Chapter 2

Evelyn's POV

Six months after the heavy stage lighting crashed onto my head, my biggest fear wasn't the chronic migraines. It was the fact that although I recognized every single word in the dictionary, I could no longer string them into a complete sentence.

And the irony? The very person who did this to me was currently pretending to have the exact same trauma at the rehab center.

Alexander had promised me. He held my hand and swore that Allison would pay for what she did. He said he would make her give everything back.

When I first woke up from the coma, Alexander was sitting right by my bedside.

His eyes were bloodshot. The moment he saw me open my eyes, he slammed his hand onto the call button to summon the doctors. Then, he leaned over, his breath warm against my cheek. "Evelyn, can you see me? Can you hear me?"

I wanted to scream his name. Alexander.

But my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cement. The first syllable managed to escape, but it sounded cracked, broken. The remaining letters caught at the back of my tongue. No matter how hard I pushed, they wouldn't come out.

Alexander's expression immediately darkened.

The medical team rushed in, crowding around the bed. A specialist handed me a tablet with a simple question written on it.

I stared at the words.

What is your name?

I knew the answer. I knew every single letter.

But when I opened my mouth, the sounds came out scrambled, chopped into pieces. The more I forced it, the more my voice failed me. In the end, I was just gasping for air. No words. Just empty, pathetic puffs of wind.

Alexander squeezed my hand. His palm was ice cold.

"Run the scans again," he ordered the doctors, his voice dangerously low. "Do every single test. From scratch."

The report was on his desk by evening.

The impact had damaged the language center of my brain. The recovery timeline was unpredictable. In the short term, I couldn't handle complex communication. More importantly, I was in no condition to deliver a public speech.

When I read the words public speech, my heart stopped. My fingers clawed into the bedsheets.

The Legacy Foundation Board Meeting was in exactly one month.

It was my late mother's seat on the board. I had spent half a year preparing for this presentation. I was supposed to stand before the trustees and reclaim my family's legacy.

But now, I couldn't even say Alexander's name.

Alexander slammed the medical report onto the table.

"Keep treating her," he barked. "Don't you dare write her off yet."

The doctor hesitated before speaking up. "Mr. Sterling, the Board cannot postpone the confirmation hearing any longer. If Miss Carter cannot speak, her uncle will claim the seat by default."

The hospital room fell dead silent.

I stared at Alexander's tense back. My throat burned as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.

Six months ago, the day before the dress rehearsal, Allison had texted me to meet her backstage. She said she had some urgent budget sheets to show me.

But the moment the staff stepped out, Allison unlatched the heavy background metal frame.

The heavy steel structure crashed directly onto my head. I woke up in the ICU, covered in blood, with a fractured skull and a broken voice.

Allison had only gotten a tiny scratch on her arm.

Yet, she immediately claimed she had a concussion. She claimed she had post-traumatic aphasia. She even lied, saying she was only trying to warn me about the loose equipment.

Alexander didn't believe her back then.

He personally initiated the legal investigation, the settlement negotiations, and demanded a public apology draft from her legal team.

Every single therapy session she attended, every dollar she paid in compensation, and every draft of her apology had to be logged in a shared file.

Alexander tapped the tablet screen and placed it in front of me.

It was our shared Snapchat and iCloud folder.

Her therapy updates, payment receipts, and the apology drafts were updated in real-time.

"She will pay back every single thing she owes you, Evelyn." Alexander sat on the edge of my bed, kissing my knuckles. "The Board meeting will not be canceled. I will help you practice. I'll stand right beside you when you deliver that speech."

I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say okay.

But all that came out of my mouth was a faint, pathetic squeak.

Alexander pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair.

"Shh. Don't rush," he murmured. "Take your time."

When I closed my eyes that night, I genuinely believed he would stay by my side forever.

But at 3:00 AM, I woke up. The seat beside me was empty.

I reached for the tablet on the nightstand.

The screen was still open on the shared iCloud file.

Allison's rehab log had just been updated ten minutes ago.

The nurse's note read: Alexander Sterling has arrived at Pinecrest Rehab. He is currently reviewing Allison Brooks's vocal test results.

Beneath that, there was an audio transcript of Allison's voice.

"I... I can't say it... Everyone is forcing me to apologize... Only Alexander... is patient enough to listen to me..."

I stared at the glowing screen.

I couldn't talk today either.

I also needed someone to be patient with me.

But my hospital room was empty, save for the rhythmic, lonely beeping of the heart monitor.

Alexander never came back that night.

I flipped the tablet face down, my fingers pressing so hard against the screen that my knuckles turned white.