Chapter 23
The air in the car was thick. It smelled like new leather, citrus from Steven’s cologne, and something sterile. Like disinfectant. Like the waiting rooms.
Erica gripped the passenger door handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Steven,” she tried, keeping her voice steady, “please. Just take me home. I’ll rest. I’ll take a break. I just – I just need to breathe.”
She turned to him, searching for something in his face. Kindness? Understanding? Love?
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Erica, you’re not listening.”
Her thoughts snagged, slipping out of reach.
Too much pressure, too much everything.
She had felt this coming. The exhaustion creeping in like slow poison. But she had pushed forward. That’s what they did. What they always did.
But now she was here. Again.
Steven exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His jaw was tight, his perfect face shadowed under the dim lights in the hospital car park. “You think I want to do this? You think I like watching you self-destruct?”
“I’m not self-destructing.” Her voice came out thin, desperate. “I just … I lost my temper. I messed up. I need a day. Just one day, and I’ll—”
Steven’s laugh was humourless. “A day? You humiliated yourself. And me. You screamed at a journalist on camera. What were you thinking?”
Erica pressed her palms into her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. She hadn’t been thinking. Not clearly.
It had been an interview, one of the hundred they did, but something about that day had been different. She had barely slept – maybe three hours, maybe less. Her heart had been racing before she even stepped on set, her hands shaking no matter how much matcha she drank.
The interviewer had asked something off.
“So, Erica, you and Steven have built this incredible empire. But do you ever worry that your fans see you as … well, the intense one? The one who pushes too hard?”
She had blinked at him. A slow, stunned blink.
Steven had chuckled beside her, smoothing it over. “Oh, Erica’s just passionate.”
But the question had stuck. Wormed its way into her chest, pressing against all the cracks she had been desperately trying to ignore.
She had smiled. Had tried to be gracious. But then the interviewer kept going.
“I mean, we all saw the vlog from last month. You had Steven up at four a.m. for meditation and a cold plunge? That’s pretty extreme. Do you think, maybe, sometimes you push things too far? Some might say controlling?”
Things tilted.
She heard the ice in her own voice before she could stop it. “You think that’s funny?”
The interviewer blinked.
Steven had gone rigid beside her.
And then she had snapped.
It wasn’t just the question. It was everything. The exhaustion, the expectation, the way everyone always painted her as the problem while Steven got to be the easy-going golden boy.
She had torn into the interviewer, her voice sharp, shaking, saying something – she could barely remember what. Something about how of course she worked hard, because success didn’t just land in your lap. About how maybe people should stop romanticising laziness and get out of bed.
Steven had gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt.
They had cut to commercial.
And now, she was here.
Outside the hospital.
Like before.
She shook her head. “Please,” she whispered. “I know I’m not okay, but I don’t need this. Just take me home.”
Steven’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel. His silence was heavy.
Then, finally, he turned to her. His face unreadable.
“Erica,” he said softly. “I can’t do this again.”
She swallowed.
“I love you,” he continued, voice gentle now. “But I can’t keep picking up the pieces every time you fall apart. It’s exhausting.”
She flinched. He sounded so certain. So reasonable. Maybe he was right.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“You always think you know better. That you can handle it. But you can’t.
And you know what happens if I take you home?
You won’t rest. You’ll stay up all night rewriting content plans and researching optimisation strategies because you can’t stop.
You’ll spiral. Again. And I will be the one dealing with it. ”
Tears burned in her eyes. “Steven.”
“I’m not going to let you ruin everything we built because you refuse to get help.”
The finality in his voice made her stomach drop.
She looked at the hospital entrance. The cold fluorescent lights. The glass doors that would slide open and swallow her whole.
The last time she had been inside, she had sworn she would never go back.
She knew what awaited her in there. The beige walls. The voices. The loss of control.
She gripped the edge of her seat.
She could get out of the car. Walk inside. Let them take her again.
Or … she could nod. Tell Steven he was right, find a way to change his mind.
And keep going, drive away. Go home.
But would he let her?
Steven sighed, like this was all so difficult for him. Like this was her fault. “I don’t want to leave you here.”
She knew what he meant. If she refused to go in, he would leave her.
The silence stretched.
Finally, she exhaled. Slowly. Shakily. “Okay.”
Steven’s head snapped up. “Really?”
She hesitated. Forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes. I’ll go in.”
The words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth.
She didn’t want to. She wanted her own bed, her own apartment, her things around her. She wanted to press her cheek into her pillow and sleep until the weight in her chest lifted.
But Steven wouldn’t let her. Not until she admitted it. That she was unhinged. That she needed help.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. “But you won’t leave me here?” she whispered. “You’ll come in?”
His face softened. It was almost worse than when he was angry. “I’ll come in,” he said gently. “But I can’t stay.”
She swallowed, staring at him. “Can’t stay?”
“You know I can’t.”
The engine cut off.
Before she could process it, he was out of the car, walking around to her side. The cold air rushed in as he opened the door, his hand outstretched.
Erica stared at it.
This wasn’t right.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
She thought of the last time. Her own voice echoing off those same beige walls, as she pleaded, “Please, I don’t need to be here, I just need sleep, I just need—”
And now, here she was. Again.
Her hand, icy and limp, slipped into Steven’s.
Her fingers clenched around his arm without realising. A reflex. Something instinctual, as if holding on tight enough could keep her from slipping into whatever came next.
The automatic doors hissed open.
The hospital smelled the same.
Clean. Like antiseptic. Erasing who she was, as she crossed over the threshold.
She barely registered Steven speaking to someone at the front desk. His voice was calm, smooth, practised.
She’s been struggling.
She’s exhausted.
She just needs help.
Erica’s mouth felt dry.
She wanted to tell them, she could explain.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? No one would believe her.
Because she had lost it.
She had snapped.
And now, here they were.
Steven was saying something else to the nurse now. Erica could barely focus on the words.
She wanted to tell him she was fine. That she’d rest. That she’d fix herself.
But then, his fingers squeezed hers.
This wasn’t up for debate.
Her throat closed up.
She glanced at him – at his calm expression, the slight crease between his brows that made him look worried. He looked the part.
He knew how this would appear.
He knew she wouldn’t fight him here.
And so Erica let herself be led forward, deeper inside, as the doors whispered shut behind her.
Sealing her in.
Leaving him on the other side.
Again.