“Sir,” Rosa says softly from the doorway. “She sent the tray back.”
I don’t look up right away. “Untouched?”
Rosa dips her head. “Yes, sir.”
The paper in my hands blurs for a moment before I set it aside. The reports can wait. I’ve given her space. More than I give anyone. Three days should’ve been enough. I understand needing time to grieve. God knows I do. But three days without food is too much.
I stand, the chair legs scraping quietly against the floor. Rosa steps back, sensing my mood.
“Did she say anything?” I ask.
“No, sir.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “Has anyone checked on her?”
“I tried this morning,” Rosa says, hesitating. “She told me she was fine, but she looked pale.”
That’s all I need to hear. I move past her, ignoring the way her eyes flicker with unspoken worry.
The hallway is quiet, the faint hum of the city the only sound. As I approach Elizabeth’s door, something tightens in my chest. It’s a tension I can’t name. I tell myself it’s concern. Duty. Guilt. Anything but what it really is.
I knock once. “Elizabeth?”
No answer.
I wait a moment longer, then try again. “It’s Lorenzo. Open the door.”
Still nothing.
I try the handle, and it turns easily. The door creaks open just enough for me to see inside.
The curtains are drawn, the room heavy with shadows. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and something else.
Blood.
My stomach drops as I flip on the lights. “Elizabeth?”
She’s slumped halfway off the bed, skin pale and glistening with sweat, one hand clutching her side.
“Christ,” I mutter, crossing the room in two strides. I drop to my knees beside her, pressing my hand gently against her cheek. She’s burning up.
“Rosa!” I bark. “Get Cesaro! Call Dr. Lars—now!”
Elizabeth’s eyes flutter open, unfocused, glassy. “Lorenzo?”
“I’m here,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re going to be fine.”
She makes a weak sound, half a laugh, half a groan. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
I press the back of my hand to her forehead again. She has a fever and it’s too high. The bandage around her side is soaked through, the wound angry and red.
“Dammit,” I whisper. “You should’ve told me.”
Her lips move, the words barely a breath and she shivers. “Didn’t…want to bother you.”
I close my eyes for a second, fighting the urge to curse. When I open them, I gather her carefully into my arms.
