Darling

XXV

Sebastian

The phone call came like an earthquake, shaking his world. The hum of the office—his usual sterile, organized world—suddenly felt suffocating. The moment the phone buzzed against the smooth surface of his desk, something inside him twisted. It wasn't the usual polite ring. It was different.

His hand stilled, and for a brief moment, he hesitated. The screen lit up with an unknown number. He didn't want to answer it. He didn't need to hear whatever news was waiting on the other side of the line.

But then it rang again, louder this time. Reluctantly, his thumb swiped the screen. "Sebastian."

"Sir, is this Mr. Sebastian Montgomery?" A cool, professional voice pierced through the haze in his mind. "We're calling about Clementine Hill. She's been in an accident."

His heart stalled. The words felt like a slap in the face, but worse—it was a punch to the gut. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear anything beyond the pounding of his own heart. Clementine. The name sliced through him with such force that he almost dropped the phone.

"Stable," the voice continued, "but she sustained a head injury. We need you to come in. She's been admitted. It's urgent."

He couldn't process it. He didn't want to process it. Every nerve in his body was thrumming, each beat of his heart louder than the next. His fingers tightened around the phone, the edges of his vision starting to blur as his mind raced. Head injury. Clementine. Accident.

She was stable. The word should have brought him relief, but instead, it sounded hollow. Empty. It was as if his world had tipped sideways, and now everything felt dangerously fragile.

"What hospital?" His voice cracked in a way he hadn't anticipated, betraying the tightness in his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, but he couldn't show it. Not now. He didn't allow weakness. Not outwardly. Not for anyone.

The nurse gave him the details, but the words hardly registered. The moment the call ended, he felt it—the panic—but he buried it quickly. Focus. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not now. Not with her. His hands, once steady, fumbled slightly as he grabbed his coat and threw it over his shoulders.

There was a tremor in his chest he couldn't shake, but he forced himself to breathe. To think. He was still Sebastian Montgomery. He didn't fall apart.

But this? This was different.

He didn't realize he was driving until he was already in motion, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The streets blurred around him. He didn't care. All he could think about was her. He had never cared about anything like this before, but now, the thought of her in pain, vulnerable, alone—it gnawed at him, sank deep into his gut.

The drive to the hospital felt endless, like an eternity wrapped in the suffocating silence of his own mind. Every light that passed was a reminder of how much time was slipping away. Was she awake? Was she scared? Was she alone?

The questions hit him like a wave, each one worse than the last. The image of her, fragile, hurt—it clawed at him, making his chest tighten further.

When he finally arrived, his feet moved before his mind caught up. His body had become instinct, pulling him through sterile hallways, not allowing him to stop. Every step he took felt like it mattered more than the last.

Then, finally, he reached her room.

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring her heart.