Morning After
Melody lay propped against the crisp white hospital pillows, the steady beep of the monitor the only sound breaking the quiet of the private room. Early morning light slipped through the half-closed blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the blanket draped over her legs.
An IV line snaked from the crook of her arm, dripping clear fluid slowly. Her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes, long hair fanned across the pillow in loose waves. She looked exhausted... beautiful still, but worn thin in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain.
Margaret sat in the chair beside the bed, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. She had been there since the ambulance arrived at dawn... poised, calm, but the worry in her eyes betrayed her.
The door opened quietly.
Ryan stepped in, coat still on, hair slightly mussed from rushing across town. His usual easy smile was gone; concern sharpened his features.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, voice low. He crossed to the bed and gently took Melody’s free hand, squeezing once. “What happened?”
Margaret answered before Melody could.
“Her blood pressure spiked at dawn. 180 over 110 when they brought her in. They’ve brought it down, but she’s staying for observation.”
Ryan’s eyes flicked to Melody, wide with disbelief.
“What? Why?”
Margaret sighed, a small, tired sound.
“She had a confrontation with Christian last night. Remember?”
Ryan’s gaze snapped back to Melody.
“Oh God.” He exhaled sharply. “Melody, we told you not to think about it. Why are you destroying yourself over that man?”
Melody’s voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“I just want to know why he was there. And what he wants now. Who even invited him?”
Margaret’s expression remained steady.
“I did.”
Melody’s eyes widened. She turned her head slowly to look at her mother.
“Why?”
Margaret leaned forward slightly, voice calm but firm.
“I wanted to talk to him. Face to face. The media is going crazy right now... speculation, old headlines, people digging into your past. I did not want you to have any kind of problem. If he knew and he started badmouthing you to the press, it would ruin the image you’ve built.
The board would hesitate. The shareholders would whisper. I couldn’t risk it.”
Melody stared at her.
“And what did you do to stop him?”
“I asked him to shut his mouth.”
“That’s it?”
“No, of course not.”
“What did you say?”
Margaret’s gaze never wavered.
“I told him we could do business in exchange for him keeping silent.”
Melody’s breath caught.
“And he agreed?”
“He did.”
Melody’s voice rose slightly, incredulous.
“Are you serious? Christian Holt worshipped his brother. He would never agree to it!”
“I know,” Margaret said quietly. “But he did.”
“How?” Melody asked, almost pleading.
Margaret shook her head once.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s playing a game. Or… maybe he knows the truth now.”
Melody stared at her mother, eyes wide, processing.
“So now you want me to do business with him?” she whispered. “I can’t stand that man! He makes my blood boil!”
Margaret reached out and covered Melody’s hand with her own... warm and steady.
“Melody, I know. But I had to do it for you. If he said something on the record, the board would vote against you as CEO. And you have worked so hard for that position. You’ve earned it. I wasn’t going to let one bitter man take it away.”
Melody shook her head slowly, tears gathering again.
“This is wrong,” she whispered. “So wrong.”
Ryan leaned forward, voice gentle.
“Hey, Melody.” He squeezed her hand again. “Just relax for now, okay? We’ll figure this out. You’re safe. You’re here. Your numbers are coming down. Focus on that. We’ll handle the rest.”
Melody closed her eyes.
Tears slipped free, tracing silent paths down her temples into her hair.
None of them spoke after that.
The monitor beeped steadily.
The IV dripped.
And outside the window, the city woke up, indifferent, endless, moving forward.
While inside the room, Melody Marshall lay still, breathing shallow, heart heavy with the one thing she still couldn’t control.
The past.
And the man who had once been part of it.
×××××××
Christian sat at the head of the long breakfast table in the sunlit dining room, the morning light pouring through the tall windows and glinting off the silverware.
He wore a simple white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black trousers, no tie.
.. casual for a Sunday, but still sharp.
A half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs and toast sat in front of him, untouched for the last ten minutes.
Across from him, Victoria sipped her black coffee, posture perfect, silk robe tied neatly at the waist.
The large flat-screen on the wall was tuned to the morning business segment, volume low but clear. A polished reporter in a navy blazer stood outside the Marshall Corp headquarters, microphone in hand, skyline rising behind her.
“…breaking this morning: Margaret Marshall, longtime CEO and founder of Marshall Corporation, has officially stepped down after more than three decades at the helm. In a surprise move, she has named her adopted daughter, Melody Marshall, as her successor. Melody, previously known as Melody Evans, will assume the role effective immediately. The announcement came with a formal welcome reception last night on the rooftop terrace of the company’s flagship building. ”
Victoria’s lips thinned. She set her cup down with a soft clink.
The reporter continued, tone neutral but carrying the faint edge of intrigue.
“For those unfamiliar, Melody Evans was once at the center of a high-profile scandal involving the Holt family. She was accused of driving Ashton Holt, brother of Holt Enterprises CEO Christian Holt, to suicide. The charges were ultimately dropped when the Holt Family withdrew and no conviction was ever secured. Since then, Ms. Evans has largely stayed out of the public eye until now. Sources close to the company say she joined Marshall Corp two and a half years ago at an entry-level position and worked her way up through sheer merit, earning the trust of Margaret Marshall herself.”
Victoria muttered under her breath, barely audible at first.
“Merit. Right. More like manipulation.”
Christian’s fork paused mid-air.
Victoria kept going, voice low but venomous.
“Adopted daughter. How convenient. She always knew how to play the victim card.”
Christian set his fork down slowly. The clink against the plate was the only sound.
Victoria continued, oblivious or uncaring.
“She should still be in prison. Or at least crawling in some gutter where she belongs. Instead she’s parading around in designer suits. Disgusting. Ashton would be rolling in his grave.”
Christian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek.
“Enough.”
Victoria blinked, finally looking up.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and dangerous.
“If you speak one more word of shit about her, if you so much as whisper her name with that tone again, I will have you sent to Europe. Forever. No return ticket. No visits. No calls. You will live out the rest of your days in the villa in Tuscany, and you will never set foot in this house or see your granddaughter again.”
Victoria’s eyes widened.
“You can’t—”
“I can,” he said, cutting her off. “And I will. I’ve already spoken to the lawyers.
The trust documents are ready. One signature from me, and your allowance stops.
Your access codes change. Your name comes off the family accounts.
You’ll have a roof and a stipend, barely enough to keep up appearances, but you will be gone. And you will stay gone.”
Victoria stared at him, face pale.
“You would do that to your own mother? Over her?”
Christian’s voice dropped to something colder than she had ever heard.
“You’re not my mother anymore.”
He stood abruptly, chair scraping back.
“I’m done listening to you tear her down. I’m done pretending the past was her fault. I know the truth now. And if you can’t accept that, if you can’t keep her name out of your mouth, then you’re no longer welcome here.”
Victoria opened her mouth, then closed it.
Christian turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft, final sound.
×××××××
Dr. Aniston sat on the rolling stool beside Melody’s hospital bed, chart resting on her lap, voice calm and steady as always. The room was quiet except for the soft beep of the monitor and the faint drip of the IV.
Melody lay propped against the pillows, looking pale but more alert than when she’d first arrived.
Dr. Aniston closed the chart and met Melody’s eyes directly.
“Your blood pressure is stable now...128 over 82, which is good. The IV meds did their job quickly. But we both know spikes like this can happen again, especially with stress or emotional triggers.”
Melody nodded once, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket.
“I’m prescribing you a sublingual tablet for emergencies,” Dr. Aniston continued.
“Nifedipine 10 mg. Whenever you feel the signs coming on, headache, pounding in your ears, tightness in your chest, dizziness, put one tablet under your tongue and let it dissolve. Don’t swallow it.
It works fast, usually brings the pressure down within 10–20 minutes.
Keep a few in your purse, your desk, your nightstand. Anywhere you might need it.”
Melody exhaled slowly.
“Is it safe long-term?”
“Very,” the doctor assured her. “It’s not for daily use, just rescue. Your maintenance is still the amlodipine 5 mg every morning. But this gives you control in the moment. You won’t have to wait for help or rush to the ER every time your heart races.”
Melody looked down at her hands.
Dr. Aniston leaned forward slightly, voice softening.
“Melody… I know last night was hard. Confrontations like that, especially with someone tied to so much of your past, can spike your pressure like a rocket. But you can’t keep letting it happen.
You have to protect this heart of yours.
It’s carried you through hell already. Don’t let old wounds keep reopening it. ”
Melody’s throat worked.
“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. About him. About everything.”
Dr. Aniston gave her a small, understanding smile.
“You don’t have to stop thinking. You just have to stop letting it control you.
When the thoughts come, when the anger or the hurt rises, breathe.
Step away. Take the tablet if you need to.
Call Margaret. Call me. But don’t let it swallow you whole.
You’ve built something incredible. Don’t let the past steal it. ”
Melody nodded slowly, eyes glistening but not quite spilling over.
Dr. Aniston stood, patting Melody’s hand once.
“I’m discharging you this afternoon. Rest. No work. No stress. Light meals, lots of water, feet up. Okay?”
“Okay,” Melody said quietly.
Dr. Aniston smiled again.
“You’re going to be fine, Melody. You’ve already survived worse than most people ever face. This is just one more thing you’ll manage. And you will manage it.”
She turned to leave, pausing at the door.
“I’ll have the prescription sent to the pharmacy downstairs. Mrs Marshall can pick it up. Take care of yourself.”
The door closed softly behind her.
Melody stared at the ceiling for a long moment, hand resting lightly over her chest, over the heart that had carried her this far.
Then she whispered to the empty room:
“I’ll try.”
And for the first time in a long time, she almost believed she could.
×××××××