Love Lost to a Deal

The first thing Sebastian noticed was the silence. No beeping machines, no hurried footsteps—just the soft hum of what he assumed was climate control. His eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar ceiling—not the standard acoustic tiles of most hospitals, but something that looked like hand-painted frescoes.

"Where..." His voice came out as a rasp.

"You're awake." The voice was male, authoritative. "Good."

Sebastian turned his head, wincing at the movement. A man in an impeccable suit stood at the foot of his bed, checking something on a tablet. His silver hair was perfectly styled, his expression unreadable.

"Who are you?" Sebastian asked, trying to sit up. "Where's Elsie?"

The man's eyes flicked up briefly. "Miss Coleman is being treated elsewhere. I'm Mr. Morales."

The name registered dimly. "The Morales family? You're..."

"Her biological father." Mr. Morales stated this fact without emotion. "Though she doesn't know it yet."

Sebastian's mind reeled. "I don't understand."

"It's simple." Mr. Morales pulled a chair close to the bed, his movements precise and controlled. "You've suffered extensive injuries. The treatment you need is... costly."

Sebastian looked around the room—the hardwood floors, the original artwork, the fresh flowers. "This isn't a normal hospital room."

"No." Mr. Morales leaned forward slightly. "This is a private wing. We've arranged for specialists to treat you."

Something in his tone made Sebastian's stomach tighten. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm a businessman, Mr. Barnes. I don't do things without reason." He placed a document on the bed beside Sebastian. "We'll cover all your expenses—medical, rehabilitation, living arrangements. In exchange, you'll be Faye's boyfriend."

"Faye?"

"My daughter. Adopted daughter," he clarified, his eyes cold. "Two years. You'll accompany her to social functions, appear in photographs, play the devoted boyfriend."

Sebastian shook his head, confusion mixing with anger. "I already have a girlfriend. Elsie—"

"Elsie is in critical condition." Mr. Morales cut him off. "She may not survive."

The words hit Sebastian like a physical blow.

"And without our help," Mr. Morales continued, sliding a pen toward him, "you certainly won't survive."

Sebastian stared at the document, his vision blurring with tears and fear.

---

Pain greeted me first—a dull, persistent throb that seemed to pulse through every inch of my body. I opened my eyes to fluorescent lights and standard-issue hospital curtains.

"Elsie?" A nurse appeared beside me, checking my IV. "You're awake."

"What..." My throat felt raw, my tongue thick.

"You were in an accident." She adjusted something on the monitor. "Do you remember?"

The crash came back in fragments—the screeching tires, Sebastian's face, the impact.

"Sebastian," I whispered. "Is he okay?"

The nurse's expression shifted subtly. "He's recovering in another wing."

"Can I see him?"

"Let's focus on you right now." She checked my vitals, avoiding my eyes. "Your injuries are serious. You'll need another surgery, but..."

She hesitated, and something cold settled in my stomach.

"Your insurance won't cover it all," she continued softly. "The costs are... astronomical."

I closed my eyes, feeling tears slip down my temples. "How much?"

She named a figure that made my breath catch.

"My phone," I managed. "Can I call him?"

The nurse handed me my phone, but my fingers trembled too much to dial. She did it for me, then held it to my ear.

It rang five times before going to voicemail.

"Sebastian," I whispered, "please answer."

But there was only silence.

---

Three days passed in a haze of pain and loneliness. I stared at the ceiling, memorizing every crack and imperfection. The nurses came and went, their faces blurring together.

When Sebastian finally appeared in my doorway, I almost didn't recognize him.

He'd shaved, for one thing. His hospital gown had been replaced with a crisp button-down shirt and tailored pants that looked nothing like his usual worn jeans and t-shirts.

"Seb," I breathed, relief washing over me.

He approached my bed cautiously, as if afraid I might shatter. "Hey."

"Where have you been?" I reached for his hand. "I've been so scared."

He sat stiffly in the chair beside me, allowing me to take his hand but not returning the pressure. "I've been... recovering."

"You look better than me." I tried to smile.

"I need to stay near the hospital." He cleared his throat. "For follow-up treatments."

"The Morales family has been very generous," he added, his voice suddenly formal. "They're helping with my bills."

Something in his tone made my skin prickle. "The Morales family?"

"They own this hospital." He glanced around the room, anywhere but at me. "Their daughter, Faye... she's been kind to me."

I studied him—the new clothes, the careful distance he maintained even while sitting next to me. "What's going on, Sebastian?"

He finally met my eyes, but his expression was unreadable. "Nothing. I just... I need to focus on getting better."

My fingers traced the bandages covering my wounds. Something had changed—something fundamental that I couldn't yet name.

"And then we can go home?" I asked quietly. "Together?"

He looked away again, and my heart sank as I watched him pull his hand from mine.