The person who turned me into a mute was now sitting in a rehabilitation center, pretending to have aphasia. Alexander handed me a tablet. On the screen was our shared case file. He said, “She’ll pay for everything she did to you. Every last bit of it.” I believed him. Until the middle of the night, when the steady beeping of the monitors woke me up. His side of the room was empty. The tablet was still on the bedside table. On the screen was Allison’s latest medical report. Alexander Sterling has arrived at the rehabilitation center and is reviewing Allison Brooks’ speech and language assessment. Below it was an automatically transcribed voice recording. Her voice came in broken fragments, trembling with grievance. “I… I can’t… speak…” “They’re… making me apologize…” “Only… Alexander… is patient enough… to wait… while I try…” I turned off the screen. During the day, I couldn’t speak either. I needed someone willing to wait for me, too. But in my hospital room, there was no one left except me.
Evelyn’s POV Six months after the heavy stage lighting crashed onto my head, my biggest fear wasn’t the chronic migraines. It was the fact that although I recognized every single word in the dictionary, I could no longer string them into a complete sentence. And the irony? The very person who did this to me was currently pretending to have the exact same trauma at the rehab center. Alexander had promised me. He held my hand and swore that Allison would pay for what she did. He said he would make her give everything back. When I first woke up from the coma, Alexander was sitting right by my bedside. His eyes were bloodshot. The moment he saw me open my eyes, he slammed his hand onto the call button to summon the doctors. Then, he leaned over, his breath warm against my cheek. “Evelyn, can you see me? Can you hear me?” I wanted to scream his name. Alexander. But my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cement. The first syllable managed to escape, but it sounded cracked, broken. The remaining letters caught at the back of my tongue. No matter how hard I pushed, they wouldn’t come out. Alexander’s expression immediately darkened. The medical team rushed in, crowding around the bed. A specialist handed me a tablet with a simple question written on it. I stared at the words. What is your name? I knew the answer. I knew every single letter. But when I opened my mouth, the sounds came out scrambled, chopped into pieces. The more I forced it, the more my voice failed me. In the end, I was just gasping for air. No words. Just empty, pathetic puffs of wind. Alexander squeezed my hand. His palm was ice cold. “Run the scans again,” he ordered the doctors, his voice dangerously low. “Do every single test. From scratch.” The report was on his desk by evening. The impact had damaged the language center of my brain. The recovery timeline was unpredictable. In the short term, I couldn’t handle complex communication. More importantly, I was in no condition to deliver a public speech. When I read the words public speech, my heart stopped. My fingers clawed into the bedsheets. The Legacy Foundation Board Meeting was in exactly one month. It was my late mother’s seat on the board. I had spent half a year preparing for this presentation. I was supposed to stand before the trustees and reclaim my family’s legacy. But now, I couldn’t even say Alexander’s name. Alexander slammed the medical report onto the table. “Keep treating her,” he barked. “Don’t you dare write her off yet.” The doctor hesitated before speaking up. “Mr. Sterling, the Board cannot postpone the confirmation hearing any longer. If Miss Carter cannot speak, her uncle will claim the seat by default.” The hospital room fell dead silent. I stared at Alexander’s tense back. My throat burned as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. Six months ago, the day before the dress rehearsal, Allison had texted me to meet her backstage. She said she had some urgent budget sheets to show me. But the moment the staff stepped out, Allison unlatched the heavy background metal frame. The heavy steel structure crashed directly onto my head. I woke up in the ICU, covered in blood, with a fractured skull and a broken voice. Allison had only gotten a tiny scratch on her arm. Yet, she immediately claimed she had a concussion. She claimed she had post-traumatic aphasia. She even lied, saying she was only trying to warn me about the loose equipment. Alexander didn’t believe her back then. He personally initiated the legal investigation, the settlement negotiations, and demanded a public apology draft from her legal team. Every single therapy session she attended, every dollar she paid in compensation, and every draft of her apology had to be logged in a shared file. Alexander tapped the tablet screen and placed it in front of me. It was our shared Snapchat and iCloud folder. Her therapy updates, payment receipts, and the apology drafts were updated in real-time. “She will pay back every single thing she owes you, Evelyn.” Alexander sat on the edge of my bed, kissing my knuckles. “The Board meeting will not be canceled. I will help you practice. I’ll stand right beside you when you deliver that speech.” I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say okay. But all that came out of my mouth was a faint, pathetic squeak. Alexander pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair. “Shh. Don’t rush,” he murmured. “Take your time.” When I closed my eyes that night, I genuinely believed he would stay by my side forever. But at 3:00 AM, I woke up. The seat beside me was empty. I reached for the tablet on the nightstand. The screen was still open on the shared iCloud file. Allison’s rehab log had just been updated ten minutes ago. The nurse’s note read: Alexander Sterling has arrived at Pinecrest Rehab. He is currently reviewing Allison Brooks’s vocal test results. Beneath that, there was an audio transcript of Allison’s voice. “I… I can’t say it… Everyone is forcing me to apologize… Only Alexander… is patient enough to listen to me…” I stared at the glowing screen. I couldn’t talk today either. I also needed someone to be patient with me. But my hospital room was empty, save for the rhythmic, lonely beeping of the heart monitor. Alexander never came back that night. I flipped the tablet face down, my fingers pressing so hard against the screen that my knuckles turned white.
Evelyn’s POV The next morning, Alexander returned. He was carrying a box of speech therapy flashcards. The nurse mentioned I had woken up several times during the night and barely slept. Alexander walked over, felt my forehead for a fever, and then spread the cards on the overbed table. “I got you a new set of training cards. Let’s try these today.” I stared at the colorful flashcards. My stomach twisted. In Allison’s rehab log last night, the exact same brand of flashcards had appeared. According to the log, Alexander had personally asked the therapist to bring them, and he had spent half an hour practicing with Allison. Now, he was offering me the leftovers of his patience. I looked up at Alexander, wanting to ask if he had brought these from Allison’s room. But before the first syllable could form, my throat locked up. Alexander seemed to read my mind. “I only went to the rehab center last night to force her to sign the apology agreement,” he said, pulling out a card. “I wasn’t there to comfort her, Evelyn.” I slowly nodded. Nodding was so much easier than speaking now. Alexander held up a card and guided me through the short sentence, word by word. I focused on the line. On the first try, my mind jumbled the third word. On the second try, I managed the beginning, but the last two words blurred together, turning into a slurred mess. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Alexander slowed down his voice. “It’s okay. Let’s do it again.” I followed his lead, my fingers trembling with frustration. Before Alexander could say anything else, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen but didn’t pick up. But I caught the preview of the Snapchat notification. Pinecrest Rehab: Allison Brooks is requesting a co-signature on her daily speech evaluation log. The atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Alexander turned his phone face down on the nightstand. “Let’s focus on your cards first.” But the preliminary board review was scheduled for this afternoon. This was my first time leaving the hospital wing. A nurse pushed my wheelchair into the executive conference room. Alexander was supposed to accompany me. He even had his coat on. But the moment the elevator doors opened, his phone rang. It was Pinecrest Rehab again. The therapist on the line said Allison was having a “panic-induced vocal block” and was refusing to sign the final apology draft. If she didn’t sign it today, the legal acknowledgment would be delayed. Which meant my board confirmation would be postponed too. Alexander held his phone, his brows furrowed in a deep, tense line. I sat in my wheelchair, clutching the printed speech draft he had edited for me. He leaned down, his eyes filled with apology. “Go up first, Evelyn. I’ll handle this and come right back.” The elevator doors slowly slid shut. I watched his face get sliced in half by the metal doors, until only his promise lingered in the empty air. “I’ll be right back.” Inside the conference room, three board trustees were waiting. My draft lay on the mahogany table. The leather chair next to me was empty. That was where Alexander was supposed to sit. The lead trustee flipped through my file and looked up. “Miss Carter, we may begin.” I pressed my fingertips against the paper. The first sentence was slow, but I got through it. By the second sentence, my grammar scrambled. By the third, I was just repeating the same syllable over and over, trapped in a loop of my own broken voice. The secretary stopped typing. The trustees exchanged low, worried glances. I gripped the paper, my knuckles white, and tried one more time. Still, nothing but broken sounds. The lead trustee closed his folder with a heavy sigh. “Let’s call it a day, Evelyn. Once your speech therapy stabilizes, we will schedule another review.” I sat there, a high-pitched ringing echoing in my ears. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the empty chair beside me. Alexander never showed up. By the time the nurse wheeled me back to my room, the sun had already set. The room was pitch black. No one was there. I opened the shared iCloud folder. Allison’s profile had just uploaded a new update. The note read: Alexander Sterling has revised Allison Brooks’s recovery plan. The therapist is instructed not to put too much pressure on her. Focus on basic emotional stability first. The words felt like a slap in the face. When Allison couldn’t speak today, Alexander made the entire medical team wait for her. When I couldn’t speak today, Alexander was nowhere to be found. I took a screenshot of the update, saved it to my private vault, and cleared the notification. Late at night, Alexander finally returned. He was holding the signed apology document from Allison. Seeing that I was still awake, he immediately rushed to my side. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to miss it. Her legal team was threatening to block the whole process. I had to resolve it personally.” I shook my head, trying to say it’s fine. The word it’s died in my throat. Alexander mistook my silence for heartbreak. He reached out to pull me into his arms. “We can reschedule the preliminary review,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of it.” My gaze fell on the document in his hand. The cover page had Allison Brooks printed in bold letters. Following my gaze, Alexander quickly flipped the document face down on the table. “It’s just paperwork, Evelyn.” I nodded slowly. Then, I closed my eyes and turned away from him. That night, I didn’t touch the speech draft again.
Evelyn’s POV The next day, Alexander rescheduled my speech training. He cleared out the small meeting room next to my ward, leaving only the head trustee and my speech therapist. The draft sat on the desk, alongside a version Alexander had marked with red ink to show me where to pause and breathe. When I sat down, the first thing I did was look at his phone. He got the hint. He turned it face down on the desk. “I’m not taking any calls today,” he promised. “I’m staying right here with you.” The way he said it made it sound like he was doing me a massive favor. I remained silent. I looked down at the paper. On the first run, I choked halfway through. My tongue felt heavy, completely disconnected from my brain. I knew the next word was legacy, but my lips refused to form the ‘L’ sound. Alexander didn’t rush me. He just sat there, waiting quietly. On the second run, I managed to get through most of it. The therapist nodded encouragingly. “If we keep this level of stability, the Board confirmation is still highly possible.” Possible. That word gave me a tiny spark of hope. My tense shoulders relaxed slightly. Once the training ended, the therapist and the trustee left the room. Alexander stayed behind, sliding his chair closer to mine. I pointed to the sentence where I always got stuck, signaling him to help me practice it again. Alexander leaned in, breaking the sentence down into single words, teaching me the pronunciation as if I were a child. I repeated after him. The first time, the sound broke. The second time, it was jumbled. But on the third try, I got it out. A complete, perfectly clear sentence. My eyes welled with tears. My fingers pressed into the paper so hard they left indents. Alexander whispered, “You’re going to take your mother’s seat, Evelyn. No one can steal it from you.” I opened my mouth, wanting to repeat those words. But before I could speak, a frantic knocking disrupted us. Alexander’s assistant pushed the door open, his face pale. “Mr. Sterling, there’s an emergency at Pinecrest. It’s Allison.” My hand was still resting on the page I had just mastered. The assistant explained that Allison was supposed to record her video apology today. But she had a breakdown during the recording, knocked over a heavy medicine cart, and injured her head again. The clinic was demanding Alexander’s presence immediately to sign a liability waiver. Otherwise, Allison’s family threatened to sue us for harassment and pressuring a brain-injured patient. Alexander’s face turned incredibly cold. “Call our lawyers.” But the assistant didn’t leave. He lowered his voice. “She keeps screaming your name, sir. She says you’re the only one who knows she isn’t faking it.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. Alexander looked back at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. I pushed the draft toward him. I can still practice. Please stay. But Alexander was already standing up, grabbing his coat. “I need to put out this fire, Evelyn. I’ll be back as fast as I can to finish practicing with you.” I wanted to tell him not to bother coming back. I wanted to tell him to stay. But both thoughts clashed in my throat, leaving only a broken, choked gasp. Alexander leaned down and gave me a quick, comforting hug. “Don’t worry. Your board confirmation will happen.” Then, he turned and walked out. Only after the door clicked shut did I notice his phone, which he had left face down on the table, was buzzing relentlessly. Missed call after missed call from Pinecrest Rehab. I was left alone in the cold meeting room. I picked up my draft. But when I tried to read the sentence I had just mastered, my voice cracked. The words were gone. I opened the shared iCloud folder. Allison’s profile had already updated with a new medical log. There was no mention of her knocking over a cart. It only said: Alexander Sterling is en route. Therapists and legal counsel are waiting at the entrance. Beneath that, there was a screenshot. It was the schedule for my Board confirmation meeting. Allison had typed in the notes: Evelyn’s confirmation can only go smoothly if Alexander settles my case first. I stared at the schedule, and slowly, I folded my speech draft into a small, tight square. Alexander didn’t return until past midnight. I was still awake, sitting in the dark with the folded paper on my lap. The moment he walked in, he started explaining. “Allison’s head injury caused a major legal dispute. If I hadn’t gone, all our previous progress on her lawsuit would have been thrown out.” I listened quietly, my hand resting on the folded draft. Very slowly, with immense effort, I asked, “Does… my… confirmation… have to… wait… for her… to finish?” I had to pause three times just to get those words out. Alexander fell silent for a long moment. “Legally, the two cases are linked,” he said softly. “But I will handle it, Evelyn. Trust me.” I nodded. Then I placed the folded paper into my bedside drawer. Alexander reached out to stop me, but the drawer was already shut.
Evelyn’s POV After Alexander left again, I stayed up until the early hours of the morning. I kept pulling the draft out of the drawer and shoving it back in. The edges of the paper were now frayed and wrinkled, mirroring my broken, useless voice. The shared iCloud log updated three times before dawn. Allison’s status changed from Refusing to cooperate to Requires 1-on-1 counseling, and finally to Completed preliminary vocal test, accompanied by Alexander Sterling. The final note read: Alexander Sterling suggested postponing the public video apology to ensure Allison Brooks is emotionally stable first. I stared at those words. He had waited for me like that once. But every time Allison had a crisis, he dropped everything to run to her. I shut down the tablet and pressed the call button for the nurse. The nurse rushed in, shocked to see me out of bed. “Miss Carter, you can’t leave the hospital. Not without Mr. Sterling’s permission.” I shook my head, my throat tight. I forced out two words: “Pinecrest… Rehab.” The nurse understood and immediately called Alexander’s assistant. When the assistant arrived, he looked incredibly stressed. “Miss Carter, Mr. Sterling explicitly said you must rest.” I simply handed him the tablet with Allison’s updated log. The assistant looked at the screen, fell silent, and finally sighed. He arranged a car to take me to Pinecrest. When the car pulled up to the back entrance of the rehab center, the sky was still a dark, dusty gray. Only a few windows in the building were lit. The assistant wheeled me down the quiet hallway, stopping right outside the evaluation room. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the crack, I heard the therapist’s voice. “Miss Brooks, please read the apology script from the screen.” Allison read a few words, then stopped, clutching her head as she sobbed. “I… I can’t… My head hurts…” Alexander stood beside her. His voice was cold at first. “Keep reading.” Allison looked up at him, tears streaming down her pale face. “Every time I open my mouth… I see her falling… covered in blood… I’m so scared, Alexander…” The therapist tried to prompt her again, but Alexander raised his hand. “Give us a moment. Everyone, out.” Soon, only Alexander and Allison were left in the room. Through the gap in the door, I saw Alexander pick up a printed document from the desk. My heart shattered. I recognized that paper. It was my marked-up speech draft. The one he had spent the afternoon editing for me. The one with all my personal breathing marks and highlighted sentences. Alexander pulled out a page and set it in front of Allison. “Follow this rhythm. Read it slowly.” My grip on the wheelchair handles tightened until my fingers went numb. That page contained the exact sentence I had finally managed to read fluently yesterday. Allison couldn’t do it. She suddenly grabbed Alexander’s sleeve, resting her forehead against his arm. Alexander didn’t pull away. He lowered his voice, his tone incredibly gentle. “Breathe. Just match the pauses.” Allison leaned into him, her shoulders shaking. Alexander held her, comforting her, without calling the doctors back in. I wanted to push the door open and scream. But my throat couldn’t produce a single sound. The assistant standing behind me saw the draft in Alexander’s hand too. His face went pale, and he looked away. Inside the room, Allison finally managed to read the sentence smoothly. Alexander handed her a glass of water. Allison looked up, her voice sweet and fragile. “If Evelyn finds out I used her speech script, she’s going to hate me even more.” Alexander was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Let’s just get through the apology process first.” He didn’t deny it. He didn’t tell her she shouldn’t have touched my script. He didn’t say a word about my feelings. I let go of the wheelchair handles and gestured to the assistant to wheel me away. Back in my hospital room, I dumped all the pages of my draft onto the bed. One page was missing. The page with the sentence I had finally mastered. I stacked the remaining pages, put them into a clean manila envelope, and sealed it. A new notification popped up on the tablet. Allison Brooks has passed the first stage of her vocal evaluation. Note: The patient was highly cooperative and emotionally stable during Alexander Sterling’s presence. It is recommended that Mr. Sterling remains present for future sessions. I swiped the notification away and shut down the screen. The room was dead silent. The sound of the manila envelope sliding into my bag was incredibly quiet, but to me, it sounded like a door slamming shut forever.
Evelyn’s POV The Board of Trustees moved up the emergency review meeting. This time, I didn’t need to deliver the whole speech. I just had to show up and answer a few direct questions from the committee. Alexander rushed back to my ward early in the morning, holding a fresh printout of the speech and a voice recorder. “I’m going to be with you the entire time today, Evelyn,” he promised. I noticed a faint smell of clinical disinfectant on his coat sleeve. I didn’t ask about Pinecrest. There was no point. As long as Allison kept playing the victim, Alexander would always find a logical, noble reason to run to her. The drive to the corporate headquarters was dead silent. Alexander kept glancing at me, but I kept my eyes on the window, clutching the voice recorder in my palm. As we walked down the hallway outside the boardroom, I heard some board members whispering. “She can’t even get a full sentence out. Why are we keeping her mother’s seat for her?” “Did you see the leaked rehab logs? Alexander is treating Allison like a fragile glass doll.” “He’s basically doing damage control for her. If Evelyn fails the presentation next month, the Sterling Group is going to look ridiculous.” I froze near the entrance. I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to tell them I was fine. But my voice caught on the very first sound. Seeing me, the whisperers immediately shut their mouths. That mocking silence hurt worse than their words. Alexander stepped up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder and glare sweeping over the executives. “Anyone who has an issue with Miss Carter’s status can submit their resignation today.” The executives’ faces turned pale. Before they could apologize, Alexander cut them off. “Did I stutter? Get out of my sight.” Once the meeting started, the head trustee flipped open my file. “Evelyn, your current medical status makes a live presentation highly risky. We suggest submitting a written report and letting a proxy read it for you.” Alexander immediately rejected the proposal. “Absolutely not.” The trustee frowned. “Alexander, if she has a vocal block during the live broadcast, the legacy seat will be suspended by the regulators.” “Then give her one last chance to prove herself,” Alexander said, his voice firm and unyielding. “Her mother built this foundation. No one is taking her seat before she gets to speak.” I sat beside him, my fingers squeezing the voice recorder. I wanted to say I can do this. But it felt like my throat was filled with dry sand. The boardroom was locked in a tense standoff. Eventually, the committee agreed to give me a final, one-month extension. After the meeting, Alexander wheeled me into the private lounge. For the first time, I turned on the voice recorder and slowly spoke a short sentence into it. It took every ounce of my energy, but I finished it. Seeing this, the tension in Alexander’s shoulders finally broke. At that exact moment, his assistant knocked and walked in, holding an urgent legal document from Pinecrest. “Mr. Sterling, Allison’s family is claiming that our aggressive legal pursuit caused her mental distress. They want you to sign a liability waiver now, or they will halt the public apology process.” Alexander grabbed the folder, his face turning incredibly dark. I looked up at him, still holding the voice recorder. Alexander put the file down on the table. “I’m not going today.” The assistant whispered, “Sir, if you don’t go, they will withdraw her apology draft. Without that, Evelyn’s board confirmation next month will lack the necessary legal clearing.” Alexander’s jaw clenched. I placed the voice recorder on the table and slowly pushed it toward him. I gestured for him to go. Alexander stared at me, his eyes filled with pain. “I’ll be back as soon as I sign it.” I didn’t nod, and I didn’t shake my head. I just put the recorder back into my bag. After Alexander left, I sat alone in the quiet lounge. The executives he had kicked out earlier were still lingering in the hallway. Soon, rumors about how Alexander was “covering up my incompetence” began to spread on the company’s internal Snapchat channels. Someone posted a screenshot: She can’t even speak, but she’s still holding onto the legacy seat. Alexander is doing all the heavy lifting behind the scenes. I stared at the screen, then turned my phone face down. The shared iCloud log updated again. Allison’s nurse had typed: Alexander came back to protect Evelyn’s board seat. He really has no choice but to handle my issues. I stared at the text. For the first time, I didn’t take a screenshot. I simply turned off my phone. I waited in that room until the sky turned black. Alexander never came back.
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