Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 90: Stable

The first thing Gianna became aware of was the light.

Not bright enough to blind, but sharp enough to hurt—white and sterile and unyielding. It pressed against the inside of her skull, a steady ache blooming behind her eyes.

She groaned softly, the sound scraping her throat, and tried to turn her head. Pain flared immediately, a sharp reminder that her body had not come out of whatever had happened unscathed.

Her lashes fluttered.

The ceiling above her swam in and out of focus, edges blurring, doubling, then settling. White panels. Recessed lights. Too clean. Too quiet.

The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something metallic underneath it, a scent she’d come to associate with places where bodies were broken and put back together again.

Hospital.

The realization came slowly, sinking in with the weight of gravity. She swallowed, throat dry, and lifted a hand instinctively—only to hiss as her fingers brushed against the side of her head.

There was a bandage there.

So she was hurt.

Not badly though, she thought distantly. The pain was there, but muted, dulled, like it was being held at bay by something stronger. Medication. That made sense.

Her limbs felt heavy, as if they belonged to someone else, but when she flexed her fingers and toes, they responded. Still hers.

Her gaze drifted around the room.

It was spacious, private. Soft gray walls. A leather chair by the window. Polished floors that reflected the light instead of swallowing it. The bed beneath her was adjustable, expensive-looking, its linens crisp and tucked just so.

Elite ward.

Her brow furrowed slightly as memory stirred, sluggish but insistent. She’d seen and been in rooms like this before. The Whitmans’ hospital.

Her chest tightened. So Athena had come.

Of course she had. Athena always did.

Her eyes burned, tears gathering before she could stop them. Relief washed through her in a slow, trembling wave—not just that she was alive, not just that she was safe enough to wake up here, but that she hadn’t been alone.

She let out a shaky breath. Then the memories hit more clearly.

Metal screaming. Glass shattering. The violent jolt of impact. The sound of gunfire tearing through the evening. Noah’s arm around her, crushing her close. Her own scream, ripped raw from her chest.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Noah..." The name left her lips as a whisper.

Her head snapped to the side, eyes scanning the room with sudden urgency. The chair was empty. No familiar broad shoulders. No quiet presence leaning against the wall, watching over her with that careful, infuriating calm of his.

Panic rose fast and sharp, a spike of ice in her veins. Where was he?

Her breathing quickened as she tried to push herself up, only to wince and sink back against the pillows. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Was he hurt?

Had the crash been worse for him? Had she missed something—some crucial detail—because she’d blacked out?

Guilt clawed its way up her throat, bitter and relentless. This was her fault.

She was a magnet for trouble now.

Her jaw trembled.

If anything had happened to him—anything at all—she didn’t know how she would carry that weight.

The thought hollowed her out, left her shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the sting of tears, her fingers curling into the sheets like they could anchor her to something solid.

She couldn’t do this again.

The door clicked softly. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Gianna’s eyes flew open just as it pushed inward, admitting a man in a white coat, his attention fixed on the clipboard in his hands.

He was muttering under his breath, something about patient charts and overlapping shifts, his pen tapping absently against the board as he walked in.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met.

Recognition sparked instantly, cutting through her fear like a blade. "Doctor Kent," she breathed.

His expression shifted, surprise melting into a familiar, easy smile. "Well," he said warmly, stepping closer. "You’re awake."

Gianna nodded meekly.

Doctor Kent—second in command to Damian, though everyone who mattered knew the two of them practically ran the hospital together. He was competent, and kind in a way that never felt rehearsed.

He was also the man who had once peeled Morgan’s trackers out of Athena’s body with unflinching hands.

"Hey," he added gently. "How are you feeling?"

She swallowed. "Disoriented," she admitted. "My head hurts."

"That would be the concussion," he said, nodding. "Mild. You’ve got a laceration up there too, but it’s clean. The pain should ease with the relievers."

His gaze flicked over her, assessing. "Anywhere else?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. Just... my head."

"Good." He made a note on his board, then looked back at her. "You gave us a scare."

Her fingers twisted in the sheets. "Noah," she said suddenly, the word tumbling out with all her pent-up fear. "Is he okay?"

Kent’s brows lifted slightly. "He’s fine."

The tension in her chest loosened just a fraction.

"He was discharged," Kent continued. "Actually—the first day."

Her relief faltered, confusion creeping in. "The first... day?" Her voice was faint. "What do you mean?"

He studied her for a moment, clearly reading the questions racing across her face. Then he sighed softly. "Gianna," he said, tone gentle. "You’ve been here for three days."

Three days.

Her mind reeled, trying—and failing—to fill in the blank space. She stared at him, mouth opening, but no sound came out. Shock froze her in place, leaving her stunned.

Kent reached out and patted her leg lightly. "Your vitals are stable. You just needed rest."

She nodded numbly, though her head felt like it was full of cotton.

He straightened. "I’ll send your friends in. They’ve been waiting."

She said nothing as he turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.

The silence barely lasted a second.

The door flew open again, this time with urgency, and Athena was there—eyes bright with tears, face pale and fierce all at once. Areso and Chelsea followed close behind her, their expressions a mirror of relief and barely-contained emotion.

"Gianna," Athena breathed, rushing forward. "Easy," she added quickly to the others, already reaching her. "Careful."

They crowded around the bed, hands touching her arms, her shoulders, her hair—gentle, reverent, like she might shatter if they weren’t careful.

Gianna let herself be pulled into the warmth of them, accepting the hugs with a soft, exhausted exhale.

"Did you find anything?" Gianna asked quietly once they pulled back, her gaze locking onto Athena’s.

Athena’s smile faltered. She shook her head. "Not about the accident itself."

Disappointment sank deep and heavy in Gianna’s chest.

"But," Athena continued, eyes sharpening, "we do have a culprit. He’s at Spider’s cottage. Locked down."

Gianna’s breath left her in a slow rush. "Alive?"

"For now," Areso muttered.

"We haven’t interviewed him yet," Athena said. "Just... softened him up. Tugged at his defenses. We wanted you awake first."

Relief spread through Gianna’s veins. That was something.

Then Chelsea spoke. "That’s not all," she said, voice low.

Gianna looked at her, unease curling tight in her stomach.

"Zane has been accused of being behind it," she said slowly. "Arthur did an interview..."