The Billionaire's Bet

Chapter 8 : I Missed You

Evanly

The hospital felt colder after sunset. The overhead lights dimmed slightly, casting longer shadows in the corridors, while the distant sounds of beeping machines and muffled coughs echoed like ghosts through the sterile hallways.

I had just returned from the cafeteria, clutching two cups of lukewarm coffee—one for me, and one for the man who had barely spoken since entering his brother's room.

Danzel was still inside, sitting at Devon's bedside, completely still. His posture was straight, like he was physically forcing himself to stay composed, but his fingers betrayed him—tapping softly against his thigh, one after the other. A silent rhythm of anxiety.

I stepped inside quietly.

"I brought coffee," I said, my voice low, unsure if it would be welcomed.

He didn't respond at first. Just looked at me. His eyes met mine for a moment that felt far longer than it was—blue, cold, unreadable. Then he nodded once and reached for the cup.

"Thanks," he murmured.

I sat in the chair across from him, my own coffee untouched in my hands. We sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound the soft beeping of Devon's heart monitor.

Finally, Danzel spoke.

"Has he said anything? Woken up?"

"Not yet," I replied. "But his vitals are improving. Slowly."

He nodded again, staring at Devon's face. "He always did reckless shit. Always."

I glanced at him. "And you? You don't strike me as the reckless type."

He gave a bitter smile. "No. I'm the responsible one. The one who cleans up the mess. The one who signs the papers, pays the bail, handles the press."

There was a sharp edge to his voice, and I didn't know whether to respond or stay quiet.

He glanced at me again, eyes narrowing.

"I owe you an apology," he said suddenly. "For what I said earlier. About being a gold digger."

"You really do," I replied without looking at him. "That was a hell of a thing to accuse someone of, especially someone who pulled your brother out of a wreck with her bare hands."

He didn't argue. Just sipped his coffee and let the words hang in the air.

"I don't usually lose control like that," he said eventually. "But seeing him like this... It took something out of me."

I studied him closely. The expensive suit. The watch that probably cost more than my rent. The perfect hair, not a strand out of place. But beneath all of that—was a man who looked like he hadn't truly slept in weeks. Who probably hadn't cried in years. Who didn't know what to do with this kind of grief.

"I get it," I said softly. "He means a lot to you."

"More than I ever let him know," Danzel admitted, his voice distant. "Now we're raised by people who don't believe in softness. Emotion is weakness. Discipline is good. We aren't taught to love. We are taught to succeed. So we... do."

The confession caught me off guard. His tone wasn't performative—it was tired, like something he'd never said aloud before.

"Devon always rebelled. I obeyed. He lived wild, free. I... built things. Controlled things. Tried to protect him in my own way. But maybe I never really protected him at all."

I leaned back in my chair, letting his words settle.

"You love him. Even if you don't say it the way you're supposed to."