The Severance

Damian woke up in a private room at Lenox Hill Hospital.

The lights were white. Sterile. Safe.

Marcus Sterling was sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"You had a psychotic break," Marcus said. He didn't sound sympathetic; he sounded vindicated. "Security found you on the floor of your office, screaming about fire. There was no fire, Damian. Just a power outage."

Damian sat up. His head felt hollow, scraped clean. The memories from the night before felt like a fever dream. A hallucination induced by stress and the girl.

*The girl.*

Elara.

He remembered her holding him. He remembered the feeling of the fire. It was too much. It was insanity. He was the CEO of a billion-dollar company. He couldn't be a reincarnated jazz musician who burned to death. That was madness.

If he accepted the memory, he had to accept the grief. He had to accept that he had watched the love of his life die. The pain of that realization was waiting for him, a black ocean ready to drown him.

He chose the shore. He chose the lie.

"Where is she?" Damian asked, his voice cold.

"Miss Vance? She's in the waiting room. She’s been there all night."

"Get rid of her," Damian said. He stared at the white sheet covering his legs. "Fire her. Pay her out for the contract, double the fee, but get her out of the building. I don't want to see her again."

"Damian," Marcus paused. "She claims she helped you."

"She triggered a breakdown," Damian snapped. "She’s a distraction. A liability. I need to focus on the IPO. Cut her loose, Marcus."

Marcus nodded, pleased. "Consider it done."

Damian lay back against the pillow. He closed his eyes. The static returned, a low, familiar hum behind his temples. It hurt, but it was a pain he understood. It was better than the fire.

\---

Down in the waiting room, Marcus delivered the news.

Elara didn't argue. She didn't scream. She just looked at the check Marcus tried to hand her.

"I don't want the money," she said quietly.

"He doesn't want to see you," Marcus said. "He’s a very sick young man, Miss Vance. You’re making him worse with these... fantasies."

Elara looked at the elevator doors. She felt the severance in her soul, a physical tearing sensation. He had remembered, and he had chosen to forget. He had chosen fear.

"Tell him," Elara said, her voice shaking, "that the fire isn't real anymore. But the love was. He can hide in his tower, but he can't hide from himself."

She turned and walked out of the hospital, into the grey morning.

\---