Chapter 47

I dash down the halls of the hospital like a madman, Charles and Steven quickly following behind me. We were wrapping up a meeting at my office when the hospital called, saying they found Belle passed out in front of the ER and they got my number from her cell phone.

“Annabelle Anderson, where is she?” I bark at a nurse behind the desk, and she doesn’t even flinch, but instead cocks her eyebrow at me.

“Sir, this is a hospital. Please lower your voice. And you are?”

Blood boils in my veins and I see red. I’m about to hop over the desk to type on the computer myself before Charles grabs me by the shoulder.

“He’s Maxwell Anderson, her husband. The ER staff found her unconscious an hour ago,” Charles supplies as I grip my hair in frustration.

I never want to be recognized on sight until this very moment. Now I want every perk of being an Anderson, all the privilege I grew up having.

I want them all now. I’d give up my anonymity, have the paparazzi breathe down my neck every day for the rest of my life for Belle.

The nurse’s eyes widen in recognition as she quickly types on her computer. “She’s in room 320 in the Intensive Care Unit on the 3rd floor.”

ICU ?

Terror curdles my insides and I break into a sprint, pushing people out of the way, not caring if they’re going to sue me later and dash toward the stairwell because the elevators are too slow.

I fly up the steps as someone opens the door to the third floor and barrel past the man, dashing toward the room, barely hearing Charles and Steven murmuring apologies behind me .

Throwing open the door of room 320, I see her on the bed, the sight eerily similar to a month ago.

But this time, she isn’t moving. She’s wearing an oxygen mask, her eyes closed, face pale. Fuck, she’s hooked up to so many goddamn monitors.

My legs tremble as I make my way to her. My hands are icy.

Mom’s pale face in the coffin.

Sydney’s stiff body at the beach.

Oh God, please. Not again. Bile makes its way up my throat.

“Belle,” I rasp, taking her hand in mine. “Little muse, wake up. Please .”

She doesn’t respond.

I collapse on the chair next to her and bury my face in her palm. She’s still warm. She’s still alive.

The thoughts don’t make me feel any better. The Grim Reaper is still hovering over us in a dark, menacing shadow, and once again, I’m helpless and wracked with guilt.

I did this. I told her I love her. I let her tell me she loves me.

I did this. I’m killing her. The curse. Oh God, the curse.

How could I’ve been so stupid, so selfish? I shouldn’t have told her I love her until I broke the curse, if the curse can even be broken. I should’ve left her when Elias suggested.

Wetness drips on to her hand, and I realize they are my tears.

“Belle, please. Please wake up. I-I’m so sorry,” I choke out. My chest feels like it’s being ripped to shreds. Take me instead. Please take me. I’ll do anything.

A hand clamps on my shoulder and I whip my head toward the intruder, the person who dares to distract me from my wife.

“What?” I snarl, my vision blurry.

“The doctor is on the way.” I make out gleaming blond hair and light blue eyes. Charles .

A darker shadow steps up beside him. Steven murmurs, “She’ll be okay, Maxwell. You need to hold yourself together. Stay strong for her. She needs you.”

A knock sounds at the door, and a tall man walks in, his dark eyes assessing before they land on me.

“Mr. Anderson, I’m Dr. Cavanagh, the intensivist on call today.”

“How is she? What happened?” I grip Belle’s hand tightly.

“My colleagues down at the ER found her unconscious outside the entrance. It appears someone dropped her off and sped away.”

“I want all the footage.”

His gaze roves over my face, but he clearly understands who he’s dealing with, and nods. “I’ll have our administration and security team contact you.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re running tests, but from the CBC panel, it appears her hemoglobin and red blood cell counts are low, which leads us to think anemia. But then her white blood cell counts are high, so that tells me something else is going on. She’s unresponsive, so we’re expanding our tests to include common toxins and other conditions, but the labs will take a few hours to a day to complete.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll get for you. Specialists around the country, donating a fucking wing to this place, just tell me. Save my wife, please.”

My hands shake, the panic digging deeper in my chest as I stare at the man before me. I’ll do anything I can to save Belle.

Dr. Cavanaugh nods. “Until we know more information, she’ll remain here. She’s stable right now. You’re free to stay with her until she wakes up. But no more disturbances on the floor or you’re out, Anderson family or not.”

A muscle pulses in my jaw and I nod.

His eyes soften. “We’ll take care of her. She’s in good hands.”

After the doctor leaves the room, I close my eyes as Charles and Steven settle into the guest chairs .

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Steven says. “We have to stay positive.”

“I’ve texted the group. They’re on their way,” Charles comments.

Their words are meaningless to me.

My world is a wash of hopeless grayscale and I feel myself sinking back into the abyss Belle pulled me out of when she got into my car that fateful night.

Meaningless. My life is meaningless without her.

This has got to be the worst hangover I’d ever experienced.

A headache pounds in my skull, my stomach lurching like I’m seasick. Everything is so blurry and bright.

What is that annoying beeping sound?

I blink several times, the smell of antiseptic agents reaching my nostrils, and I groan.

“I don’t feel so good,” I mumble as I try to move, but my body feels too heavy, like I ran two back-to-back marathons.

“Belle!” Maxwell’s panicked voice reaches my ears, his warm hand engulfing mine as I see the dark, blurry shape of him hovering over me.

Amber. Sandalwood. I heave in an inhale. I’m safe.

“How are you feeling? Fuck, you scared me.”

Blinking my eyes some more, my vision finally clears and I gasp, seeing the haunted look on his face—sunken eyes with dark circles, his jaw scruffy because he obviously didn’t shave, his hair mussed, shirt wrinkled.

“Maxwell, what happened? Why am I in the hospital? ”

He clenches his jaw. “You were found unconscious outside the ER. They rushed you in and you were unresponsive. Fuck, Belle. I was so terrified.”

The events from earlier start floating in. Meeting with Fiona. Cole on the streets.

Cole.

“I saw him right before I fainted. He said he had something to tell me…” My voice trails off as more snippets of the strange conversation I had with Cole stream into my consciousness.

“Who?” Maxwell growls, his lips twitching.

“C-Cole. He said there’s something I don’t know about him.” I grip his hand tightly. “There’s something wrong with him. He wasn’t like this before.”

“That motherfucker. I’m going to find him and end him.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Another wave of nausea hits me and I dry heave, but nothing comes out. “What happened to me? Why am I feeling so sick?”

Maxwell wraps his arm around me, lending me his body heat. “They ran a bunch of tests on you yesterday. You know how you’ve been feeling random dizziness and nausea?”

I nod.

He takes a deep breath, his free hand knotted on top of my blankets. “You were poisoned, Belle. Chronic cyanide poisoning. The doctors have given you an antidote and they’ll be monitoring you for a few days. They suspect it has been happening for a while, but not at high doses.” He swallows, and whispers, “That’s why you’re still alive.”

What? Poisoned? Why and how? Hairs rise on the back of my neck as fear grips my lungs in a vise. Why would anyone want to kill me?

The curse .

I shake myself. That isn’t real. It can’t be.

“This makes no sense. The poisoning. Cole. Nothing makes any sense. ”

Maxwell grits his teeth, his eyes flashing. “I’m going to find the motherfucker and kill him.”

“B-But Cole wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He was my friend.” My chest throbs, thinking about my shelter buddy who used to cheer me up after dogs or kittens got euthanized, who was charming and funny…until recently.

“Plus, how would he poison me? I don’t see him that often.”

“I don’t know and frankly, at this moment, I don’t fucking care. I’m going to find that motherfucker and strangle the answers out of him before returning the favor tenfold.”

A vein riots on his forehead and Maxwell trembles, his muscles locked in so much tension, I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself.

“Maxwell, promise me you won’t do anything until we have all the answers. Promise me you won’t make any decisions without me.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw and he looks away.

Dread curls itself around my rib cage. He won’t look at me.

“Please. Promise me. We make decisions together.”

His breathing is heavy in the air, his intense gray eyes snaring on mine. I can see turbulent emotions swirling inside them, wanting to be unleashed. I clutch his hand tighter, begging him to let me in, to not lock me out again, but those dark pools only grow stormier.

Bang!

The door slams open and I see Taylor, Grace, and Millie rushing in, with Ryland, Steven, and Charles behind them.

“Belle! You’re awake! We were so worried about you!” Millie rushes over and hugs me. “Ethan, Rex, and Lana were here earlier and your parents came by last night too.”

“Shit, Belle. Don’t ever do that to us again. My black heart can’t take it,” Taylor mutters, her eyes glistening with moisture. “Fuck, you’re making me cry and I never cry!”

Grace bursts into tears, and Steven pulls her into his arms as she sobs against his shoulder. My own eyes burn and my lips tremble as I see my girlfriends so distraught over me.

“I’m okay, girls. I’ll be fine.”

Charles walks up and clasps his hand on my shoulder. He gives me a strained smile. “You gave your husband a heart attack. Thank God you’re okay. Shit. Poisoning. What on earth is going on?”

The girls exchange a glance, and I shake my head. Please don’t tell me they’re buying into the curse now. Come on Belle, with everything going on, the curse is a possibility, don’t you think? Fear grips me, and I shove the thought away. If I believe in it, then there won’t be any hope for Maxwell and me to be together.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry about anything, just focus on getting better,” Ryland murmurs, his brows pinched. He sneaks a concerned glance at Maxwell, who is staring at my hand—the one with the IV in it.

Maxwell’s face is mottled with anger, his lips parted in a snarl as he breathes rapidly. Tears prickle my eyes again.

He’s so angry right now, and amid the confusion, the fear racing through me, I’m most concerned about him, about what’s going through that beautiful mind of his.

Swallowing, I gently shift my hand with the IV under the blanket, out of view, and the motion snags his attention.

He releases a heavy exhale, his lips twisting in an unconvincing smile, and he leans down and presses a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Rest well, my little muse. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

He cups my face, his fingers trailing over my lips. Without another word, he stands up and strides out of the room, the men following him quietly.

As the girls converge by my bedside, I stare at the closed door, my pulse thundering in my ears, and the pit in my stomach grows. I have the strangest urge to cry, to run after him and tether him to me.

To tell him not to leave me. Panic clutches my chest, and I can’t breathe. A sharp pain sears my chest and I touch the aching spot, noting a scabbed over wound. I must’ve nicked myself when I fell.

My eyes catch on a shiny object on the bedside table .

My locket—the one I haven’t taken off since Maxwell put it on me that last night in Austria—glimmers under the florescent light.

The clasp on the jeweled chain is broken, the face of the locket is streaked with blood.

My blood.