In The Hospital
ARIANA'S POV
Beeping.
A slow, rhythmic beeping.
That was the first thing I noticed—before the ache, before the light, before I remembered the way the world had shattered around me.
My eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, fighting against the sterile brightness above me. The ceiling was white. Too white. The kind of white that didn’t belong in homes or offices or anywhere normal.
Hospital.
Panic fluttered weakly in my chest, not yet strong enough to take hold. My eyes rolled sideways, taking in a curtain, a stand with a bag of clear liquid, a heart monitor. Machines blinked with quiet precision.
I tried to move, but my limbs felt like waterlogged sandbags. My throat was thick, dry, coated with the taste of metal.
Then, nothing.
Darkness tugged me back under before I could grasp a single thought.
*****
Beep.
The sound came again, softer now, like a whisper through a dream.
I opened my eyes for real this time, and they stayed open.
The room was dim, a muted afternoon light seeping through the slats of the blinds. My head still hurt, but the fog was thinner now, my thoughts just barely starting to stack in order.
Car. The road. The crash.
Everything came flooding back in jagged flashes.
I tried to sit up, but the pain in my neck and shoulder pinned me like a paperweight. A groan escaped my throat.
“Hey—easy. Don’t rush it.”
A voice. Familiar.
I turned my head slightly, expecting a nurse.
But instead, sitting in the visitor’s chair beside me, one leg crossed over the other, arms resting casually on the edge of the bed, was someone I hadn’t seen in years.
“Matthew?” I whispered.
He smiled—calm, composed, almost smug. His face hadn’t changed much, except he had a light stubble now, and his hair was longer, messier. Handsome, in the way that men on magazine covers were. Effortless.
“In the flesh,” he said, holding up a cup of water with a straw. “You scared the hell out of me.”
I blinked at him, disoriented. “What... What are you doing here?”
He held the straw to my lips. “First, drink. Then I’ll talk.”
I hesitated, then took a slow sip. The water slid down my throat like salvation.
Once I’d had enough, he set the cup down on the tray and leaned back.
“I was driving down the highway,” he said, voice casual like we were catching up at brunch. “Heading back to my apartment from a food tour event. Saw flashing lights, a bunch of people crowding the road. I got out of the car, walked up to see what happened... and there you were.”
He tilted his head. “Crushed front end. Airbag deployed. You unconscious, blood on your lip. It was... not something I expected.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You brought me here?”
“Of course I did. What was I gonna do, let a stranger help you?”
I sank deeper into the pillow, my fingers curling around the sheets. “I... I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re okay.” His voice softened. “Say you’re not dying.”
“I’m not dying,” I murmured. “I think.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “The doctors said it’s a mild concussion. A few bruised ribs. Some whiplash. Nothing permanent. You were lucky.”
“Lucky,” I echoed. “Right.”
If luck had anything to do with my life lately, it was the kind that came with claws.
I looked at him again. Really looked.
Matthew Black.
The boy from high school. We’d been close once. Flirty. Maybe more, if time and life hadn’t pulled us in opposite directions.
I hadn’t seen or heard from him in years.
And now here he was.
Like fate had hand-delivered him into the wreckage of my morning.
“You look... different,” I said carefully.
“Do I?” He grinned. “In a good way, I hope.”
“You look like a man now. Less like a boy with a big dream.”
He laughed at that, a rich sound that momentarily cut through the strangeness in the room.
“I’ve seen a bit of the world since college,” he said. “Been traveling. Cooking in kitchens on every continent. Fell in love with spices in Morocco, nearly got married in Japan—long story. Anyway, I’m home now. Sort of.”
“Home?” I echoed.
“Well... not sure this place feels like home anymore,” he said, eyes flicking to the window. “But I’m around. For now.”
I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I’ve been busy with work. Company’s taken over most of my life.”
“I heard. Ariana Miller—the Ice Queen of Luxury,” he said with a teasing wink. “That’s what one of the bloggers called you.”
My lips twitched. “They would.”
“I think it suits you,” he added. “In a good way.”
Something about the way he looked at me made my skin prickle. Not in a dangerous way. But not entirely comforting either.
I reached for the water again, needing something to do with my hands. “Does my family know?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t call anyone. Figured I’d wait till you were awake.”
Relief and guilt warred in my chest. “Thanks. They’d have panicked. My mother... she worries. My grandfather, too.”
“You want me to call them now?”
I shook my head. “No. Not yet. Just... give me a little more time before they come rushing in.”
He nodded, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s been a long time, huh?”
I looked at him, unsure how to answer.
“Years,” I said finally.
He smiled. “You’re still beautiful.”
I gave him a tight smile in return and looked away, unsure how to respond. Compliments from ghosts always came laced with thorns.
“So,” I said, changing the subject. “You’re a world-famous chef now?”
He gave me a mock bow. “Michelin-starred and everything.”
“I’m impressed.”
“You should be.”
I let out a small laugh, then winced at the ache in my ribs. “Ow.”
“Careful.” He straightened. “Don’t laugh too much.”
“Trust me, I don’t plan on it.”
A brief silence stretched between us.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, quieter now. “When I saw you in that car... it rattled me.”
I looked at him again, this time with a sliver of suspicion.
“Why were you even on that road?” I asked.
He blinked. “I told you. Heading back to my place.”
“That road’s far from downtown. It’s not exactly the scenic route.”
He hesitated for a split second—just enough for me to notice.
Then he smiled, easy and smooth. “I like to take the long way sometimes. Helps me think.”
I nodded slowly, but my gut twisted.
Something didn’t feel right.
Too convenient. Too polished.
I glanced at his hand resting near mine on the bed.
He reached for me, fingers brushing lightly over my knuckles.
I pulled away.
His smile faltered, just for a second. Then he leaned back, folding his arms like it didn’t matter.
But it did.
To me.
Something about this didn’t feel accidental.
Maybe it was the timing. Or the way his eyes watched me a second too long. Or maybe I was just paranoid—spooked by shadows that didn’t exist.
Still...
“Thank you,” I said finally, voice measured. “For being there. For bringing me here.”
He nodded. “Anytime.”
“But I’m okay now. You don’t have to stay.”
His brow lifted. “You want me to go?”
I hesitated. “No. I just... I need to think.”
He studied me for a moment, then stood, smoothing down the front of his jacket. “Alright. I’ll go grab coffee. You should rest.”
I nodded.
He turned, walked to the door, paused.
“Don’t disappear again, Riana” he said without looking back.
Then he left.
I stared at the closed door for a long time.
Matthew Black.
A ghost from the past.
Or a warning?
I didn’t know. But something deep in my gut twisted.