CHLOE'S POV
"I can't have her be with Derek, Mom," I said, my head resting on her lap. She sat on my bed while I lay down, staring blankly at the ceiling. I hated how Scarlett always acted high and mighty. She's always been that way, even before she met Derek. Why does everything always seem to work in her favor?
First it was Father, and after Father, Derek. Everything I want somehow finds its way to her first.
She dared to walk away while Father was talking—she knew he wouldn't do anything to her, as always.
I dug my fingernails from my left hand into my right palm. It hurt, but pain clears my head. It gives me ideas.
"Of course, darling. She doesn't deserve something as good as that," my mother said, her palm running gently through my hair. She's always favored me, but Father only started a few years back—after I set Scarlett up enough times in his presence. I hadn't expected him to fall for it, but he did. The last straw I pulled is still paying off—his golden girl fallen, and me, the new favorite.
"It would favor me more if Derek and I were together," I said bitterly. "He runs the entertainment industry—a word from him and the whole world shakes. That kind of man should be mine. Mine alone. Not hers. I still don't understand how she managed to seduce him."
My hand pressed harder against my palm; the sting kept me steady.
"Of course it would favor you, and even your father," my mother said, her tone simmering with the same resentment I felt. "More fame, more wealth, more power. Your father's been desperate for a connection with the Lawsons, and you're the only one who can give him that. Imagine—his useless daughter has been with Derek for years, and he's gained nothing. Yet your father still does nothing about it."
Her words burned through me. She still believed Father had a soft spot for Scarlett. I refused to believe that. I destroyed that bond years ago—carefully, completely.
"Do you love Derek?" my mother asked suddenly.
Love.
The word struck me like a slap.
I sat up, staring at her. "I don't know about love, Mom," I said quietly, my voice steady. "All I know is, if I can't have him… no one else should be able to."
SCARLETT'S POV
It has been two days, and Derek is still in a coma. I haven't seen him yet, though Chloe has been slipping in and out of the VIP ward he's in. Laura has refused to let me in, convinced that I'm unstable and might hurt him if I get close. She did let me stay just outside the ward, though. Every time Chloe catches sight of me there, she smirks.
I've met some of Derek's family members, but I don't know who is who. I recognized his grandparents, and I wanted to approach his grandmother, but she looked so pained that I couldn't bring myself to. My hand keeps tracing over my stomach, silently begging my baby to keep his dad here.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I pull it out—Lila.
"Hey, girl. How are you?" she asks, concern in her voice.
"Not sure," I reply, my strength nearly gone. I press my hands to my forehead as a slight headache creeps in.
"I still haven't been able to get inside. The bloggers and fans are probably waiting outside for any update on when he wakes up," she says. I stay silent.
"Do you think it would seem suspicious if the manager and face of Author Scar-lett were caught lurking around the hospital with you?" she asks.
"Probably," I admit.
"They'll start digging. Eventually, they'll figure out you're Scarlett Hayes, that you share a name with the author, and that you know her manager. It all clicks perfectly."
"Yeah," I whisper.
"Have you even eaten?"
"Derek hasn't."
"Derek can't, but you can. It's been two days, plus you're pregnant. Do you think Derek would like that you're treating his unborn child like this?"
"I'll eat… after I see Derek," I say.
"Wait, he's been transferred to a ward, right?"
"Yes, but there's something I haven't told you."
"What?"
"All of Derek's family is here—including Laura. She won't let me in because Chloe has taken my place."
"What? She doesn't believe you're his girlfriend?"
"Yes… she even let Chloe in." I start to sob.
"What? Chloe is there? What the hell is she doing there? I wish I could rip all her hair off." Lila falls silent. "This is partially your fault. You've been hiding too much. You should've met a few of his family members by now." She stops when she realizes I'm already crying.
"Doctor! Doctor! Someone get the doctor!" I hear Laura shouting.
"Let me call you back," I say, hanging up before she can respond.
I edge closer to the room, trying to peek in, but the guards won't let me. The doctor walks past me and enters the ward, and everyone inside is sent out. We pace the corridor, hearts hammering.
Minutes later, the doctor emerges, surrounded by family members.
"Mr. Lawson is coming out of it. He might regain consciousness any moment now," he says, smiling for reasons I can't understand.
"Thank you, thank you," his grandmother murmurs, pressing her palms together in front of the doctor. Even I feel a wave of gratitude toward him. Relief washes over me, but the knot in my chest refuses to loosen entirely.
I remember my conversation with Lila. Derek needs to eat something when he wakes up, I think to myself as I step away from the corridor, leaving the hospital behind.
I flag down a taxi and give the driver the address of the house I share with Derek—our sanctuary, the place where the world outside seems to fade, even if just for a little while.
The moment I step inside, the familiarity hits me like a punch. The house smells like him: his subtle cologne lingering in the air, the faint trace of lavender from the candle I lit before rushing to the hospital, and the quiet hum of our shared life echoing from the framed pictures lining the walls. I wander through each room, letting the memories wash over me—the laughter, the lazy afternoons, the stolen moments. Everything screams Derek. Everything screams home.
I enter the kitchen, which looks exactly as I left it: pristine, orderly, yet brimming with the warmth of his presence. Opening the cabinets, I gather the ingredients I need. Our fridge is stocked, as always; Derek never lets our pantry run low. He loves cooking for me and makes sure I never have to worry about meals. I smile, the memory bittersweet, missing him terribly.
I start with the vegetables, chopping them methodically. The rhythmic thud of the knife on the cutting board calms my jittering nerves, if only slightly. I dice tomatoes, peppers, and onions, the colors vivid under the kitchen light, the sharp scents filling the air and mingling with the soft scent of the lavender candle still faintly lingering from earlier.
I move on to cooking, each step deliberate. I whisk eggs into a creamy consistency, fold them gently into the pan, and stir slowly until they are perfectly scrambled—soft, fluffy, and golden. For the oatmeal, I measure the oats, pour in milk, and let it simmer, adding a touch of cinnamon and honey to sweeten the aroma. The mashed potatoes require careful attention; I boil them until tender, mash them with butter and cream until smooth, and season them just the way Derek likes. I prepare applesauce, peeling and chopping the fruit before simmering it down into a fragrant, warm compote. A few spoonfuls of creamy yogurt round out the meal.
As I pack everything neatly into containers, I can't resist sampling a bit—just a taste, trying to imagine him sitting across from me, smiling, savoring the food I've made. Each bite brings a pang of longing. I hope he's awake by the time I get back, I whisper to myself, hurrying to finish.
With the meal ready, I grab the containers, securing them carefully. My hands tremble slightly—not from the cooking, but from anticipation, worry, and the hope that Derek will open his eyes and see me, safe and waiting, with something warm to nourish him back to health.
---
The corridor is quiet. Even outside the hospital, everything is still. No guards, no crowd, no sound of bloggers or fans. Something feels wrong.
I step into the ward and freeze. Chloe is there, holding onto Derek's hand. My stomach twists. They're alone. I don't like it.
"What are you doing here?" I demand, my voice tight.
"Hey, sis," she says, glancing down at my hands, smiling faintly.
"It's nice of you to bring food for us," she adds, almost casual.
My jaw tightens. "Until when are you going to stop lurking around him? When he finally wakes up?"
Derek's body stirs on the bed. My chest jumps.
"Derek," I whisper, dropping the food onto the shelf and moving closer. My fingers brush against his legs.
His eyelids flutter. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and they land on me. Tears sting my eyes, and I can't stop the trembling smile that spreads across my face.
"Derek," I breathe.
"Derek," Chloe says softly, her tone deliberate. She always calls him "Mr. Lawson." I frown.
His gaze shifts from me to Chloe, confusion and recognition flickering across his face.
"Chloe, who is she?" he asks, his voice hoarse but firm.