Hospital Room – After the Attack
With the arrival of the cops, Alie made no attempt to flee. He stood there, still as stone, as the officers moved in, cuffing him with practiced efficiency. He didn't resist, didn't flinch—his course was done. There was nothing left for him to lose.
As they dragged him toward the squad car, his voice cut through the night, raw with anger.
"She's the reason my life fell apart!" he bellowed, eyes locked on June's unconscious body being loaded into an ambulance. "She coached my girlfriend to leave me for some rich bastard! Everything I had, everything I loved—gone, because of her!"
His fists clenched in his cuffs, his breathing ragged. His voice dropped lower, more venomous.
"She made me lose my woman. So, I took her breath in return."
Hospital – The Aftermath
A steady beep echoed in the white-walled room, a metronome of life as June stirred awake. Her eyelids fluttered, a sharp pain lancing through her side as she shifted. Blurry figures hovered around her bed, voices blending into muffled echoes.
"June?" Samantha's anxious voice broke through the haze.
She blinked, eyes adjusting to the sterile brightness of the hospital room. The scent of antiseptic filled her nose, and she groaned.
"Am I dead?" she croaked.
Dora, adjusting the pillows behind her, chuckled. "Oh, you wish. It's just a minor wound, and you fainted like you were on your deathbed."
A giggle followed, and June turned her head to see May smirking at her.
"So… I'm not dead," June murmured, glancing down at her side. A bandage covered the wound, but to her relief, only a few neat stitches marked the attack.
"You scared the hell out of us," Samantha admitted, her hands still gripping June's, as if afraid she'd disappear.
June looked at her sister—really looked. There was something different in Samantha's expression, something raw and unguarded. For a moment, the weight of their complicated relationship lifted, leaving behind nothing but a simple, undeniable truth: they cared about each other.
"What about him?" June asked, voice hoarse.
Samantha hesitated, then answered, "The police took care of him. Let's just say he won't be in any position to frame me now."
June exhaled, sinking deeper into the pillows. Relief warred with exhaustion, but before she could close her eyes, May leaned forward.
"June," she said softly, her usual snark absent. "Thank you—for believing in me. For getting me my job back."
June arched a brow. "This isn't some favor. I just don't want a boring work environment. I need a rival to compete with."
May laughed, shaking her head. "It's on," she said, standing to leave.
As she exited, James—the ever-serious doctor—entered, his presence stiff and professional… until he spotted Jane.
His demeanor shifted instantly. Clearing his throat, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, flashing what he clearly thought was a charming smile.
"Hi, beautiful."
Jane groaned. "Great."
June smirked. "There goes my doctor."
"And here comes another," Dora quipped, yanking a reluctant Samantha toward the door.
"Hey, what if she needs our help?" Samantha protested.
Dora shot her a knowing look. "Trust me, she won't. All she needs is him. Now stop being a third-wheel bug and let them have some privacy."
She grabbed Samantha's ear and dragged her out, ignoring her complaints.
A Moment of Silence
With everyone gone, the room fell into a peaceful stillness—until a shadow moved beside June's bed.
Dave.
He sat down, silent for a moment, watching her with an unreadable expression. When he'd heard about the attack, something in him had cracked. He didn't want to admit how much he cared, but seeing her in that hospital bed, pale and vulnerable, left no room for denial.
"You really are something, aren't you?" he muttered.
June smirked. "Are you here to laugh at me or offer your sympathy?"
"You don't look like the type who needs sympathy. Or do you?"
"Be my fake boyfriend."
The words slipped out so fast, Dave blinked.
"What?"
June adjusted herself, wincing slightly. "You heard me. Be my fake boyfriend."
He studied her, adjusting his glasses. "You just survived an attack, and that's the first thing you say?"
June reached for a water bottle on the table, only to wince as pain shot through her side.
"The wound might be small, but it still hurts. Just stay put," Dave muttered, handing her the bottle instead.
She smiled as she took it, and something in his chest tightened.
"Please," she said, lowering her voice. "I'm desperate. Just say yes."
Dave stared at her. He should say no. He should get up and leave. But her fingers curled around his, warm and delicate, and suddenly, every ounce of logic vanished.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay?"
She searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but he merely nodded.
"Really?"
Dave sighed. "Yes, really."
June grinned, victorious.
"So… what's next?"
….
After the hospital ordeal, June wasted no time. She needed to control the narrative. Her near-death experience had put her back in the spotlight, but sympathy only lasted so long. If she wanted to keep her career moving, she needed something big—something that would make the media obsessed with her again.
A new relationship.
A romance with a man like Dave—handsome, successful, and well-respected—would silence the critics and put her name in every headline. It was risky, but calculated. And after a tense negotiation (and a little blackmail on her part), Dave had agreed to play along.
Now, here they were, sitting on a sleek, high-end studio set, bright lights blinding, cameras rolling, and an audience watching their every move.
June's heart pounded—not from nerves, but from irritation. The interviewer was none other than Julia Rivers, the same woman who had torn her apart a week ago during a scandalous exposé on her past relationships. June hadn't forgotten.
Neither had Julia.
"So, Mr. Deen," Julia began smoothly, her red lips curving into a knowing smirk. "I presume you're a doctor?"
June's jaw tightened. Presume? Was she testing them already?
"He's a professional doctor and psychiatrist," she cut in before Dave could speak, flashing a sharp smile. "So there's no need for presumptions."
Julia chuckled, amused by her hostility. "Of course."
The tension in the room thickened as they moved on to the main topic, their "relationship."
"So, how long have you two been dating again?" Julia asked, pen poised to note any inconsistencies.
"Six months," Dave said confidently.
"One year," June responded at the same time.
Silence.
They turned to each other, eyes locking in mutual disbelief. What the hell?
June had insisted on saying a year, claiming six months was too short to be convincing. But Dave thought a year was too much of a stretch, opting for the safer number. Their two-minute argument before the interview had clearly led to this disaster.
Julia's brows lifted, suspicion flashing across her face. "Six months? A year? Which one is it?"
June let out a nervous laugh, shifting in her seat. "What he meant was, we've known each other for a year, but we started dating six months ago." She smiled sweetly. "Right, babe?"
Dave sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah. That's what I meant."
Julia didn't look entirely convinced, but she moved on.
"Alright. Mr. Deen, according to your girlfriend's reputation, she's wild and hot-tempered. Why choose to stay in a relationship with someone like her?"
Damn her.
June's stomach dropped. Of all the questions.
This was a trap. Julia wanted to see if Dave would flinch, if he would let something slip that proved their relationship was fake.
June glanced at him, subtly winking, a signal to dodge the question. He had nothing good to say about her temper, and if he repeated any of his usual insults, she'd be humiliated.
Dave exhaled slowly, then leaned forward.
"Because I love her."
June's breath hitched.
The words came out so smoothly, so naturally, that for a moment, she almost believed them.
"True, she's hot-tempered and tough," Dave continued, "but those are the qualities that make her special. She doesn't hide who she is. She's open and honest, and that's what I love about her."
Honest? June blinked. Sure, she was blunt and straightforward, but honest? She lied for a living. Half of her career was built on half-truths and curated drama.
"I love her just the way she is," Dave added, his voice steady, his eyes locked onto hers.
The way he said it, with such quiet certainty, sent a strange warmth through her chest.
For the first time in years, her heart didn't resist the idea of a man beside her. It didn't shrink in distrust or race in panic. It just… settled.
A ridiculous feeling, considering it was all fake.
She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away as Julia studied them with narrowed eyes.
"How romantic," the woman mused, clearly still searching for cracks.
June forced herself to smile, gripping Dave's hand and squeezing it for effect.
"He's the best," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Dave barely reacted, only glancing at her with mild amusement.
The interview continued, but June barely heard the rest.
Because for the first time, she was afraid.
Not of Julia.
Not of the cameras.
But of the possibility that Dave's words had somehow, unintentionally, managed to reach a part of her she thought was long dead.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Three grueling hours later, after countless photo shoots and script readings, Dave was exhausted.
As soon as they stepped out of the studio, he ripped off his mic and exhaled heavily.
"Never again," he muttered.
June, still lost in thought, barely responded.
Dave narrowed his eyes. "Hey."
She snapped out of it. "What?"
"You've been weirdly quiet since the interview."
She forced a smirk. "Just enjoying the fact that you finally admitted I'm amazing."
Dave scoffed. "I said you were honest, not amazing."
"Same thing."
"Not even close."
They reached his car, and just as he was about to open the door, she stopped him.
"Hey, Dave."
He turned, arching a brow. "What?"
She hesitated, then sighed. "Thanks. For today."
His expression softened for a fraction of a second before he smirked. "Don't get used to it."
June rolled her eyes, but as she watched him drive away, she couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.
And for once, she wasn't sure if she was ready for it.
….
The day had darken it color, Beth have been discharged from the hospital and was taken home.
The living room was filled with the soft hum of the television, but the real show was unfolding between the four people seated within its walls. The air held a subtle tension, unspoken yet undeniable, stretching between the past and the present like an invisible thread.
"Which channel should I turn it to?" Thomas asked, holding the remote.
"165," Linda responded without hesitation. "It's her favorite."
A flicker of surprise crossed their daughter's face. Beth had never expected her mother to know something as simple as her favorite TV channel. She had spent years thinking Linda was too busy, too caught up in her world of boardrooms and business meetings, to notice the little things.
But ever since the attack, ever since her mother had come rushing to her bedside with genuine fear in her eyes, Beth had started seeing her differently.
Seeing a mother she had thought never existed.
And the truth was, she liked it.
"How long are you staying?" Lizzy's voice cut through the moment.
The question was casual on the surface, but the undercurrent of unease was hard to miss. All eyes turned to her, sensing the weight behind the words.
Lizzy felt their gazes, but she didn't back down.
She wasn't blind.
She had seen it—felt it—the way Thomas looked at Linda. The way he softened around her, the way his attention naturally gravitated toward her. She didn't want to admit it, but the three of them looked like a perfect picture, father, mother, daughter.
A picture she wasn't a part of.
"What I meant is, you're a busy woman," Lizzy continued smoothly, covering her insecurity with a polite smile. "You must have meetings or documents to sign, so I thought you would want to be there instead of here."
Linda met her gaze with quiet understanding.
Lizzy could pretend all she wanted, but Linda knew what this was.
Possession.
Lizzy was marking her territory.
And the worst part? Linda saw herself in her. Years ago, when she had still been in love with Thomas, she had done the same, fought to keep what she thought was hers.
The difference was, she had lost that battle.
Now, Lizzy was fighting a war that Linda wasn't even participating in.
"You don't have to worry about my work," Linda said finally, shifting her attention back to her daughter. "Right now, my daughter comes first."
As if to prove her point, she reached out, brushing Beth's cheek with the softest touch. A mother's touch.
Beth smiled, leaning into her hand.
Thomas watched them with something raw in his eyes, something unspoken. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Beth's chocolate-brown hair.
"Happy?" he asked softly.
Lizzy's hands curled into fists on her lap.
The nerves of them.
Showing affection, right in front of her, as if she wasn't even there.
She didn't react, didn't let her face betray the sting in her heart, but she felt it. Deeply.
She had been patient.
She had been understanding.
But now, her patience was thinning.
Lizzy had spent months building a life with Thomas, working to make their relationship solid. She had done everything, supported him, loved him, been there for him.
But no matter what she did, she would never be the mother of his child.
And that, no matter how much he denied it, gave Linda something over her that Lizzy would never have.
She didn't care much, or at least, she told herself she didn't, but insecurity had a way of creeping in. She had fought so hard to create a family with Thomas, and yet here she was, watching him slip back into one he had already built with someone else.
Beth's voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Lizzy, I hope you don't mind Mom staying the night here?"
The question was innocent enough, but Lizzy felt trapped under the weight of three expectant stares.
Linda didn't look at her.
Thomas didn't defend her.
They were waiting for her response, but she knew, deep down, she knew, that there was only one answer that wouldn't make her look like the jealous girlfriend.
Lizzy swallowed her pride.
"Honey, you know I don't mind," she said sweetly, forcing her lips into a cherry-red smile. "So long as it makes you happy."
She took the moment to her advantage, stepping forward between Linda and Thomas, slipping her hand through his arm.
If she was going to lose, she would at least put up a fight.
"Your father and I love you so much," Lizzy said, her voice smooth as silk. "And we'll do anything to keep that smile on your face."
Her words were meant for Beth, but her gaze locked onto Linda.
A challenge.
Linda didn't respond, didn't even blink.
Her focus remained solely on her daughter.
That hurt.
Lizzy felt something dark coil in her chest, but she kept her composure, holding her ground.
She had been on the sidelines long enough.
If Linda thought she was going to walk back into Thomas's life so easily, she was mistaken.
Because Lizzy wasn't going anywhere.
And this fight was just getting started.
….
June sighed as she stepped out of the building, the cool night air brushing against her skin. It had been a long day—one she was eager to put behind her. The interview had drained her, and the underlying tension at home had left her feeling emotionally exhausted. All she wanted now was to sink into the comfort of her car, drive home, and lose herself in something mindless.
But just as she reached the parking lot, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"June."
The tone was firm yet hesitant, carrying something that made her pause before turning around.
Samantha.
She was standing a few steps away, her expression unreadable, though her eyes carried a weight that sent a flicker of unease through June.
June exhaled sharply, already bracing herself. "What now?"
Samantha hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "We need to talk. It's about Dad."
And just like that, whatever peace June had managed to salvage from her chaotic day shattered into pieces.
Her jaw clenched.
"Seriously?" June scoffed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "You're bringing him up now? My day was just starting to go smoothly, and you just had to show up with this?"
She didn't mean to snap, but her father was the last person she wanted to discuss.
Samantha's gaze remained steady. She wasn't backing down.
"I get it," Samantha said softly. "You don't like talking about him. But I'm being compelled here, June. You need to know this."
June folded her arms across her chest, her patience thinning. "Know what?"
A beat of silence stretched between them before Samantha finally spoke.
"Dad has cancer."
The words came like a slap to the face.
June froze.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart stumbled, then picked up a strange rhythm, one she wasn't prepared for.
For a moment, she wasn't sure she had heard her correctly.
"What?" she whispered.
Samantha's eyes softened, her voice quieter this time.
"He has cancer, June. And it's serious."
The world around her seemed to blur, her ears ringing as if she had been thrown into a vacuum.
Cancer.
Her father—cancer.
It didn't make sense.
Her father wasn't the kind of man who got sick. He was strong, stubborn, almost invincible in her mind. No matter how strained their relationship had been, she had never pictured him as someone who could be… dying.
June forced out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "I—No. No, I don't believe that. He's fine. He's always fine."
"He's not fine, June." Samantha's voice was firm, but there was a sadness in it. "I wouldn't be telling you this if it weren't true."
June took a shaky step back, her body tense as if she was preparing to run.
"And what do you expect me to do with this information?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "Drop everything and go running back to him? Act like he hasn't spent years treating me like an afterthought?"
Samantha inhaled deeply, as if she had expected this reaction. "I know you're angry at him. I get it. But this isn't about the past anymore. It's about the time he has left—and whether you want to spend it hating him or… at least trying to be there."
June's chest tightened.
This was exactly why she had kept her distance.
She had spent too many years hoping for a version of her father who cared, who prioritized her, who saw her as more than just a reminder of his past mistakes. But he had never been that man. And now—now she was supposed to care because he was sick?
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair.
"I can't do this," June muttered, turning away, gripping her car keys like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
Samantha took a step closer. "June—"
"I can't!" June snapped, spinning around, her eyes burning. "I've spent my entire life trying to be okay with how little I mattered to him! And now—now I'm just supposed to show up at his bedside like some loving daughter? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?"
Samantha's shoulders slumped, sadness etching across her face. "I'm not asking you to forget everything. I'm not even asking you to forgive him." She swallowed. "I'm just asking you to see him. Because whether you like it or not, he's still your father. And he doesn't have much time left."
Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating.
June felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into something she wasn't ready to face.
She didn't want to face it.
But the words had already latched onto her, and no matter how much she wanted to push them away, she couldn't unhear them.
Her father was dying.
And whether she wanted to admit it or not… that changed everything.