I knew I was outnumbered. I had no choice but to run—my only priority now was getting Mom to the hospital.
In the end, Darien was the one who drove us. I sat in the passenger seat, silent for a long moment, then turned to him and asked, my voice bitter.
"You killed my grandfather and my father… and now you’re the one driving my mother to the hospital?" A hollow laugh escaped me. "Don’t you think that’s ridiculous, Darien?"
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles bone-white. After a long pause, he finally said, “Elodie… just know that the person I’ve always loved most is you.”
Heh. What a joke.
So this was what love meant to him? Betraying the woman he claimed to love—again and again—and hurting everyone she cared about?
If this was love, then it was cruel. Hollow. Worthless.
At the hospital, as they wheeled my mother into surgery, Darien stayed by my side. But his eyes kept flicking to his phone, his brows knit in tension.
"Just go," I muttered.
Hearing that, he slowly put down his phone and reached out, trying to pull me into an embrace. I stepped back, avoiding his touch like it burned.
His arms dropped and he stood there awkwardly. "I’m not leaving. I’ll stay here with you."