Chapter 49: White Ceiling, Dark Dreams

The world was black and wet and full of screams.

Mindy ran. Her bare feet slapped against concrete slick with rain and blood. The air reeked of rust and salt, of fear soaked into the walls. Somewhere behind her, a door slammed open. Voices shouted—men’s voices, rough and eager.

"She’s the one they didn’t choose!"

Hands grabbed at her hair, her arms, her dress. She tore free, stumbling down a corridor lined with locked doors. Fists pounded from the other side—women’s voices crying for help.

She climbed, lungs burning, the sound of boots echoing below. The higher she went, the colder it became. Rain leaked through cracks in the ceiling, dripping onto her face.

At the top, a metal door burst open. She stumbled onto the roof.

Wind howled. Rain lashed her skin. The city stretched below—ten stories of darkness and neon. Her white dress clung to her body, streaked with dirt and blood.

Behind her, the door banged open again.

"Don’t make this harder," one of them shouted.

She turned. Their silhouettes filled the doorway—three men, faces hidden by masks. One raised a gun.

Mindy backed toward the edge.

She jumped.

Wind roared in her ears. The world spun. The lights below rushed up to meet her.

Then—impact.

Darkness.

"Mindy."

The voice was soft, close, pulling her from the void.

"Mindy."

Her eyes flew open.

White.

A ceiling so bright it stabbed at her vision. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled her lungs, sharp and cold. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. The nightmare clung to her skin like sweat.

She tried to move. Pain flared through her abdomen, sharp and deep. A gasp escaped her lips.

The beeping of machines filled the silence.

She blinked until the blur sharpened into shapes—walls, monitors, an IV line taped to her arm. A hospital room.

The memory hit her like a wave.

The gala. The chandeliers. The gunfire. Matthias’s startled face as she shoved him aside. The burning pain in her stomach.

Then darkness.

Her fingers twitched against the sheets. She was alive.

"Mindy."

The voice again—familiar, unwanted.

She turned her head slowly.

Layton Knight sat beside the bed, perfectly straight, his posture rigid. His eyes were fixed on her, unreadable.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer.

Her throat was dry, her heart still racing. She stared at him, the man who had once been her husband, the man who had let her die in another life. The man who had chosen Missy.

Hatred rose in her chest, hot and suffocating.

She looked away.

The room was dim, the blinds half drawn. Machines hummed softly beside her, their rhythmic beeping the only sound.

On her right, Wade sat slumped in a chair, his head tilted back, eyes closed. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He must have been there all night.

On her left, Layton hadn’t moved. He watched her like a statue carved from ice.

Mindy’s voice came out hoarse. "What happened?"

"You got shot," he said flatly.

The words hung in the air, heavy and matter‑of‑fact.

She blinked, piecing together fragments—the masked men, Matthias, the sound of bullets, her own blood.

Her next question slipped out before she could stop it. "How’s Matthias?"

Something flickered across Layton’s face—dark, sharp. The first thing she asked about was another man.

"He’s fine," he said curtly.

Relief softened her features. "Good."

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

She turned her head toward him. "Why are you here?"

He didn’t answer. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles white.

A rustle broke the tension. Wade stirred, blinking awake. When his eyes landed on her, exhaustion vanished, replaced by pure relief.

"You’re awake," he breathed, sitting up straight. Then his tone shifted, half angry, half shaken. "Are you stupid? Why did you risk your life like that?".

Mindy’s lips curved weakly. "I didn’t think. I just reacted."

"You never think when it comes to danger," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

The door opened.

Layla stepped in, balancing two cups of coffee. The moment she saw Mindy awake, the cups nearly slipped from her hands. Her eyes filled instantly. She rushed forward, setting the drinks aside before wrapping her arms around Mindy.

"Mindy! Are you okay? How do you feel? Are you hurting anywhere? Do you want me to call the doctor?"

She was halfway to the door when Mindy caught her wrist.

"I’m fine," Mindy said with a small laugh. "Just a little pain."

Layla froze, then turned back, her expression shifting from relief to outrage. "A little pain? You got shot! We were terrified! Why would you do something so reckless?"

Mindy lowered her gaze. "I’m sorry. I know you were worried. I didn’t think."

She looked helplessly toward Wade.

He crossed his arms. "You deserved this."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"You scared everyone half to death," he said, though his voice softened. "Maybe next time you’ll think before running into gunfire."

Before she could reply, his phone buzzed. He answered quickly. "Yeah? Yes, she just woke up. She’s fine. Okay."

He hung up and turned to her. "That was Matthias. He’s on his way—ten minutes, maybe less. He’s been calling every half hour asking about you. He only left for two hours after Dante dragged him out to handle damage control."

Mindy blinked. "He’s coming here?"

Wade nodded. "He wouldn’t stay away."

She didn’t know what to say.

The silence stretched until she noticed Layton again. Still sitting. Still watching.

He hadn’t moved since she woke.

"Why is he here?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Layla sighed. "He insisted. We tried to make him leave, but he just glared at everyone until we gave up. Honestly, how did you put up with him for four years? He’s been sitting there like a statue, staring at you."

Mindy’s expression hardened.

The memory returned—the last thing she’d seen before blacking out: Layton with a gun, firing at the masked men. But another memory followed, darker—the pool, the water closing over her head, Layton swimming toward Missy. His voice saying Missy’s name when forced to choose. His smile beside Missy’s engagement ring while she was trapped in a facility, bleeding and forgotten.

Her voice was quiet but sharp. "Why were you there? And why are you here now? Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend? She must be scared."

Layton’s eyes darkened. "When did you learn to use a gun?"

She met his gaze evenly. "Why can’t I?"

He didn’t answer.

She turned her face away. "Shouldn’t only family be allowed in the patient ward? You should go to Missy. She must be in shock, crying for you."

Layla snorted. "If she’s crying, it’s probably for attention."

Layton’s jaw tightened. "You are my wife," he said quietly. "Who else should be here if not me? Why are you pushing me toward Missy?"

For a moment, he looked genuinely confused.

Mindy’s temper snapped.

"Now you realize I’m your wife?" Her voice rose, sharp and trembling. "I’m not pushing anything. Everyone knows you and Missy are practically a couple."

The room went still.

Layton’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—pain, confusion. He didn’t understand. She had never spoken to him like this before.

Layla stepped forward, placing a hand on Mindy’s shoulder. "Don’t get agitated. You need rest." She turned to Layton, her tone firm. "Layton, please leave her alone. She doesn’t want you here."

He didn’t move.

The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating.

Mindy sank back against the pillows, her body aching, her mind spinning. The white ceiling blurred as tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

She had survived. She should have felt grateful. But all she could feel was exhaustion—and hatred.

Wade broke the silence first. "You scared us, Mindy. All of us." He rubbed a hand over his face. "It was reckless."

"I know," she said quietly.

Layla brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You’re impossible." She sighed. "I’ll go see the doctor about your medicine and food. Don’t push yourself." She gave Mindy’s hand a gentle squeeze before stepping out.

The door clicked softly behind her.

Layton’s gaze returned to Mindy. "You shouldn’t have been there."

"Not your business anymore," she said, turning toward the window.

Her tone was final.

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes darkened, filled with something she couldn’t name. He turned his head away, staring out the window instead. He didn’t want her to see the fear that still lingered—the fear of losing her.

He didn’t understand what he was feeling, only that he had been terrified. And now she looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"Why are you really here?" she asked softly, though her voice was cold.

He opened his mouth to answer, but his phone rang. The sound cut through the quiet like a blade.

She didn’t have to ask who it was.

Missy.

Layton stood, walking toward the window as he answered. "OK. I’m on my way."

He ended the call and turned back to her, as if to explain.

"Don’t bother," she said, her voice calm but sharp. "And don’t disturb me again. I only feel disgust."

Layton froze.

For a long moment, he just looked at her. The disappointment in her gaze cut deeper than any accusation.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t apologize.

He simply turned and left.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

A few minutes later, Wade returned, carrying a bottle of water. "He left?"

Mindy nodded.

"Good. You need peace, not drama."

She smiled faintly. "Peace sounds nice."

Layla came back soon after, her eyes red but her tone brisk. "Doctor says you’ll be discharged in a few days if everything stays stable. You’re lucky, Mindy. Really lucky."

Mindy looked at the white ceiling again, the faint hum of machines filling the silence. "Luck had nothing to do with it."

Layla frowned. "Then what did?"

"Instinct."

Wade groaned. "That instinct is going to kill you one day."

"Not today," she said softly.

The door opened again.

Matthias King stepped inside. The room seemed to shift around him, the air heavier, quieter. He looked tired but composed, his dark suit immaculate despite the chaos of the night before.

His eyes found hers instantly. "You’re awake."

He stepped closer, his voice low. "You shouldn’t have done that."

A faint smirk touched her lips. "I told you I would protect you."

He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled. "Yes, you did."

Wade cleared his throat. "Hero talk later. She needs rest."

Matthias inclined his head slightly. "Of course." He turned back to Mindy. "I’ll come back later."

As he left, Layla muttered, "At least he listens."

Mindy laughed softly, then winced at the pull in her side. "Don’t make me laugh."

When the room quieted again, she turned to Wade. "How’s Ana? Is she alright?"

"She’s fine," he said. Then, with a crooked grin, "Don’t worry—you’ll have to deal with her too."

Mindy groaned. "Great."

The room settled into silence once more. The white ceiling above her seemed endless, the steady rhythm of the monitor a reminder that she was still here.

Alive.

Bruised.

But alive.

She closed her eyes, letting the sound of her friends’ quiet breathing fill the space.

Outside, the city moved on, unaware of the woman lying beneath the white ceiling who had changed the course of more than one life in a single night.

She had saved Matthias. The thought made her smile.

If she could change his fate, she could change hers.

She wouldn’t die the same way again.

Her heart eased.

She drifted into sleep with a faint smile, surrounded by the quiet presence of those who truly cared—friends and family close, safe, and awake to guard her dreams.