Chapter 134: Chapter 134
Music Recommendation: On the nature of daylight by Max Richter.
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Three days later:
The room was too quiet. The silence pressed on Dominic’s skull like a weight, heavier than all the years he had carried power on his shoulders.
Machines hummed softly beside her bed, and their lights blinked in a rhythm that mocked him. Each beep was supposed to mean life, but to him, it only meant distance.
Each beep signified the stretch between Celeste’s body here, fragile and unmoving, and the woman he knew, the one who laughed too soft, who bit her lip when she was nervous, and who curled into him in her sleep like he was her home.
Dominic placed the bowl and cloth aside after cleaning her. He sat back down at her bedside, his body stiff, and his jaw locked tight as if that could keep him from breaking.
He reached for her hand. They were still cold, and still. He squeezed it, trying so hard enough to feel her presence, but not hard enough to hurt her fragile skin.
His eyes stayed on her face. She looked pale. Too pale. He stared so long, he thought if he memorized every line, every curve, he could drag her soul back into her body by force. Finally, his lips parted. They trembled.
"I’m so sorry, Celeste." His voice cracked. It was thick with a weight he hadn’t allowed anyone else to hear. Only she could do this to him. Only her, even unconscious, and maybe, even gone. "I’ll make this go away. I’ll deal with this now. I’m so sorry, love."
He paused, swallowing hard, still staring at her still features. The faint flutter of her chest with each shallow breath gave him hope.
"I’ll make a bargain now. For you." His voice was low, and resolute. He wasn’t speaking to her alone anymore. He was speaking to fate, to the universe, and to whatever cruel force had allowed this. "For you, I’ll give it all up. I’ll give anything."
He squeezed her hand again, tighter this time. Then, he lifted it, pressing a deep kiss to her knuckles. His lips lingered there, and his eyes closed shut as if he could feel her pulse again if he just willed it enough. "I miss you," he whispered against her skin. "Come back, baby. Please."
The doctors said, "coma." Not death. Not yet. They had no idea what the word meant to him. They said it like it was simple, like it was just time, and that he was lucky she had that. But for him, it was hell. For him, it was a knife pressed to his throat, and every second, it cut deeper.
She was alive. But she wasn’t with him. She wasn’t her.
And he knew. He knew this wasn’t just some accident. This was Carlos. Every path in his mind circled back to him. Carlos had moved his hand, and Celeste paid the price. She was this way because of him. Always because of him.
Dominic’s lips trembled. His chest burned with self-hate. It rose in waves he had fought for three days straight. He pushed it down, because if he gave in, it would drown him.
And if it drowned him, what would be left for her? Still, he couldn’t deny the truth that pressed against his ribs. This was his fault.
He wanted to rip himself apart. However, he couldn’t. Not completely. Hating himself meant hating her too.
She loved him. She chose him, despite every shadow attached to his name. If he loathed himself completely, he’d be loathing her love, and he couldn’t disrespect her like that. But right now, maybe just a little self-hate would be deserved. He had dragged her into this. He had placed her life on the line, like she was just another pawn in his bloody war.
Now she lay here, motionless, because of him.
The doctors told him she was out of danger. But the coma wasn’t safe. It was a fifty-fifty coin toss. She could wake up tomorrow. Or not at all. And he’d be left with her body warm beside him but her soul unreachable.
His throat worked as his gaze finally fell to her stomach. His eyes stung. His hand shook as he reached out, then stopped halfway, hovering, almost afraid. He swallowed hard, pain clawing his throat raw.
She lost the baby.
The doctor’s voice replayed in his head, again and again.
For three days, those words haunted him. For three days, he carried that truth like a blade lodged in his chest, bleeding him out slowly.
She hadn’t even known. She hadn’t told him because she didn’t know herself. Two weeks old, the doctor said. Two fucking weeks. That was all.
She had taken her pills religiously. She had never missed a dose. But still, life had slipped past precautions and planted itself inside her, fragile and new. The baby was a piece of them both. And now it was gone.
Dominic clenched his jaw, teeth grinding. His chest ached with a sharp, hollow kind of grief he didn’t know how to name. Call him selfish, but part of him thought maybe the baby was bad timing.
Maybe the baby leaving was mercy. He would have loved their child with everything in him, no question. But he had already sentenced himself to war. Carlos was circling, and Dominic knew there would be blood.
He didn’t want Celeste forever bound to him by a child. He didn’t want it yet, especially when he might not survive long enough to keep them both safe.
Still, the thought tore him apart. He would have loved that baby. He already did.
And yet he told himself the lie, that it was better this way. That maybe fate had spared her. Even as he tried to believe it, he hated himself more.
If she woke up and learned about this, it would destroy her. This had been her first pregnancy. Her body. Her child. And she never even had the chance to know before it was stolen from her.
Dominic finally placed his hand gently on her stomach. For the first time since he heard the truth, he let himself touch her there, and let himself feel the emptiness there. His throat closed, and his chest tightened with grief.
"I love you, Celeste." His voice cracked. He leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently to her arm. "Wake up, baby. Wake up for me. Please."
His eyes shut tight, hot tears finally letting themselves free, and burning down his face. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry. But for her, he had no armor left. Every wall inside him had crumbled the second she stopped breathing in that car, and now he was nothing but a man stripped bare, and begging.
"Just wake up. This will never happen again. I will never put you at risk like this. Not ever." His breath came in shudders. "I promise you, love. I swear it. No more."
His body trembled as he broke. Salt streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto her skin, and mixing with the sterile hospital sheets. His chest heaved.
He squeezed her hand desperately, grounding himself in her even when she didn’t move.
"I can give you the world, Celeste. Everything. Even my control of breathing. Take it, just... wake up." His voice cracked. "Please. Please."
He kissed her hand again, lingering, as though he could pour his soul into her veins, and let her take it just to make sure she lived. However, that might be punishment for her. His soul would be too dark for her.
"Did some force let this happen because I refused to pray?" The words broke out of him, bitter, and helpless, as he wondered.
He had never prayed. Neither did he ever bow. He had made himself his own god. And now, stripped, and shattered, he wondered if this was punishment.
The machines beeped on. The room stayed silent. Celeste didn’t stir.
Dominic Cross, the man who had once ruled everything, sat broken beside her, his heart in his throat, and his soul in his hands, begging a woman in coma to return to him, knowing if she didn’t, there would be nothing left of him to save.