Phantom Grip

The squeaking of rubber wheels against polished linoleum echoed sharply through the chaotic emergency wing. Paramedics rushed Vivian’s stretcher through the sliding glass doors, barking orders to clear the way. As she was wheeled down the frantic corridor, Vivian barely spared a passing glance for another gurney rushing past in the opposite direction.

On that bed lay a soaking-wet, unconscious woman. Water dripped steadily from her matted hair onto the floor.

"Have you reached the patient's family yet?" a doctor shouted, his hands working frantically over the drowning victim.

"No!" a nurse yelled back, her face pale with panic. "She barely has any contacts saved. We tried ringing the last person she dialed, but their phone is turned off! She nearly drowned to death in a freezing pool, and there is no one here for her!"

Vivian looked away indifferently, settling back onto her pillow.

Ten minutes later, the noise of the emergency room faded into the quiet luxury of a private VIP ward. The attending physician finished applying a small, neat bandage to Vivian’s skin just as the door swung open. Damian strode into the room, his jaw set.

"How is she?" Damian asked, his tone flat.

The doctor stepped back, offering a polite nod. "It is just a superficial scratch, Mister Sinclair. She is perfectly fine. It will heal in a matter of days."

Damian gave a curt nod.

Vivian gazed up at him, her eyes shining with unshed, manufactured tears. "I am so sorry for causing you so much trouble today, Damian," she murmured, her voice soft and fragile. "If it was not for your intervention, Miss Adler would not have let me go. I do not know what I would have done."

His face remained an unreadable mask. "It is not your fault. Someone merely decided to take their anger out on you."

Vivian stiffened, startled by the implication. Fiona Adler was notoriously arrogant, but Damian spoke as if he understood the exact root of Fiona's hostility. "Damian... do you personally know Miss Adler?"

He ignored the probing question. He stepped closer to the bed, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Get some rest. I promise you, an incident like this will never happen to you again."

Down the hall, trapped in a suffocating darkness, Serena writhed in the grips of a horrific nightmare.

She was standing in a grand, empty chapel. She wore a heavy white wedding dress that felt more like a burial shroud. Damian stood across from her, his tall frame blocking the altar. He stared down at her with dark, hateful eyes.

"You better be ready, Serena Sterling," his voice echoed, cold and demonic. "Once we are married, you will never escape me."

In the dream, she threw her veil back. Her eyes burned with fierce, unbreakable defiance. "You listen to me, Damian Sinclair! We will never get a divorce unless I die!"

That vow shattered instantly.

The chapel dissolved into agonizing fragments of reality. She saw herself sitting alone at a cold dining table at midnight, staring at a feast she cooked that he would never eat. She saw the news articles of him leaving luxury hotels with other women on their wedding night. She felt the chilling neglect, the missed birthdays, the silent anniversaries where he refused to even look at her.

Then, the scenery twisted.

Damian materialized right in front of her. His eyes were bloodshot, practically bleeding with visceral hatred. He lunged forward. His large hands clamped around her throat. He squeezed, crushing her windpipe.

"Serena Sterling!" he roared, his face inches from hers. "How dare you kill my child?!"

The phantom grip restricted her airway. She choked. Her lungs burned for oxygen, but his fingers only dug deeper into her flesh. The malicious resentment in his gaze paralyzed her. The darkness closed in as the suffocating pressure dragged her down into the abyss.

"Ah!"

Serena jolted awake, her back arching off the mattress. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she stared at the stark, blindingly white ceiling of the hospital room. The smell of antiseptic burned her nose.

"Serena! You are awake!"

Footsteps rushed to her bedside. An elegant, deeply concerned young man leaned over her. His handsome face was pale with worry. "Serena, are you alright?"

She blinked, trying to focus her blurred vision. She stared at his features, drawing a blank. "Who... are you?"

The man’s expression darkened. The relief washed out of his face, replaced by a sudden, sharp panic. "Serena, you do not recognize me?" He grabbed the edge of the bed rail. "I need to get a doctor. Hang on!"

"Wait," she croaked. Her throat felt raw, as if Damian’s hands had truly been there. "I was in a car crash recently. I suffered severe amnesia."

The man froze in his tracks. "A car crash?"

She nodded weakly, the small movement making her head spin.

He walked back to her side, his gaze softening into a look of profound, visible pain. "Serena, my name is Oliver Preston. We grew up together. We are childhood friends."

Seeing her pale, fragile state, regret flooded Oliver’s eyes. He clenched his fists at his sides. "I am so sorry, Serena. I never should have left you alone with Damian Sinclair."

Serena remained silent. Her mind was a dizzying blank slate. She could not recall a single memory of the man standing before her.

Realizing she was still overwhelmed, Oliver swallowed his bitter nostalgia. He needed answers. "Serena, you are a champion swimmer. I have known you since we were kids. How exactly did you drown tonight?"

Serena closed her tired eyes. The memory of the freezing water rushed back. "Chloe Mercer deliberately pushed me into the pool. The water was icy. I got severe muscle cramps. That is why I went under."

Disgust washed heavily over Oliver’s face. "That arrogant woman again! Does Damian know about this attempted murder?"

Serena cracked a deeply bitter, broken smile. "Even if he knew, he would only say that I deserved it."

Oliver exhaled a heavy, defeated sigh. He looked at the tragic shadow of the vibrant girl he once knew. "Try to get some rest, Serena. I will go fetch the doctor to check your vitals."

Exhausted down to her bones, Serena let her eyes fall shut.

Oliver stepped out of the hospital room and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. He turned toward the nurse’s station, ready to demand the best physician in the building, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

Standing right there in the brightly lit corridor was Damian.

Damian turned his head, sensing the movement. His sharp eyes locked onto Oliver, and his brow furrowed in immediate displeasure.

Oliver straightened his posture, masking his rising fury with a calm, icy facade. "It has been a while, Mister Sinclair," Oliver greeted, his tone deceptively smooth. "Are you here to see Serena?"

Damian narrowed his eyes. He had just seen Serena perfectly fine at the banquet party only hours ago, clinging to him before he walked out. "Serena? What is wrong with her?"

Oliver let out a harsh, mocking sneer. The realization hit him like a freight train. The man was clueless about his own wife's near-death experience. Damian was wandering the halls of this hospital for some other reason, oblivious to the fact that Serena was lying broken in a room just feet away.

Oliver's voice turned freezing cold. "It looks like I overestimated you once again. I thought you were actually here to check on your wife, but it turns out you do not even know what happened to her tonight."

Damian’s jaw tightened at the blatant disrespect.

Oliver took a step forward, aggressively closing the distance between them. "Damian Sinclair, you probably would not even bat an eye if Serena died right in front of you, would you? If you care so little about her... why won't you let her go?!"