Elaina woke up to the quiet, sterile beeping of a heart monitor. The fever had broken, but a profound weakness lingered in her limbs. She was in a VIP suite at NewYork-Presbyterian.

Dr. Julian Adler, her family's physician for years, was reviewing a chart at the foot of her bed. He was a kind-faced man in his fifties.

"Acute influenza, compounded by exhaustion," he said, his voice gentle. "We'll need to keep you for observation." He made a note on the chart. "And given your condition, I'll be adjusting your medication to ensure it's safe for the fetus."

A knot of panic tightened in Elaina's stomach. "Who else knows? About the pregnancy?"

Dr. Adler offered a reassuring smile. "Just myself and my head nurse. Patient confidentiality. Though, as your husband, Mr. Hudson has a right to..."

"No." The word was sharp, cutting him off. "He can't know. No one can. Especially not him."

The doctor's professional smile softened into one of understanding. He'd seen enough of the city's elite to read between the lines.

Elaina pushed herself up, her arm trembling with effort. She found a notepad and pen on the bedside table.

"Julian, I am formally requesting you prepare a non-disclosure agreement regarding my medical status. I am invoking my right to privacy." Her voice was weak but firm. "I am asking you, as a friend of the Frank family, to protect this for me."

He took the note from her, his expression serious. "On my medical license, Elaina. You have my word."

Not long after he left, the door to her room opened.

Eleazar.

He'd changed his clothes, but he carried a faint, cloying scent with him. Kallie's perfume. So he had gone to her last night after all. The thought was a dull, familiar ache.

He stood awkwardly by the door, his eyes scanning her pale face. "How are you feeling?" His tone was stiff, formal.

"I'll live," she replied, turning her head to look out the window.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He pulled a chair to her bedside and, to her utter astonishment, picked up an apple and a small knife from the fruit basket.

He began to peel it, his movements clumsy and inefficient. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, not paring knives. He nicked his thumb, and a single drop of blood welled up on his skin. He swore under his breath.

Elaina watched the small, absurd drama, a confusing mix of emotions churning inside her.

He finished his mangled work and held the apple out to her. She didn't take it. A flicker of frustration crossed his face at her silent rejection. He tossed the mangled apple onto the bedside table with a soft thud.

His jaw tightened. "What did you and Denver Bradley talk about? Was it worth making yourself sick over?"

Back to this. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

"We talked about art. Nothing more. Believe it or not." She closed her eyes, unwilling to fight.

Her dismissal seemed to fuel his anger. He saw it as defiance.

"Nothing? Is that why he's suddenly so interested in the Frank family's old assets? Don't think I don't know he's been sniffing around your father's bankruptcy case." His voice was a low, furious hiss.

Her eyes snapped open. He was having her investigated.

Before she could form a reply, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a smiling picture of Kallie.

He answered it, his back to her, and his voice transformed, becoming softer, gentler. "Yes, I'm still tied up... It shouldn't be much longer."

The hypocrisy was nauseating.

He ended the call and stood, his cold mask firmly back in place. "Get some rest. I'll handle the bills. And stay away from him until you're discharged."

It was an order, not a request. He walked out, leaving the butchered apple on the nightstand, a testament to his brief, failed attempt at care.

Elaina was jolted awake late that night by a commotion outside her hospital room door. She could hear her security detail speaking in low, firm tones to someone.

The door burst open.

Eleazar stumbled in, reeking of whiskey, his face a ghostly white under the dim hospital lights. He shoved past the bodyguard, his eyes wild and unfocused, muttering her name.

He didn't make it far. He collapsed onto the visitor's sofa, curling into a ball, a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.

Before Elaina could react, her phone rang. It was Mrs. Petrov, their housekeeper, her voice frantic.

"Ma'am, it's Mr. Hudson... he couldn't find you at the apartment. He's been drinking. You know how his stomach gets..."

Acute gastritis. A problem that flared up whenever he was under immense stress.

Elaina looked at the man groaning on her sofa. This wasn't an attack. He was sick.

Her mind screamed at her to call a nurse, to have him removed. But her heart... her heart was a traitor.

"Ma'am, please," Mrs. Petrov begged. "He only ever calms down when you're there. Please."

With a sigh of resignation, Elaina ended the call and swung her legs out of bed.

As she approached the sofa, Eleazar seemed to sense her presence. His hand shot out, grabbing hers with a desperate, childish grip. His skin was fever-hot, but his palm was clammy with sweat.

Her resolve melted.

She sent her bodyguard for anti-spasmodic medication and a glass of warm water.

Getting him to take it was impossible. He was too drunk, too incoherent. Suddenly, his body convulsed. He was sick, vomiting all over his thousand-dollar suit and her clean hospital gown.

The acrid smell of bile and alcohol filled the small room. She fought back her own nausea, her hand steady on his back. He had a pathological obsession with cleanliness; he would be mortified when he sobered up.

She made a decision.

Summoning all her strength, she half-dragged, half-carried his dead weight into the en-suite bathroom. The space was tiny, forcing their bodies into a clumsy, intimate press.

She turned on the shower, aiming the warm spray at him. The water soaked his clothes, making the fine wool and cotton cling to the hard muscles of his body. Her cheeks burned. She tried to focus on the task, to ignore the feel of his skin, the heat of his body.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. As she worked it free, her knuckles brushed against his chest. Even in his stupor, his body tensed at her touch.

Her own heart skipped a beat.

Finally, she got him clean. She was soaked to the bone herself.

She maneuvered him back into the main room. The sofa was a lost cause. The only option was her bed.

After settling him under the covers, she changed into a fresh gown. She stood for a long time, just looking at him. His brow was furrowed in pain even in his sleep.

She hated him for his cruelty. But seeing him this vulnerable, this broken... it twisted the hate into something confusing and painful.

How were they ever going to untangle themselves from this mess?

Elaina spent the night wrapped in a thin blanket on the sofa, sleep never coming.

As the first rays of morning light filtered through the blinds, Eleazar stirred on the bed. A low groan escaped his lips as he brought a hand to his pounding head.

He opened his eyes, blinking in confusion at the unfamiliar ceiling, at the IV line taped to the back of his hand. Then he turned his head and saw her.

He saw her, and then he saw his own bare chest. The memories of the previous night came flooding back.

A dark flush crept up his neck. It was a toxic mix of shame and fury.

Elaina's voice was quiet, devoid of emotion. "You're awake. Is your stomach feeling any better?"

He ignored the question, pushing himself up too fast. He winced, a sharp pain lancing through his abdomen.

"Who told you to interfere?" he bit out, his voice raspy.

A small, humorless smile touched her lips. "You could always leave. I'm sure Kallie has been waiting for you."

The jab hit its mark. He had been on his way to Kallie's, but the image of Elaina's face in that newspaper photo had driven him to a bar instead.

Rage propelled him from the bed. He stalked toward her, his presence overwhelming in the small space. He leaned over her, his hand shooting out to grip her chin.

"You enjoy this, don't you? Seeing me like this."

"I'm just stating a fact," she said, her voice steady despite the painful pressure on her jaw.

Her calm, her infuriating detachment, pushed him over the edge. He lowered his head, his intent clear. A kiss meant as a punishment, a reassertion of control.

His lips were a breath away from hers when his phone, abandoned on the nightstand, lit up with an incoming video call.

Kallie's smiling face filled the screen.

Eleazar froze, the spell broken. It was like being doused with ice water.

Elaina used the moment to push him away, creating a precious few feet of distance between them.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, a frustrated, angry gesture, before accepting the call. He turned his back to Elaina.

"Eleazar, where did you go last night? I was so worried," Kallie's voice cooed from the phone.

"Emergency at the office," he lied, his voice low. "I was up all night."

Elaina watched him, a cold emptiness spreading through her.

Just then, his other phone, his private line, began to ring. The caller ID simply read: 'Mother'.

He cut Kallie off abruptly. "I'll call you back." He ended the video call and answered the second phone.

The imperious, unmistakable voice of Beatrice Hudson filled the room. "Eleazar. Where are you and Elaina? The family gala is this weekend. You will both be in attendance."

Eleazar sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. "Mother, Elaina and I are..."

"I don't care what you are," Beatrice interrupted, her tone like steel. "In public, and to this family, you are Mr. and Mrs. Hudson. The stability of this family's name is not up for debate. Now, put your wife on the phone."

Defeated, he held the phone out to Elaina.

She took it. "Good morning, Mother."

Beatrice's voice instantly softened. "My dear girl. I know things have been difficult. You just focus on feeling better. I want to see you this weekend. I'll have chef make your favorite lemon tarts."

In the midst of all the cruelty and confusion, that small, unexpected kindness felt like a lifeline. It was the only warmth she'd felt in days.