Allegedly Yours

Couldn't be saved

Chapter 67

James rushed to the hospital as fast as he could, tears streaming down his face—tears he hadn’t shed since the death of his wife. His heart ached with an unbearable pain at the thought that his son might not survive this.

Throughout the drive, all he could think of was Aston's childhood, the first time he held him, tiny and fragile, his cries filling the room. It had been the most beautiful moment of his life. But now, standing outside the operating room, watching through the glass as the surgeons worked desperately to save his son, James felt like his soul was being ripped from his body.

The sight of Aston lying on that table, motionless and covered in blood, was too much for James to bear. Memories flooded back—Aston's first steps, his first words, every moment of pride and joy. Aston had always been a good son, rising above the grief of losing his mother, even when James had withdrawn into his own world of sorrow and ambition. Aston had proven himself time and again, taking the family business to new heights, making his father proud in every way. He had become everything James had hoped for—a man of power, wealth, and influence while he couldn't even be a good father to him.

But now, as James stood there, watching his son teeter on the edge of death, the weight of all those ambitions felt hollow. He realized, perhaps for the first time,

He realized, perhaps for the first time, how unfaithful life could be. All the power, luxury, and success he had driven Aston toward seemed meaningless in the face of this moment. When the breath ceases, he thought, all those materialistic achievements are left behind, along with the relationships that were built on them. It struck him with brutal clarity that in the end, it’s only one's karma that follows into the unknown, and Aston, in his pursuit of the life James had set before him, hadn't been given a chance to redeem himself.

The hours dragged on, and before James realized it, night had fallen. The hospital corridors were eerily quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of footsteps and the distant hum of machines. The dim lighting cast long shadows, making the atmosphere feel even more oppressive.

James hadn't moved from his spot outside the surgery room, his eyes fixed on the double doors as if willing them to open with good news.

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Nyrah stared blankly out of the window, the moonlight casting a pale glow over her room. Sleep eluded her, replaced by an endless stream of thoughts centered around the man she had decided to leave. Aston might have agreed to the divorce, but the memories of him lingered, haunting her mind like shadows that wouldn’t fade.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close every night. The warmth of his embrace was something she now craved, an emptiness she couldn’t fill. She remembered how he would insist on her eating breakfast, refusing to let her skip a meal. Now, food seemed tasteless, unappetizing, as if his presence had been the secret ingredient all along.

Her mind wandered to the little rituals that had once defined her mornings—the way he would kiss her gently before leaving for work, a gesture so simple yet so filled with love. Without him, the mornings felt cold, devoid of the comfort those kisses had brought her.

But it was the nights that tormented her the most. The memory of the night they became one, when all barriers between them had fallen away, played on a loop in her mind. He had knelt before her, pleasuring her the entire night as she confessed her deepest desires. She hadn’t expected him to do the same, to share his fears, insecurities, and deepest longings. They had surrendered to each other completely, losing themselves in a connection that went beyond physical intimacy. In that moment, she had never felt more loved, more cherished than ever before.