The air in the Hart estate's private hospital wing was chilled by the tension that clung to its walls. Even the pristine white tiles, polished steel fixtures, and steady beep of machines couldn't bleach away the feeling that something had broken — not in bone, but in trust.
Sophie Langston, now 24, stood in front of the large tinted window that overlooked the quiet backyard. Her arms were folded across her chest, but her posture was less about defense, more about holding herself together. She wore a sleeveless navy silk blouse tucked into beige tailored pants. No jewelry today. No lipstick either. Her expression was neutral, like a dam holding back a flood.
Behind her, Aiden Hart lay in the hospital bed. Aiden — 29, the president's son, the man with the world at his feet and scars no one saw — was conscious, but quiet. His face was pale, his left shoulder strapped in layers of gauze and surgical fabric. He hated looking weak. Even now, with an IV in his arm and pain biting through his side, he refused to groan.
Sophie's back remained turned.
"You shouldn't have thrown yourself in front of me," she said finally. Her voice was soft, controlled — too controlled.
"And let Voss's man shoot you instead?" Aiden replied, his tone dry but fraying at the edges. "I'm reckless, not heartless."
"You were almost killed."
"You were supposed to be in the car. Not walking back because you forgot your phone."
She clenched her jaw. "And you were supposed to be untouchable. The president's son. Surrounded by layers of security. Elliot—"
Aiden's face twitched at the mention of his head of security. "Elliot failed. He knows it."
Silence. Sophie finally turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable.
"And what about you, Aiden?" Her eyes were glassy but fierce. "You didn't fail?"
Aiden met her gaze — dark brown eyes that usually revealed nothing now struggled to hide too much.
"I failed you the moment I brought you into this hell," he said quietly. "Marrying me meant inheriting every bullet aimed at my chest. That wasn't fair."
Sophie walked forward, stopping at the foot of the bed. "You think I care about fairness now? After everything? You think I care about what's fair?" She chuckled — a bitter, exhausted sound. "Cassandra drugged me. Tina sold my name to the press. I don't need fairness. I need you to stop pushing me out when I try to care."
Aiden said nothing, but his eyes softened.
"You always act like you're the only one bleeding," she added. "But you're not the only one stitched up, Aiden."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of vulnerability — rare, raw. "I didn't know how to let you in, Sophie. You terrify me."
That stunned her.
"You're not afraid of Voss, not afraid of being shot, but I scare you?"
"You're not just a wife. You're a mirror," Aiden whispered. "You make me want to be… more. I've never wanted that before. It's easier to stay broken."
For a moment, Sophie couldn't breathe. The machines beeped steadily beside him.
Then, quietly: "Don't you dare make me love a man who plans to stay broken."
They stared at each other. The air between them was electric — not with passion, but with promise, heavy with all the things they hadn't said.
A knock interrupted them. Dr. Lin, short and stern, entered the room holding a tablet.
"Madam Hart," he greeted Sophie with a nod, before turning to Aiden. "You'll need to stay under observation for three days. No visitors except your wife."
Aiden nodded faintly. As the doctor turned away, Sophie touched his hand.
"I'll stay," she said. "Not because you deserve it. But because you need it."
Her fingers laced with his — warm, firm, certain.
---
Meanwhile, Across Town — Senator Voss's Penthouse
Tina Vale, now 25, stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting the buttons of her blood-red wrap dress. Her beauty was ice-sharp, precise — platinum blonde hair falling in waves, lips curved into a practiced smirk.
She checked her reflection once more. No flaws. She wouldn't allow any.
Behind her, Senator Donovan Voss — mid-sixties, silver-haired with a commanding voice and eyes like steel traps — watched her sip wine as if she were his own daughter. Which, in truth, she was.
"Is he dead?" Tina asked, without looking back.
"No," Voss replied. "But wounded. The chaos served its purpose. Public confidence is shaken. And Sophie's loyalty has been exposed."
Tina rolled her eyes. "She was always the problem. Sweet, naive Sophie. I should've killed her years ago."
Voss poured himself a drink. "Not yet. She's the key to unraveling the Hart family from the inside."
"I'm tired of playing the overlooked stepsister," Tina muttered. "I want center stage."
"You'll get it." Voss's voice hardened. "Once we control the presidency."
---
Back in the Hospital Room — Night
Sophie sat on the couch beside Aiden's bed. The lights were dimmed, the world outside reduced to shadows and faint sirens in the distance.
Aiden stirred, turning his head toward her.
"You're really not going home?" he asked.
"I am home," she said simply.
His eyes shimmered in the dark. He didn't reach for her — he couldn't. But Sophie reached for him instead, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
"Sleep, Aiden," she whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."
And this time, he believed her.
---