46 Chapter 48
Chapter 48 – New Beginnings, Old Burdens: An Invitation and a Painful Demand
Damien finished his call and set his phone down, his attention returning to me with that unsettling intensity that always made my stomach flutter.
“Work emergency handled?” I asked, hoping to move past the awkward moment about my drunken night.
“For now.” He took a sip of his coffee, studying me over the rim. “You don’t need to keep worrying about that night, Hazel. Nothing happened that you should be
embarrassed about.”
I wasn’t convinced, but decided to let it go. For now.
“So,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “do you always carry extra watches in case drunk women vomit near your expensive ones?”
His lips quirked up in that half–smile that did strange things to my pulse. “Only for very special drunk women.”
I felt my cheeks heat again. Damien Sterling’s flirting was subtle but unmistakable, and I still hadn’t figured out how to respond without sounding like a complete idiot.
“I actually have something I’d like to ask you,” he said, his tone shifting to something
more serious.
“Oh?” I tried to sound casual while my mind raced through possibilities. A business proposal? A request to stop accidentally calling him in the middle of the night?
“My mother is having her birthday celebration this weekend. It’s a rather formal affair at our family estate.” He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’d like you to come as
my guest.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “Your mother’s birthday? At your family estate?”
“Yes.” His expression remained neutral, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes. “She specifically mentioned wanting to see you again.”
That surprised me. I’d only met Mrs. Sterling once, and while she’d been warm and gracious, I hardly thought I’d made enough of an impression for her to request my
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presence at what was surely an exclusive event.
“I’d love to,” I said automatically, then hesitated. “But I’m not sure I belong at something like that. Won’t it be full of important people and…” I gestured vaguely, “…society types?”
“It will,” he admitted. “And you absolutely belong there.”
The conviction in his voice made my heart skip. “I don’t have anything to wear to something that formal.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “You’re a fashion designer, Hazel.”
“Right.” I laughed at my own absurdity. “Force of habit from years of making excuses not to attend events.”
“Is that a yes, then?” There was something almost hopeful in his tone.
I took a deep breath. “Yes. I’d be honored.”
The smile that spread across his face was worth any social anxiety I might face. It was genuine and warm, transforming his normally composed features into something breathtaking.
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday.” He glanced at his watch. “I should get you back to your office. You mentioned having designs to finish.”
As we walked to his car, I couldn’t help wondering what I was getting myself into. The Sterling family moved in circles I’d only ever touched the edges of, even during my engagement to Julian. This was different territory altogether.
“By the way,” Damien said casually as he held the car door open for me, “I saw Julian Grayson outside your apartment building yesterday.”
I froze halfway into the seat. “What?”
“I was driving by after our dinner,” he explained, closing the door once’I was settled and walking around to the driver’s side. “He was standing near the entrance, looking up at the windows. I thought you should know.”
My stomach twisted. “Did he see you?”
“I don’t believe so.” Damien started the engine. “Is the divorce proceeding smoothly?”
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I let out a humorless laugh. “Define ‘smoothly. He’s contesting everything, dragging his feet on signing papers, and generally being difficult.”
“I see.” His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Have you been in contact with him recently?”
“Not willingly,” I said. “He calls, texts, shows up places. I’ve been ignoring him as much as possible.”
Damien nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If he’s bothering you, I could-”
“Please don’t,” I interrupted gently. “I appreciate it, but this is something I need to handle myself.”
He studied me for a moment at a red light. “I understand. But the offer stands.”
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, and when we reached my office building, he insisted on walking me to the door.
“Thank you for the tea,” I said, suddenly shy. “And for the invitation.”
“Thank you for accepting.” He hesitated, then leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek, so briefly I might have imagined it. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
I stood frozen, watching him walk back to his car, my cheek tingling where his lips had
touched.
That evening, I was walking Biscuit around the block when I saw them.
Julian and Eleanor Ashworth–my stepmother–standing by my building entrance. My first instinct was to turn around, but Biscuit had already spotted them and started barking.
“Hazel,” Julian called out, striding toward me. He looked terrible–pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
“What do you want?” I kept my voice steady, pulling Biscuit closer to my side.
Eleanor stepped forward, her perfectly made–up face set in grim lines. “We need to speak with you. It’s urgent,
“Nothing between us is urgent anymore,” I said coldly. “Whatever it is, take it up with
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my lawyer.”
I moved to walk past them, but Julian grabbed my arm. “Hazel, please. It’s about Ivy.”
I stiffened at my half–sister’s name. “What about her?”
“She’s dying,” he said, his voice breaking. “For real this time.”
“Right.” I pulled my arm free. “Like she was ‘dying‘ when you canceled our wedding? Sorry, but I’ve heard this story before.”
“This isn’t a trick, Eleanor snapped, her composure cracking. “The cancer has spread to her brain. The doctors give her days, maybe a week.”
Something in their expressions made me pause. They looked genuinely distraught- even Eleanor, who I’d never seen shed a real tear in the fifteen years she’d been married to my father.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, and I was surprised to find I meant it. Not because I harbored any love for Ivy, but because no one deserved such a death. “But I don’t see
what that has to do with me.”
“She wants to see you,” Julian said. “One last time.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “The last words she said to me were that she hoped I’d die alone. Why would she want to see me now?”
“To make peace,” Eleanor insisted. “Before it’s too late.”
I studied their faces, suspicion growing. There was something they weren’t telling me.
“What’s the real reason you’re here?” I demanded.
They exchanged a look that confirmed my suspicions.
“She needs a blood transfusion,” Julian finally admitted. “The doctors have tried everything. Her body is rejecting standard donations.”
And there it was. The real reason.
“She needs my blood,” I said flatly. “Again.”
Eleanor nodded stiffly. “Your blood type=”
“Is Rh–negative,” I finished for her. “I’m well aware. I spent five years donating to Julian
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for the same reason.”
“Please, Hazel,” Julian begged. “Whatever you think of us, this is about saving her life.”
“Why can’t you donate?” I asked him sharply. “You have the same blood type.”
His expression crumpled. “I did. But her body is even rejecting mine now. The doctors think it’s because she’s had too much of it already. They want to try a different Rh–negative donor.”
I looked between them, anger and disbelief warring inside me. After everything they’d done–the humiliation, the betrayal, the years of emotional abuse–they still felt entitled to ask for my help.
“You have some nerve,” I said quietly. “Both of you. You steal my fiancé, ruin my life, treat me like garbage for years, and now you want me to literally bleed for you?”
“For Ivy,” Eleanor corrected, her eyes hard despite her pleading tone. “Not for us.”
“The same Ivy who took pleasure in torturing me our entire childhood? Who stole my wedding and my fiancé?” I shook my head. “Why should I help her?”
“Because she’s your sister,” Eleanor said.
“Half–sister,” I corrected automatically. “And that’s never mattered to any of you before.”
Julian stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I know we have no right to ask. But I’m begging you, Hazel. If there’s any part of you that still remembers what we once had-”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Don’t you dare use that against me.”
“She’s going to die without your help,” he pressed on. “Can you live with that?”
The manipulation was so transparent it was almost laughable. But the question still hit its mark. Could I live with refusing to help, knowing I might have saved her?
“Why aren’t you donating more?” I asked Julian suddenly. “If you’re both Rh–negative, why is my blood necessary at all?”
His eyes dropped. “I donated yesterday…”
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