Carmen pushed open the doors of the hospital, the sterile smell of disinfectant immediately hitting her nose.
The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, and the air was too cold, too lifeless—as if even the walls held their breath.
Her heels clicked softly against the linoleum floor as she walked toward the ICU, her heart pounding in her chest.
Luca was her last hope.
The only person who had seen the truth, the only one who had tried to warn Marco before disappearing into the night and reappearing at their doorstep—beaten, bloody, barely alive.
And now? Now he was trapped in a coma. Unconscious. Silent. But Carmen refused to believe he was gone.
He had always been a fighter. And she needed him to fight now. She reached his hospital room, hesitating at the door, then slowly pushed it open.
The sight before her made her heart clench.
Luca lay motionless in the hospital bed, tubes connected to his arms, an oxygen mask over his face, his body covered in bruises.
The steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor was the only sign that he was still alive.
Carmen swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped closer, staring down at him.
“Luca,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I need you to wake up.”
Silence. She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.
“You tried to warn me,” she continued, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “And I didn’t listen fast enough.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Please,” she whispered, her voice pleading. “I need you to wake up and tell me everything.”
A soft knock on the door made her turn. A doctor in a white coat stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard, his expression carefully neutral.
“Mrs. Venetti?” he asked.
Carmen nodded quickly, stepping away from Luca’s bedside.
“How is he?” she asked, her voice urgent.
The doctor sighed, glancing at Luca before looking back at her.
“He’s stable,” he said. “His body is healing, and there are signs of improvement. But he’s still unconscious.”
Carmen’s stomach twisted.
“How long until he wakes up?” she asked, praying for a definitive answer.
The doctor hesitated. “It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “Comas are unpredictable. Some patients wake up in days, others in weeks. But the fact that his vitals are strong is a good sign.”
Carmen nodded, holding onto that small hope.
“Will he remember what happened?” she asked carefully.
The doctor sighed. “Again, we won’t know until he wakes up. But memory loss is possible, especially considering the trauma he endured.”
Carmen’s heart sank.
If Luca didn’t remember what happened to him…
If he didn’t remember who attacked him…
Then she was truly on her own. She turned back to Luca, staring at his unmoving form.
“Come back,” she whispered. “I need you.”
But there was no response. Just the steady beeping of the monitor.
Carmen left the hospital with a heavy heart, but she couldn’t stay there forever.
She had nowhere to go. Marco had thrown her out. And there was no way in hell she would crawl back to him. Not after what he had done. Not after the way he had looked at her.
Like she was nothing. Like she was a traitor.
Carmen’s hands tightened into fists as she walked down the street, her mind racing.
She needed a place to stay, to think, to plan. She pulled out her phone and started scrolling through apartment listings, biting her lip.
She didn’t need anything fancy. Just something safe. Private. Temporary.
She clicked on a listing—a small, one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town.
It wasn’t much. But it would do.
She called the landlord immediately. After a quick conversation, she had a place to go. It wasn’t home.
But right now? She didn’t have a home.
Carmen sat on the edge of the bed in her tiny, new apartment, staring at the wall.
She had one mission. She needed to find out who Eleanor Moreau really was.
She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts until she found a number she hadn’t called in years.
Someone she had worked with before, back when she and Marco had been unstoppable together.
Back when they had trusted each other.
She hit dial and waited.
A rough voice answered on the second ring.
“Carmen Venetti,” the man said, sounding both surprised and intrigued. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”
Carmen took a deep breath.
“I need your help,” she said, cutting straight to the point.
“Figured,” he replied. “What are we looking for?”
Carmen gritted her teeth.
“Eleanor Moreau,” she said.
There was a slight pause.
Then—
“The nanny?” the investigator asked, sounding slightly amused.
“She’s not just a nanny,” Carmen muttered. “She’s dangerous. And I need to know who she really is.”