Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 274 - Two Hundred And Seventy Four

The grand hallway of the Eric's residence was silent. Outside the closed doors of the master bedroom, Delia sat on the cold marble floor, her back pressed against the wall. She had been there for what felt like an eternity, her entire world narrowed to the single, unmoving slab of wall that separated her from her husband.

"Your Grace," the head maid, a kind, older woman named Hilda, pleaded softly. She had been trying for the last hour. "Please, let's go to your room and clean you up. You need to rest."

Delia didn't seem to hear her. Her eyes were fixed on the door, hollow and vacant. She was a statue carved from grief. Every so often, the door would crack open, and a junior maid would hurry out with a bowl of blood-red water and a stack of stained towels, rushing past Delia before another maid entered with a fresh bowl and clean linens. Each exchange was a fresh torment, a new, visible sign of the life-and-death struggle happening just a few feet away. But Delia just stared, her face lifeless, her spirit somewhere far away, locked in that room with Eric.

"Delia! Delia!"

A familiar voice, sharp with alarm, cut through the thick fog of Delia's despair. She turned her head slowly, her movements stiff. Lyra was running down the long hallway, her usual elegant composure gone, her face a mask of worry.

Delia quickly stood up from the floor, her body aching, her legs unsteady. "What happened?" Lyra asked, her breath coming in short gasps as she reached her. "Aiden sent a message… he said Eric was hurt…"

The dam of Delia's composure broke. The sight of Lyra's motherly, concerned face was too much to bear. "I'm sorry, Mother," she choked out, the word a sob. "Eric… he was trying to save me… and now he's fighting for his life." Her face crumpled, and tears she didn't know she had left began to fall. "It's all my fault. I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, my child," Lyra said, her own eyes filling with tears. She immediately pulled Delia into a firm, comforting hug, wrapping her arms around her shaking form. She gently rubbed Delia's back, trying to offer what little comfort she could.

"Mother, I'm sorry," Delia said again, her voice muffled as she sobbed into Lyra's shoulder, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline in a storm.

Just then, the bedroom door opened. The doctor, a grim-faced man with tired eyes, came out. Lyra and Delia broke their embrace, both turning to face him, their expressions a mixture of fear and desperate hope.

"How is my child?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling slightly.

The doctor looked from Lyra to Delia, his expression full of a heavy sympathy. "Your Grace," he began, his voice low and serious, "His Grace has entered a comatose state." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

The words hit Delia with the force of a physical blow. She swayed on her feet, and Lyra instinctively put a steadying arm around her.

"There is a lot of damage to his abdomen," the doctor continued, his tone professional and direct. "On top of that, his main wound was infected from the dirty ground, and there was a lot of bleeding before he was brought here. I have successfully removed the bullets. His shoulder will heal well, but the internal damage is severe. All we can do now is wait and pray his body is strong enough to fight." He gave a small, tired sigh. "I will keep coming every day to monitor him."

"Thank you, Doctor," Lyra and Delia replied in near-unison, their voices hollow.

The doctor bowed. "It's my pleasure, Your Grace. He needs complete rest. You can see him in the morning." He picked up his worn leather bag and left, his footsteps echoing down the now-silent hallway.

Delia cleaned the fresh tears from her face with the back of her hand as she sniffed, trying to pull herself together. "He will be fine," she whispered, the words a desperate prayer.

"He will be fine," Lyra repeated, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Lyra then took a moment to truly look at Delia, and her heart ached. The beautiful, vibrant woman who she had always known was gone, replaced by this broken creature. There was a smear of dried blood on her nose and cheek from Philip's slaps. Her hair, once perfectly styled, was a disheveled mess, tangled with dirt and leaves. Her expensive silk dress was ripped at the shoulder and stained with grime, dust, and dark, terrifying patches of her husband's blood. She was missing a glove, and both her gloved and ungloved hands were stained red. She looked like a survivor of a terrible war, a complete and utter mess.

Lyra saw Hilda, the head maid, still standing by, her face a picture of worry. Lyra gave the maid a firm, meaningful look. "Take care of her," she said, her voice quiet but full of command.

Hilda curtsied. "Yes, Your Grace."

Delia, however, protested, shaking her head. "But Mother, if I leave, who will stay with Eric?"

Lyra gently patted her hair. "Don't you worry about that. I am here. I will not leave his side," she promised. "And besides, the doctor said he needs complete rest, and that we should see him in the morning. He needs quiet." Lyra gently tilted Delia's chin up, forcing her to meet her eyes. Her voice was soft, her logic unassailable. "You would not want him waking up and seeing you like this, would you? It would only distress him more."

Delia thought of Eric, of his love for her, of his constant worry over her well-being. Lyra was right. He would be horrified to see her in this state. She slowly shook her head.

A small, sad smile touched Lyra's lips. "Good. Now go and clean up. Rest. You need your strength. For him."

Lyra signaled the head maid, who came forward and gently took Delia's arm. "This way, Your Grace."

As Hilda led the exhausted, heartbroken Duchess away, Delia kept looking back over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on the closed, silent door behind which the man she loved, the father of her unborn child, was fighting for his life.