Chapter 13: Back in the Corridor
The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway buzzed with their familiar, low-frequency hum, casting a clinical glow over the polished linoleum floors. I pulled the collar of my royal blue scrubs a little tighter against my neck, feeling the familiar weight of my hospital ID badge clipped to my pocket. It was just another Tuesday morning shift, yet every step I took down this corridor felt heavier than it had a week ago. The air smelled of antiseptic and floor wax, identical to the night Damian had grabbed my arm and rewritten the rules of my life.
I reached the midpoint of the hall, near the glass doors that led to the administrative annex. That was where the second muscular man in the black button-down shirt—Vance—had stood watching us with cold, calculating eyes. I slowed my pace, my breath catching slightly as a shadow detached itself from the frame of those very glass doors.
Vance.
He didn't wear a hospital ID badge, nor did he carry a clipboard. He wore a crisp, dark coat over his black shirt, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched me approach. The same intense, measuring gaze he had leveled at Damian was now directed entirely at me. There was no security guard nearby to intervene, and Damian was downtown behind glass towers and boardrooms. For the first time since this started, I was entirely on my own.
"You're making quite a habit of walking these halls, nurse," Vance said, his voice low and smooth, cutting cleanly through the ambient hospital noise. He stepped forward, blocking my path just enough to force me to stop.
I didn't step back. I kept my chin up, remembering the way Damian held his ground without flinching. "It's my shift, Mr. Vance. People tend to work where they're employed."
A faint, humorless smile touched the corners of Vance's mouth, though his eyes remained sharp. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries. I've spent the last forty-eight hours digging into Damian's little surprise. A fiancée no one in his inner circle had ever heard of. No gala appearances, no society debuts. Just an ordinary nurse in royal blue scrubs." He paused, letting the silence stretch between us, testing my reaction. "I want to know what he's paying you."
The accusation hung in the air, sharp and transactional. It was designed to make me feel small, out of my depth, and eager to confess. A week ago, it might have worked. But standing here now, feeling the solid plastic of my ID badge against my chest, something shifted inside me. Damian hadn't just used me as a shield; he had trusted me to hold the line. And I had.
"If you're looking for a scandal to sell to the board or the press, you're looking in the wrong place," I said, my voice steady, matching the calm cadence Damian used when he was cornered. "Damian's personal life isn't a transaction. If he chooses to keep his private life private, that's his prerogative."
Vance narrowed his eyes, leaning in slightly. "You're playing a very dangerous game. Men like Damian don't marry nurses from county hospitals. He's using you as a pawn in a corporate war, and the moment the board votes next week, you'll be dropped just as fast as you were picked up."
"Is that a warning, or are you just frustrated that your surveillance didn't turn up anything useful?" I asked, holding his gaze without a flicker of doubt.
The micro-expression of surprise that crossed Vance's face was brief, but it was there—a tightening of the jaw, a sudden stillness in his posture. He had expected denial, fear, or stammering excuses. He hadn't expected pushback.
"You're remarkably composed for someone standing in the middle of a crossfire," Vance noted, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge and turning genuinely probing. "Did he coach you on what to say, or is this all yours?"
"Everything I'm saying is mine," I replied softly. "And if you have any more questions about my life or my relationship, you can take them up with Damian directly. Though I imagine he's a bit busy dismantling whatever you and your associates are planning."
Vance stared at me for a long, tense moment, searching my face for any sign of a crack. When he found none, the hard line of his mouth twitched into a reluctant acknowledgment. He straightened his coat, stepping aside to let me pass.
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"Enjoy your shift, nurse," Vance said, his tone clipped and cold as he turned toward the exit doors. "We'll see how long the engagement lasts once the real pressure starts."
I watched him walk away down the corridor until the heavy glass doors swung shut behind him. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my hands were steady as I smoothed down the fabric of my scrubs and continued my walk down the hall.
