100 Chapter 103
Chapter 103 – Walls Crumbling, Storms Brewing
Mrs. Landon’s desperate sobs still echoed in my ears as I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. My hands trembled slightly, muscle memory from years of these emergency calls. But something felt different this time–a hardness in my chest where panic used to live.
I paused, one shoe on, and took a deep breath.
Wait. Just wait.
The clarity hit me like a bucket of cold water. Julian had been at The Vault last night, drinking himself into oblivion. After his mother called to collect him. Now he was supposedly dying and needed my blood?
I reached for my phone and called the hospital directly.
“County Memorial, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Hazel Ashworth. I need information on a patient–Julian Grayson. His mother just called about an emergency.”
After a brief hold and verification of my identity, a nurse came on the line. “Ms. Ashworth, Mr. Grayson is stable but suffering from acute alcoholic hepatitis. His previous condition was exacerbated by excessive drinking.”
“Is he dying? Does he need an emergency transfusion?”
“No, ma’am. He’s receiving standard treatment. While his rare blood type is noted in his chart, no transfusion is currently necessary.”
I thanked her and hung up, a cold fury replacing my initial panic. Five years of regular donations, of being their personal blood bank, and they were still trying to manipulate me. Mrs. Landon’s theatrical sobs suddenly seemed calculated rather than desperate.
My phone buzzed with a text from her: “Are you on your way? Julian needs you!”
I typed back: “I just spoke to the hospital. Julian isn’t dying and doesn’t need blood. Don’t contact me again.”
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Then I blocked her number.
I’d barely set my phone down when it rang again–Mrs. Landon calling from another number. Reluctantly, I answered.
“Hazel! Why aren’t you coming? Do you want Julian to die?” Her voice had shifted from desperate to accusatory.
“I called the hospital, Mrs. Landon. Julian isn’t critical and doesn’t need a transfusion. He did this to himself by drinking despite his condition.”
“How dare you!” she hissed. “After all we’ve done for you-”
“Done for me?” I laughed bitterly. “You mean after I gave Julian my blood for five years? After I rearranged my life around his treatment schedule? After your son left me for my dying stepsister?”
“He made a mistake! He realizes that now. If you’d just—”
“No. Julian made his choice, and now he gets to live with it. Just like he’ll have to live with the consequences of ignoring his doctor’s warnings about alcohol. I’m not your family blood bank anymore.”
I heard her inhale sharply. “You cold–hearted bitch. I always told Julian you were just using him for his money.
“And yet I’m not the one calling and lying about his condition to manipulate someone.” I kept my voice steady. “Goodbye, Mrs. Landon. I hope Julian recovers, but my blood and I are moving on with our lives.”
I hung up and blocked that number too, then sat on the edge of my bed, shaking slightly. Standing up to the Grayson family–really standing up to them instead of quietly enduring–felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
My phone buzzed with a simple text message from Damien: “Morning.”
Just that. One word. But it chased away the chill of the Landons‘ manipulation and warmed me from the inside.
I hesitated before responding. Our conversation last night had shifted something between us. His direct question about “us” after my divorce still lingered in my mind, along with the memory of his lips against my forehead.
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“Morning,” I texted back. “Are you feeling more rested today?”
His response came immediately: “Much better. Though I still owe you an apology for falling asleep mid–conversation. Could I call you?”
Before I could overthink it, I texted “Yes” and seconds later, my phone rang.
“Good morning, Hazel. His voice was warm, a stark contrast to the cold manipulation I’d just dealt with.
“Good morning,” I replied, suddenly feeling shy. “Did you get home alright last night?”
“I did, though Arthur was unusually chatty on the drive. I suspect he was making sure I stayed awake.”
I smiled despite myself. “Smart man.”
“And you? You sound… tense. Everything alright?”
The concern in his voice was so genuine that my carefully constructed walls crumbled a little more.
“Julian’s mother just called, claiming he was dying and needed my blood.” I found myself explaining the whole situation, the years of donations, the manipulation.
Damien was quiet for a moment. “And how did that make you feel? Getting that call?”
The question caught me off guard. Not “What can I do?” or “Let me fix it” but a simple inquiry about my feelings.
“At first? Panicked, like I had to drop everything and run to him.” I admitted. “It was like muscle memory. But then I got angry. I called the hospital directly and confirmed he wasn’t critical. It was just another manipulation.”
“I’m proud of you for checking,” he said simply. “Standing up to people who’ve controlled you for years isn’t easy.”
“It felt… good,” I confessed. “Scary but good.”
“That’s how growth usually feels.” There was a smile in his voice. “Listen, Hazel, I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night.”
My heart rate picked up. “Oh?”
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“I asked if you would consider us after your divorce. But I realized I’ve been patient about some things and not so patient about others.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve respected your need to handle the divorce yourself, but I haven’t been subtle about my interest in you.” His voice deepened slightly. “I want to be clear: I want you in my life, Hazel. Not just as someone I help or protect, but as my equal, my partner. What I’m asking is–are you ready to take that final step toward me, or do you need more time?”
His directness stole my breath. No games, no manipulation—just honest vulnerability from one of the most powerful men I’d ever met.
“I…” My throat felt tight. “Damien, you know how broken I was. How recently—”
“I’m not asking for promises,” he interrupted gently. “Just… stop retreating when I get too close. Let me in, even just a little more.”
The raw honesty in his voice made tears prick at my eyes. This wasn’t manipulation; this was a man laying his heart bare.
“I can try,” I whispered. “I want to. It’s just–I’m terrified.”
“Of what, exactly?”
“Of trusting this. Of believing something this good could happen to me.”
He chuckled softly. “I understand that fear better than you know. But Hazel, some risks
are worth taking.”
Before I could respond, my work phone began ringing. I glanced at the caller ID— Cherry, my assistant.
“I’m sorry, Damien, Cherry’s calling. I should take this.”
“Of course. We’ll continue this conversation soon.”
I switched calls. “Cherry? What’s up?”
“Ms. Ashworth!” Cherry’s voice was pitched high with panic. “You need to come to the office right away! Your stepmother is here and she’s causing a scene in the meeting room! Mr. Vance tried to ask her to leave and she hit him with her purse–there’s
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blood!”
100 Chapter 103
My stomach dropped. “I’m on my way. Have security there but don’t call the police yet -I want to handle this myself.”
I threw on the rest of my clothes, grabbed my bag, and rushed out of my apartment, texting Damien a quick explanation as I headed for the elevator.
Thirty minutes later, I strode through the doors of Ashworth Bespoke to find my staff huddled nervously in the reception area. Cherry rushed toward me, her eyes wide.
“She’s still in the meeting room,” she whispered urgently. “Mr. Vance is in your office with the first aid kit. The security guard is outside the meeting room door but he wasn’t sure if he should forcibly remove her without your authorization.”
I nodded. “You did the right thing. I’ll handle it from here.”
As I approached the meeting room, I could hear Eleanor’s shrill voice through the door. The security guard looked relieved to see me.
“I’ve tried reasoning with her, Ms. Ashworth, but she’s insisted on speaking only to you.”
“Thank you, Todd. I’ll take it from here.”
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed open the door.
The scene that greeted me was pure chaos. Papers were scattered across the floor, a vase of flowers had been knocked over, and Eleanor Ashworth stood in the center of the room, her face flushed with rage. When she saw me, her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Finally!” she shrieked. “The ungrateful daughter deigns to show her face!”
I closed the door behind me, oddly calm in the face of her fury. “Eleanor. You’ve injured my employee and disrupted my business. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“How dare you!” she spat. “After everything we’ve done for you! Harrison is in jail because of your schemes, and now the accounts are frozen! How am I supposed to live? How is Ethan supposed to go to college?”
I raised an eyebrow. “My schemes? Harrison is in jail because he committed fraud and theft. As for the accounts, that’s what happens when you’re under investigation for financial crimes.”
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She took a step toward me, and I noticed Mr. Vance’s blood on the heavy gold bracelet adorning her wrist. “You planned this! You’ve always been jealous of our family, always trying to take what belongs to Ivy and Ethan!”
I almost laughed at the absurdity. “What exactly did I take from Ivy? The fiancé she stole from me? The wedding she hijacked? Or perhaps you mean what belongs to Ethan–the company my maternal grandparents built that your husband stole from them?”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Eleanor’s voice dropped to a dangerous hiss. “You and your new boyfriend, playing your little games. But this isn’t over, Hazel. Not by a long shot.”
She swung her arm, the heavy bracelet aimed directly at my face.
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