Chapter 2

Claire woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

The hospital room was private, expensive, and empty. She was alone. Her body ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from her very bones.

A nurse came in, her expression a mixture of pity and disapproval.

"You're awake. You've been out for a full day. Honestly, donating that much blood when you're already anemic... what were you thinking?"

Claire just offered a weak smile. What was there to say?

The nurse sighed, fluffing her pillow. "You're lucky. You can be discharged this afternoon. Your husband paid for everything."

As the nurse left, Claire overheard her talking to a colleague in the hallway.

"Can you believe it? She collapses from donating blood for his ex, and he hasn't even come to see her once."

"I know! He's been in Ms. Foreman's room the whole time. He's so devoted to her. I wish I had a man who loved me that much."

"Yeah, but his poor wife... she just lies in there all alone."

The voices faded. Claire stared out the window, watching a lone bird fly across the grey sky.

Afternoon came and went. Cameron never appeared.

Feeling dizzy, Claire checked herself out of the hospital. She had to walk past Cassandra's room to get to the elevator.

The door was slightly ajar.

She saw him. Cameron was sitting by Cassandra' s bed, holding her hand, his expression softer and more tender than she had ever seen it. He was peeling an apple for her, his movements careful and precise. He didn't even glance toward the hallway. He didn't know she was there. He hadn't asked.

The sight was a familiar kind of pain. She turned and walked away.

The house was cold and empty. It felt less like a home and more like a museum of a life she was never really a part of.

She tried to make herself a cup of tea, but her hands were trembling too much. The porcelain cup slipped from her grasp and shattered on the marble floor.

The sound broke something inside her. A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.

She knelt to pick up the pieces, and a sharp edge sliced her finger. The bright red blood welled up, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

"Jessie," she whispered, the name a painful sob. "I'm so tired."

She remembered how Jessie would always scold her for being clumsy, how he would gently take things from her hands and do them himself, his touch always so warm.

After cleaning up the mess, she stood up, taking a deep breath. Almost there, Claire. Just a little longer.

"What are you crying about now?"

The cold voice made her jump. Cameron stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

"Putting on a show for me? Donating blood, fainting, now this? Do you ever get tired of these pathetic games?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

"I don't care, Claire. I've told you a thousand times. I will never have feelings for you."

She fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor. It was easier this way.

Her silence seemed to annoy him even more. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Why didn't you call the maid to clean this up?" he snapped, but then he did something that stunned her. He strode forward, scooped her into his arms, and carried her upstairs.

His touch was rough, but his voice, when he spoke again, was softer.

"You're an idiot. You should be resting."

Claire was too confused to struggle. He laid her on the bed in her room, a room he had never once entered in ten years.

She looked at his profile, so painfully similar to Jessie's. The same strong jaw, the same dark hair.

Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," she whispered, her voice small and weak. "Please. Just for tonight."

He froze, misinterpreting her plea. A flicker of something-was it temptation?-crossed his face before it was replaced by his usual cold mask.

Just then, his phone rang, the shrill tone shattering the moment.

He answered. It was Cassandra. Her voice, weak and fragile, drifted from the speaker.

"Cam... I'm scared. Can you come back?"

Cameron looked at Claire, a brief, fleeting moment of hesitation in his eyes.

Claire saw it. She understood. She let go of his wrist.

"Go," she said, her voice flat. "She needs you."

He seemed almost relieved. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her hair in a startlingly gentle gesture.

"I'll be back later," he promised.

Then he turned and walked out of the room without a second glance.

He didn't come back.