Too Late CEO: The Runaway Wife Returns

Damon pushed the heavy metal door open. The sharp click of his leather dress shoes hitting the sterile tile floor echoed in the windowless room. On the hospital bed, Corrie flinched. Her body shrank back against the thin mattress, an involuntary reaction to the sound of his approach. She tried to sit up, desperate to explain. The thick leather restraints secured to the metal bedrails jerked her wrists back. The rough material bit into her pale skin, leaving angry red marks. Damon walked straight to the side of the bed. He didn't look at her face. Instead, he raised his hand and threw a piece of fabric directly at her. The ruined evening gown landed on her face, blocking her vision. The heavy, metallic smell of fresh blood instantly filled Corrie's nose. Her stomach cramped violently. She shook her head side to side, fighting to get the fabric off her face. "I didn't push her," Corrie gasped, her voice raw. "Damon, I swear I didn't push Kara." Damon ripped the bloody dress away. His large hand clamped around her jaw. His fingers pressed hard into her bones, forcing her to look up at him. His blue eyes were entirely black with disgust. "You stole her life," Damon said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You stole her identity as my savior, and now you tried to kill her. You are a liar, Corrie." Corrie's eyes burned red. Tears pooled, blurring his harsh features. She stared right back into his eyes. "Why?" she choked out, her throat tight. "Why would you rather believe a stranger over your own wife?" Damon let out a cold, sharp laugh. He released her jaw, wiping his hand on his slacks as if touching her made him dirty. He turned his back to her and looked at the man standing quietly in the corner of the room. "Draw one thousand milliliters of her Rh-null blood," Damon ordered Head Nurse Evans. Head Nurse Evans shifted his weight, his face pale. "Mr. Holloway, that volume exceeds the safe limit. Taking that much blood at once will induce hypovolemic shock. She could go into cardiac arrest." Damon didn't even blink. His jaw clenched tight. "As long as she doesn't die, keep drawing. Kara needs that blood. Kara's life is worth a hundred of hers." The words hit Corrie physically. It felt like a heavy stone dropping straight through her chest. The light completely died in her eyes. Her struggling stopped. Her body went as stiff and cold as a corpse. Head Nurse Evans swallowed hard. He picked up a thick, terrifyingly large needle from the metal tray. He walked over to the bed and wiped a cold alcohol pad over the crook of Corrie's pale arm. The needle pierced her vein. Corrie sucked in a sharp breath. The pain was a hot slice through her skin. She curled her fingers inward, her nails digging so deeply into her palms that the skin broke. Dark red blood rushed through the clear plastic tube, pooling into the empty bag. Damon stared at the blood bag. As the red liquid filled the plastic, the tight line of his jaw finally relaxed. Minutes dragged on. Corrie's chest began to heave. Her breathing turned short and shallow. The heart monitor beside the bed started to beep in a fast, frantic rhythm. Damon pulled his gaze away from the blood bag and looked at Corrie's face. Her lips were completely white. A flash of irritation flared in his chest. He hated seeing her look so weak. A wave of intense dizziness crashed over Corrie. The bright surgical lights above her spun. Damon's face blurred into a dark shadow. "I curse the day I married you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Damon's phone vibrated in his pocket, shattering the heavy silence. He pulled it out and answered. Kara's weak, crying voice drifted through the speaker. Damon's eyes instantly hardened again. "I'm coming," Damon said softly into the phone. "I have the blood. You're going to be fine." His gentle tone was a physical knife twisting in Corrie's heart. The blood bag was nearly full. The monitor let out a continuous, high-pitched warning. Corrie's blood pressure dropped past the critical line. Head Nurse Evans rushed forward, pulling the needle out of her arm and pressing a thick piece of gauze over the bleeding hole. Damon grabbed the temperature-controlled cooler containing her blood. He turned toward the door, his steps fast and urgent. He didn't look back. Corrie used the very last ounce of energy in her body. "Divorce," she whispered to his retreating back. Damon's footsteps stopped. He didn't turn around. "You don't have the right to make demands," he said coldly. He walked out and slammed the heavy metal door behind him. The room fell dead silent. Head Nurse Evans quickly injected a bag of saline into Corrie's IV line. His pager beeped urgently. He looked at Corrie with pity, then hastily tossed his clipboard onto the rolling metal cart near the foot of her bed to free his hands. The sudden movement dislodged a pair of stainless steel medical scissors clipped to the board, leaving them resting dangerously close to the edge. He gathered the rest of his tools and rushed out of the room to answer the emergency call. The heavy lock on the outside of the door clicked into place. Corrie lay alone in the dim room. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a cold path down her temple. The despair slowly drained away, leaving behind a freezing, hard determination. She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto the pair of stainless steel medical scissors that had fallen from the nurse's clipboard, now resting precariously on the rolling metal cart near the foot of her bed. She fought through the crushing dizziness. She stretched her right leg out, pointing her toes. Her muscles screamed in protest. She hooked her bare toes around the metal edge of the cart. She pulled. The wheels let out a soft squeak against the tile. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She pulled again. The cart rolled closer to her hand. Her numb fingers reached out. The tips of her fingers brushed the freezing metal of the scissors. She grabbed them, holding them tight in her fist. Corrie brought the scissors to her right wrist. She began to saw at the thick leather restraint. Sweat poured down her forehead, stinging her eyes. Her breathing was ragged. With a loud snap, the leather broke. Just as her right hand came free, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. They were coming straight toward her door. Corrie's heart exploded in her chest. She twisted her body, her freed right hand gripping the scissors and sawing frantically at the leather binding her left wrist. The thick restraint resisted, the blades slipping against the tough material. Sweat and tears blurred her vision. The footsteps stopped right outside the door. A key scraped against the lock. Snap. The second restraint broke. The doorknob turned.