Chapter 3

Callie Vaughan POV:

"He'll need constant care," the doctor instructed, his voice low, his gaze sweeping the hushed room. "The wound is deep, and fever is a real risk. He needs someone dedicated, who can manage his... particular sensitivities."

The other staff exchanged nervous glances. Bryce, even in his street days, had been particular. Now, as the heir to the Family, his demands had grown with his status. His dislike for certain scents, sounds, and even textures made attending to him a delicate dance. No one wanted to risk his displeasure, especially now.

"Perhaps... Miss Callie?" one of the maids ventured, her eyes wide and innocent. "She knows Mr. Bryce best."

My heart, a bruised and aching thing, felt a fresh pang. I looked at Bryce, so still and pale on the large bed. Even in his unconsciousness, he looked distant, unreachable. I saw the faint worry line etched between his brows, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. A ghost of the old Bryce, the one who used to comb my hair with his fingers, whispered to me.

"I will," I said, my voice barely a whisper. My hands, calloused from a life of hardship, clenched. It was a reflex. He was hurting. I would always be there.

That night, the compound was quiet, but my mind was a raging storm. Bryce's fever spiked, and he thrashed against the silk sheets, his skin burning to the touch. I sat by his side, pressing cool cloths to his forehead, murmuring reassurances that felt hollow even to my own ears.

He started to murmur, his voice rough and slurred. I leaned closer, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knew, deep down, that this was a mistake. But I couldn't stop myself. I needed to hear it, to confirm what I already knew.

"Diana," he rasped, his voice filled with a desperate longing. "My Diana... don't leave me."

A cold, sharp blade twisted in my gut. He called her name again, a soft, possessive whisper that tore through me. "Mine... you're mine, Diana. Always."

My world crumbled into a fine dust. The pain was so intense, it felt physical, like a hand squeezing my lungs, stealing my breath. I remembered his promises, whispered beneath a sky full of stars, that I was his, always. I remembered his fierce declaration to his family, that I was his home.

It was a cruel joke, a brutal, unforgiving betrayal. His world had shifted, but mine had splintered into a million irreparable pieces. He loved her. He truly loved her.

I stayed by his side, a silent sentinel, through the long, agonizing hours. My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind refused to rest. The image of us, on the streets, fighting for every scrap, his hand holding mine – it played on an endless loop, a faded filmstrip of a life that no longer existed.

As dawn broke, a pale, hesitant light filtering through the heavy curtains, Bryce's fever finally broke. His breathing evened out, his skin cooled. He was safe. My body, denied sleep, finally gave in. I slumped forward, my head resting on the edge of his bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

I woke to a gentle touch on my hair. My eyes fluttered open. Bryce was awake, his gaze fixed on my face, a strange mix of confusion and... something else. It was brief, a flicker of something I couldn't quite name.

"Callie," he murmured, his voice still hoarse, but clearer now. "Were you... here all night?"

I nodded, pushing myself upright. My muscles screamed in protest. "You had a fever. Here," I said, my voice flat, holding out a cup of herbal medicine the doctor had left. "Drink this."

He took the cup, his fingers brushing mine. A faint blush rose on his pale cheeks. He looked at me, really looked at me, and a shadow of guilt crossed his face. "I... I'm sorry. I've been so careless, so preoccupied."

He meant Diana. I knew it.

"I promised to take you out for your birthday," he continued, his voice softer now. "To make up for neglecting you. I'll make it right, Callie."

The irony was a bitter pill in my throat. My birthday. A day that used to be filled with stolen treats and his whispered promises. Now, it was just another reminder of what we had lost.

"Don't bother," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "It's not necessary."

Before he could respond, a frantic shout echoed from the hallway. "Mr. Bryce! Miss Diana! Something terrible has happened!"

Bryce's face, which had just shown a flicker of remorse, instantly contorted with alarm. "What? Diana? Is she alright? What happened?" He tried to sit up, his wound tearing. He winced, but his eyes were wide with panic.

The guard, breathless and pale, rushed in. "She... she collapsed, sir! They say she was so worried about you, she overworked herself, and now she's taken ill!"

Bryce didn't hesitate. He swung his legs out of bed, ignoring the fresh pain from his wound. "Help me up! I need to see her! Immediately!"

I reached out, a desperate, instinctive gesture to steady him. "Bryce, your wound! You can't-"

He pushed my hand away, his eyes fixed on the door, on the thought of Diana. "Move, Callie! She needs me!"

"Prepare the finest gifts!" he barked at a passing capo. "Something to soothe her. And a doctor, the best!"

He hobbled out, leaving me standing alone in the quiet room. He never looked back. Not once. The door swung shut, a final, definitive click that echoed the sound of my heart closing, sealing away all hope, all pain, all love. I was truly alone.