Chapter Eight Love is Blind, But Hatred Sees
Emilia stood frozen in the doorway, the steady beep of hospital monitors drowning beneath the roaring in her ears.
She hadn't meant to stop. Hadn't meant to listen. But Chase's voice had drawn her in, wrapping around her like a thread, pulling her toward a truth she wasn't ready to face.
"I just don't understand," Chase murmured, his voice low but edged with frustration. "How is any of this helping you, Hallie?"
Hallie sighed, shifting slightly in the hospital bed. "Chase, please." Her voice was light, coaxing. "You're overthinking."
"No," he said firmly. "You asked for her, and now she has to take care of you—how does that help?"
Emilia's breath hitched.
Hallie let out a soft, almost amused laugh. "It just makes sense, don't you think?"
Chase exhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw. "I don't see how putting her in this position benefits anyone."
Emilia backed away from the doorway, pulse thrumming in her ears. She needed air. Needed space. Needed—
"Dr. Everett."
She startled, turning to find Dr. Michaels standing just down the hall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"I was just—" she started, but there was no point in finishing the sentence. He knew.
Dr. Michaels glanced toward the room she had just fled before meeting her gaze again. "The Blackwoods are major benefactors of this hospital," he said, his voice measured. "I trust you'll conduct yourself accordingly."
A cold weight settled in her chest.
"Are you telling me I have to take this case?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"I'm telling you I think it would be best if you did," Dr. Michaels corrected smoothly. "Consider it an opportunity to demonstrate your professionalism."
A long beat of silence stretched between them.
Emilia swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. "Understood."
Dr. Michaels gave a small nod before walking away, leaving her standing alone in the dimly lit corridor, her world tilting beneath her feet.
She pressed a hand to her ribs, as if she could somehow hold herself together.
Exam Room 3
Hallie's fingers tightened slightly around Chase's hand before she forced herself to relax, exhaling a soft sigh. "Overnight?" she repeated, voice tinged with hesitation. "Is that really necessary?"
Emilia kept her expression calm, professional. "It's a precaution," she said evenly. "Given your symptoms and stress levels, monitoring you and the baby for the next twenty-four hours would be the safest course of action."
Chase straightened in his seat. "If there were a real concern, you'd say so, wouldn't you?" His tone was measured, but there was an edge to it—an unspoken challenge.
Emilia met his gaze head-on. "I just did," she said, cool and unwavering.
For a moment, Chase hesitated. His fingers tapped lightly against the chair's armrest, a habit she knew all too well—he was thinking, weighing his options. Then, without looking away from Emilia, he gave Hallie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's your call, babe."
Emilia ignored the way the word made her stomach clench. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him use it with Hallie, and it wouldn't be the last. She had no claim to it. No claim to him.
Hallie, for her part, let the moment stretch just long enough to make it feel like a performance before offering a small, hesitant nod. "Okay. If you think it's best."
Emilia jotted the note down in the chart. "I'll have a nurse arrange a private room," she said briskly. "In the meantime, I'd like to run a few additional tests. Just to rule anything out."
Hallie's lips parted, as if she wanted to protest, but she caught herself, schooling her expression into something softer, more cooperative. "Of course," she murmured. "Whatever you think is necessary."
Emilia offered a curt nod, turning toward the door. "A nurse will be in shortly."
She didn't wait for a response.
The second she stepped into the hallway, the air in her lungs felt heavier. Her hands clenched around the edges of the chart, her nails digging into the paper as she took a slow breath. She had kept her composure. She had done her job. But inside, everything felt off-balance.
She had spent years in this hospital, dedicated herself to her patients, her work. It was supposed to be a place of professionalism, of ethics. But Chase had twisted it into something else. He had forced her hand, used his influence, his connections, his lies, to make her life hell in a way so subtle, so insidious, no one else would see it for what it was.
And now?
Now, she had to play along.
Because if she didn't, she'd lose more than just her pride.
She'd lose everything.
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Emilia reached for the handle, but before she could push the door open, voices filtered through from the other side.
"...I just don't see why she had to be the one." Hallie's voice—light, airy, but carrying that familiar undercurrent of calculation.
Chase exhaled, already sounding exhausted. "It's my decision."
A soft hum. "Are you sure?"
A pause. Then, lower, "What do you want me to say, Hallie?"
Emilia's grip tightened on the handle.
Hallie let out a small, breathy laugh. "I just find it funny. You spend years with her, and now she's forced to take care of me." A deliberate pause, then, with a syrupy sweetness, "It must be humiliating for her, don't you think? Seeing you here. Knowing you're taking care of me now. She must feel so... replaceable."
Chase let out an exasperated sigh. "Hallie, don't."
"Don't what? I'm just saying—she's being so petty about this, when we both know it's not even real. You're just being helpful, right? She's acting like she caught you in some torrid affair."
Chase hesitated. Too long.
Hallie's voice turned sharper, more insistent. "You did tell her, didn't you?"
Silence.
Hallie clicked her tongue, full of mock sympathy. "Oh, Chase."
Chase's voice dropped, as if saying it out loud might make it worse. "I never got the chance."
A beat of silence. Then, Hallie let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle. "You mean to tell me she's been stewing in this, thinking you chose me over her? That you just left her?"
Chase ran a hand down his face. "I was going to tell her. I should have before I left."
Emilia felt her stomach drop.
Flashback – 5 months ago
Chase had been halfway to the airport when it hit him.
He hadn't told Emilia.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
He had meant to. Really, he had. But between back-to-back meetings, planning for the business retreat, and—if he was being honest—avoiding what would inevitably be a difficult conversation, he had let it slip through the cracks.
He told himself it didn't matter. He'd only be gone two days. He could explain everything when he got back.
But now, sitting in the airport lounge, phone in hand, his thumb hovered over her name.
What was he supposed to say?
Hey, Em. Just a heads up—Hallie asked for my help, and I said yes without asking you. No, I didn't consider how that might make you feel. Also, I'll be unreachable all weekend. Hope that's cool.
Yeah. That would go over real well.
So he let the moment pass.
Then another.
And another.
By the time he landed in Chicago, it had been too long. By the time the weekend ended, it had felt too late.
And then Emilia had found out on her own.
No explanation. No context. Just the worst possible version of the truth.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
Present – Hallie's Hospital Room
Chase rubbed his temples. "I wasn't trying to hide it. I just—things got complicated."
Hallie scoffed. "Oh, please. You left for a weekend, said nothing, and now she's barely looking at you. And you're surprised?"
Chase clenched his jaw. "I should've told her. I know that. But that doesn't mean she had to assume the worst."
Hallie gave a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, Chase." She tilted her head, her voice laced with honeyed malice. "You really don't understand women at all, do you?"
His frown deepened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
She sighed, feigning exasperation. "It means you left her hanging. You disappeared without an explanation. She thought you were choosing me over her. And honestly?" She leaned in, lowering her voice. "I would be worried if I were her."
Chase's expression hardened. "Hallie—"
"Relax," she cooed, brushing invisible lint from her hospital blanket. "I'm just saying, you two always did have trust issues. She never really believed in you, did she?"
Chase exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That's not fair."
Hallie smirked, tilting her head. "Isn't it?"
His silence was all the answer she needed.
Then, her voice softened, dripping with false sweetness. "You know, I keep thinking about that night," she murmured. "The way you held me, the way you whispered to me in the dark." She sighed, eyes glinting with something cruel. "God, you were so sweet. Told me I was the only one who ever really understood you. That being with me felt like coming home."
Chase's stomach twisted. "Hallie—"
"And yet, you ran straight back to her," she mused. "Or tried to, anyway." She studied his face, delighting in every flicker of torment. "Tell me, Chase, did you use the same lines on her? Whisper to her how much you missed her, how no one else ever came close?"
His jaw tightened. "Stop."
But Hallie only smiled. "That's what makes this so tragic, isn't it?" She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek. "You don't even know who you are without one of us to tell you."
Then, suddenly, she moved. Quick and deliberate, her fingers curled around his collar, yanking him toward her. Her lips crashed against his, her body pressing close, suffocating. The scent of her perfume—familiar in a way that made his skin crawl—wrapped around him like a vice.
For a second, he froze.
Then his hands found her shoulders, pushing her away with more force than necessary. "Don't," he snapped, his voice razor-sharp.
Hallie only laughed. "Oh, Chase," she whispered, her nails dragging down his chest as she leaned back, eyes alight with victory. "You always did have such a guilty conscience."
Chase stepped away, his pulse hammering, his stomach in knots.
Because the worst part?
She was right.
And that made everything so much worse.
Outside the Room
Emilia stood frozen.
It wasn't shock.
It wasn't even heartbreak.
It was realization.
Hallie had played her. And Chase had let her.
Not actively. Not maliciously. But through every missed moment, every unspoken truth, every second of hesitation—he had handed Hallie the knife and let her carve up what was left of them.
And that was the part that hurt the most.
Because Hallie wasn't the villain. Not really.
No. The real betrayal had come from the man Emilia had once believed would never hurt her like this.
Her pulse throbbed against her ribs, her fingers curling into fists as she swallowed the bitter truth. It wasn't just that Chase had made a mistake. It wasn't just that he had failed to tell her.
It was that, deep down, some part of him still wanted to believe Hallie wasn't poison.
And that meant he would always let her in.
A sharp, stinging pressure built behind Emilia's eyes, but she refused to let it spill over.
Not now.
Not ever.
She turned on her heel, her breath steady, her hands relaxed, her posture controlled. If Chase ever thought he would see her break—if Hallie was waiting for the moment she crumbled—they would die waiting.
She had done her job.
She would keep doing it.
And when this was over?
She would leave them both behind.
For good.
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