacket folded on the chair, sleeves rolled up, eyes bloodshot. I'd never seen him look like that — not even during the worst of the corporate wars.
"Daddy?" My voice cracked.
He exhaled shakily, covering it with a laugh that didn't sound real. "You fainted. Right in the boardroom. Gave your old man a good scare."
I blinked, trying to piece the fragments together — the rain, the Ministry, Diana's smirk, the lights spinning—My hand moved instinctively to my temple. "I just needed a minute—"
"Don't," Charles said quietly. "You've been running on fumes for days. Exhaustion, dehydration—hell, the doctor said it's a miracle you didn't collapse sooner."
He looked away then, his jaw tightening. "You don't have to carry everything, sweetheart. Not like this. Why didn't you call me sooner?"
I wanted to tell him I didn't have a choice. That I was dead scared that he would have a heart attack, just like in the past life. But the words never came. The lump in my throat was too heavy.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Kaelen.
He looked like he hadn't slept either — shirt half untucked, hair a mess, eyes dark and strained. The second he saw me awake, he crossed the room in three long strides.
"Elara—"
He didn't get another word out.
The sound came first — the crack of impact, sharp and brutal. Then Kaelen staggered backward, hand pressed to his jaw.
Charles stood between us, fist still half-raised, breathing hard. The silence that followed was deafening.
"How could you let this happen to her?" he demanded, voice breaking through the quiet like a whip.
Kaelen froze, stunned — not from the hit, but from the fury in Charles's tone.
"This—" Charles gestured toward me, his hand trembling with rage. "You told me you would take care of her! You call this taking care?"
Kaelen didn't answer. His eyes flicked briefly toward me — not defensive, not pleading — just steady. He looked like he'd already decided to take the blow.
Charles wasn't finished. "You think I don't know what she has been doing? The late nights, the sleepless goddamn weeks — I thought you were better than that."
I tried to push myself up on the bed, but the room swayed dangerously. "Daddy, stop—"
"Don't you dare defend him," Charles snapped, rounding on me. "You've done enough. You nearly—"
He stopped. The words died in his throat.
Something in the monitor changed — a soft, insistent beep-beep-beep that didn't match the earlier rhythm. A nurse must have seen it through the glass, because within seconds the door swung open.
"Mr. Sterling, please," she said firmly, stepping in. "You'll need to give us a moment."
Charles blinked, thrown off-balance. "What—what's going on?"
The nurse moved to the side of my bed, checking the monitor, then the clipboard at the foot. Her tone softened, but the undercurrent of authority was unmistakable. "Your daughter needs rest. She's dehydrated, severely fatigued — and she's just been through a lot."
Charles's breath came out unsteady. "I know that, that's why—"
"No," the nurse said quietly, meeting his eyes. "You don't understand. She can't go through stress like this right now."
That got his attention. His brows furrowed. "…What do you mean?"
She hesitated — then looked at me, as if asking silent permission. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. My heartbeat was too loud in my ears.
"Mr. Sterling," she said finally, gently, "your daughter is pregnant."
The words hit like a physical force.For a second, I thought I'd misheard.
Pregnant.
Charles went still — utterly, frighteningly still. Then his face drained of color. "She's—" His voice cracked. "She's what?"
Kaelen's hand fell away from his jaw. His head snapped toward me, eyes wide, searching — as if he needed confirmation, as if he didn't dare believe it.
I swallowed hard. My lips parted, but no sound came out.
The nurse, calm and clinical, continued, "We confirmed it through routine testing when she was admitted. Roughly five weeks. The baby's stable, but she's not. Stress, lack of sleep, malnutrition — if this continues, we could be looking at complications."
Charles went absolutely still — the kind of stillness that felt like the air before a lightning strike.
"Five weeks," he repeated, the words raw, strangled. "Five weeks—"
Then his gaze snapped to Kaelen.
Something inside him broke.
"You—" His voice was a growl now, low and shaking. "You son of a—"
"Charles—" Kaelen began, but Charles was already moving. He shoved past the nurse's outstretched hand, fury blazing through the exhaustion.
"She's eighteen! And you're not married! God damn—!"
"Daddy, stop!" My voice cracked, sharp against the sterile air. "It's not—"
But he didn't hear me.
"—how dare you?!"
"Charles," Kaelen said, tone iron-flat but eyes wide. "You need to—"
"Don't you say my name!"
He lunged — and that's when it hit me. A flash of heat in my abdomen. A white-hot pain that stole my breath.
"Ah—" The sound tore out of me before I could stop it. My hand flew to my stomach, the monitors spiked, and the nurse shouted something I couldn't process.
Both men froze.
Then, in the same heartbeat, they were beside me.
"Elara!" Kaelen's voice, rough, panicked, closer than I expected. His hands hovered uselessly, afraid to touch.
"Doctor!" Charles barked, his voice cracking on the second syllable. "Somebody get in here!"
The nurse was already pressing buttons, calling down the hall. "Vitals dropping — she's going into distress—"
The pain surged again, deep and tearing. My breath came in shallow gasps.
Kaelen's hand found mine, gripping tight, grounding me through the chaos. "Elara, stay with me. Breathe. You hear me? Breathe."
Charles was on the other side, pale, trembling, eyes darting between me and the monitor as if he could will the numbers to steady.
The door burst open — two more nurses and a doctor rushing in. The room exploded into motion: gloves snapping, lights flaring, voices overlapping in clipped medical commands.
"Fetal monitor up.""BP's dropping.""She's cramping, we need to stabilize her now."
Kaelen started to move back, but the doctor's voice cut through. "No one leaves. She needs a familiar anchor. Stay where you are. And stop fighting!"
So he didn't move.
Neither did Charles.
And through the haze of pain and sound and sterile light, I could feel both their hands — one calloused and shaking, one cold with fear — holding onto me like I was the only thing keeping either of them from falling apart.
The doctor's voice sounded distant now. "We've got it — pressure stabilizing — stay with me, Miss Sterling."
My vision blurred. The ceiling fractured into pieces of white and silver. Somewhere beyond the ringing in my ears, Kaelen's voice broke.
"It's okay," he whispered, voice rough, desperate. "I'm right here."
And just before everything went dark, I heard my father choke out the quietest, smallest word I'd ever heard from him—
"Please."