Rena.
My mind reeled. The world narrowed to the space between Troy’s perfectly combed hair and the hateful, glowing ‘2’ that hung there. It wasn’t brain damage. It was a truth serum for my eyes.
He thought I was dazed from the crash, from the drugs. He was right. But not in the way he imagined. The fog in my head was beginning to clear, and what I saw with this strange, new sight was terrifyingly sharp.
He finally pulled away, his expression a perfect symphony of concern. “You look pale. Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice a dry husk. “Please.”
I needed him gone. Just for a moment. I needed to think.
He squeezed my hand one last time, his touch feeling like a spider crawling on my skin. “Anything for you. I’ll be right back.”
The door slid shut behind him, and the silence was a relief so profound it almost made me dizzy. I stared at the white ceiling, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filling the void. Two. He loved me at a two out of a hundred. The thought was a shard of ice in my gut.
My entire life, my entire future, was built on a foundation of lies.
The door opened again, and Nurse Clara came in, her smile as bright as before. Her number was still there, a calm, steady blue ‘45’.
“Mr. Marks said you were in pain?” she asked, her voice gentle. “Where does it hurt, sweetie?”
This was it. A test. An experiment. I needed to know the rules of this new reality.
I tried to smile, though it felt like my face might crack. “My head, mostly. But I wanted to say thank you, Clara. You have a very kind way about you. It helps.”
I watched the number. I held my breath.
It flickered.
The blue ‘45’ wavered, then solidified again, brighter this time. It was a ‘50’.
My heart hammered against my broken ribs. It worked. Affection. Gratitude. It moved the needle. This wasn’t just a label; it was a living, breathing metric.
“Oh, well that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day,” she said, her cheeks flushing a little. “It’s my job to take care of you.”
“You do it well,” I said, laying it on a little thicker. “I feel safe with you.”
The ‘50’ jumped to a ‘52’. A smaller increase. There were diminishing returns, it seemed.
“About the pain,” I said, my voice deliberately weak. “Is there anything stronger you can give me? It’s really quite bad.”
She looked at my chart, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The doctor has you on a strict schedule, but let me see if I can get him to authorize a small supplemental dose. You look like you’re really suffering.”
Her number held at ‘52’. A professional trying to help a patient.
“Thank you,” I said again, letting my eyes flutter closed as if in exhaustion. “Thank you so much.”
She bustled out of the room, promising to be back soon. I was alone again, the knowledge settling into my bones. The numbers were real, and I could influence them. A terrifying power. A necessary one.
When Troy came back in, he was carrying a sleek leather briefcase. My briefcase, I realized with a jolt.
His number was back to a ‘3’. A stable, placid ‘3’.
“The nurse is seeing what she can do,” he said, setting the briefcase on the bedside table with a soft click. “I thought, while we waited, we could take care of a little business.”
“Business?” My voice was flat.
“Just a few things, my love. Minor, really.” He opened the case and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, bound in a blue folder. “Some time sensitive acquisitions at the company. They need your final approval.”
He spread the first page on the blanket over my legs. It was a legal document, dense with text I couldn’t begin to focus on.
“Troy, I can’t,” I said, shaking my head slightly. “I can’t even see straight.”
“I know, I know. That’s why I had Stephen draw this up.” He slipped another document from the folder. It was much shorter. My eyes snagged on the title: Limited Power of Attorney.
My blood ran cold.
“It’s just a temporary measure,” he said, his voice as smooth as oil. “It will allow me to sign off on the essential daily operations. To protect the company. To protect your assets. Just until you’re back on your feet.”
I stared at him. At the man I had trusted with my heart, my life, my empire.
“You don’t have to read it all,” he continued, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. “It’s standard boilerplate. It just lets me keep things running. For you.”
I looked at the number. The pink ‘3’.
Then I looked him in the eye. “For me?”
“Of course, for you,” he said, his smile never wavering. He uncapped a heavy, expensive-looking pen. “Always for you, Rena.”
He tried to place the pen in my hand. I let my fingers stay limp. It clattered onto the blanket.
“I’m just so tired, Troy,” I murmured, a calculated move.
“I know. It will only take a second. Just a signature right here.” He pointed to a line at the bottom of the page.
His insistence was a warning siren. A red flag. I needed to stall. I needed to get him out of this room before I did something reckless, like scream.
I kept my eyes on his number. It was steady. Annoyingly, calmly steady.
“What if I don’t want to sign it right now?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
The change was instantaneous and violent.
The placid pink ‘3’ flared. It pulsed, turning from pink to a furious, angry red. The edges of the number sharpened, growing jagged and hostile. It didn’t change its value, but its color screamed a rage he was carefully hiding behind his concerned facade.
He was angry. Deeply, truly angry.
“Rena, we don’t have time to waste,” he said, his tone shifting. The silk was gone, replaced by a thread of steel. “The board is already getting nervous. A CEO in your condition creates instability. This is the simplest way to reassure the market.”
He was lecturing me. About my own company.
It was now or never. I needed an escape.
I gasped, a sharp, theatrical sound. I brought my hand to my temple, letting my eyes go wide with fake pain.
“My head,” I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut. “Oh god, Troy, the light. It’s… it’s splitting my head open.”
His focus immediately shifted. “What is it? Is it a migraine?”
“I don’t know,” I moaned, turning my head away from him, burying my face in the pillow. “It just… started. It’s bad. Really bad. I think I’m going to be sick.”
That was the magic word. He recoiled instantly, pulling the papers away from the bed.
“Okay, okay, just breathe,” he said, his voice laced with frustration he couldn’t quite hide. The number above his head was still pulsing a venomous red.
“Call the nurse,” I whispered into the pillow. “Please. Get the nurse.”
“I will. I’ll get her right now.” He started gathering the documents, his movements quick and irritated. “We can deal with this later. When you’re feeling better.”
He shoved the papers back into the briefcase and snapped it shut with a sharp, final click.
“Just rest,” he said from the doorway, his concerned mask slipping back into place. “I’ll handle everything.”
The door closed, and I was plunged into silence again. I didn't move for a full minute.
Then, slowly, I opened my eyes. The room was empty. The pain in my head was a dull, manageable throb, not the crisis I had performed.
The real pain was the cold, hard certainty that had taken root in my chest. The man I was supposed to marry, the man who held the keys to my company and my life, was my enemy. And he had just tried to get me to sign my own death warrant.
