The Firefighter Returns as a Quintillionaire King

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Three days crawled by in that sterile hospital room. 

Three days of staring at white walls, of nurses checking vitals with practiced efficiency, of Captain Morrison visiting once to tell him to take all the time he needed.

 Three days without a single word from Lisa.

Not a call. Not a text. Nothing.

On the morning of the fourth day, the doctor cleared Alex for discharge. 

His leg was healing well enough to walk with crutches, and his lungs had recovered from the smoke inhalation. Physically, he was mending. Emotionally, he felt like a hollowed-out shell.

The taxi ride home was quiet. Alex watched the familiar streets blur past, each block bringing him closer to the apartment he'd shared with Lisa for three years. 

Part of him hoped she'd be there, that somehow the past few days had been a nightmare he'd wake up from.

But deep down, he knew better.

The elevator ride to the eighth floor felt like ascending to his own execution. Alex fumbled with his keys at the door, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and pushed the door open.

The first thing he noticed was the smell—coffee brewing, bacon frying. Someone was cooking breakfast. Lisa never cooked breakfast.

Alex stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He heard voices from the kitchen, laughter. 

Lisa's laugh, light and genuine in a way he hadn't heard in months.

Then he saw him.

Ben walked out of the kitchen carrying a mug of coffee, wearing nothing but a pair of expensive-looking pajama pants. 

His torso was bare, showing off a lean, toned physique. A small bandage covered the cut on his arm—the injury that had apparently been severe enough to warrant an entire hospital floor.

Ben stopped when he saw Alex, and a slow, smug smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," Ben said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "If it isn't the hero firefighter. Back from the hospital already? That was quick."

Alex's hands tightened on his crutches. He said nothing, his jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"Lisa's been such an angel, taking care of me," Ben continued, sipping his coffee casually. "I don't know what I would've done without her these past few days. She's been by my side constantly, making sure I have everything I need. She's really quite... devoted."

The way he said "devoted" made Alex's stomach turn.

"Of course, I told her she should probably check on you," Ben went on, his smile widening. "But she said you were a tough guy, a professional. You could handle yourself. And she was right, wasn't she? Here you are, all in one piece."

"Get out," Alex said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Ben's eyebrows rose in mock surprise.

"I said get out of my house."

Ben laughed, a condescending sound that grated on Alex's nerves. "Your house? That's funny. Lisa assured me I could stay as long as I needed. Something about me requiring a safe, comfortable environment to recover from my trauma. You understand, don't you? The fire was so terrifying."

Alex took a step forward, dropping one of his crutches. Pain shot through his injured leg, but he ignored it. 

Before Ben could react, Alex's fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying crack.

Ben stumbled backward, coffee splashing everywhere. He caught himself against the wall, his hand flying to his face.

"What the hell!" Ben shouted. "You psycho!"

"Alex!" Lisa's voice rang out sharply.

She emerged from the bedroom, tying a silk robe around herself. Her hair was slightly mussed, her face flushed. She looked between Alex and Ben, her eyes blazing with fury.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, rushing to Ben's side. "Are you insane?"

"Me?" Alex laughed bitterly. "I'm insane? I come home to find another man half-naked in my apartment, drinking coffee in my kitchen, and I'm the one who's insane?"

"Ben is staying here because he needs care!" Lisa shot back, her voice sharp as broken glass. "He's been through a traumatic experience!"

"Right. Traumatic." Alex's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "A minor cut and some smoke inhalation. So traumatic that he needs to move into my home and parade around shirtless."

"Don't minimize his suffering!" Lisa snapped, her hand gently touching Ben's jaw where a red mark was already forming. "The fire left him with severe psychological trauma. He can't sleep alone. He has panic attacks. He needs support."

"Support." Alex stared at his wife, this woman he barely recognized. "And what about my psychological trauma, Lisa? What about the fact that I nearly died in that fire? That my own wife abandoned me? Does that count for anything?"

Lisa's expression didn't soften. If anything, it grew colder. "Psychological trauma? You?" She let out a derisive laugh. "Please. Someone as shameless as you couldn't possibly have psychological trauma. You're just being dramatic as usual."

The words hit Alex like physical blows. 

He'd known their marriage was broken, but hearing her speak to him with such open contempt, such complete lack of empathy—it was almost too much to bear.

"Lisa..." Ben's voice was weak, theatrical. He touched her arm gently. "Please, don't fight because of me. I can't stand the thought of ruining your marriage." He looked at Alex with perfectly crafted puppy-dog eyes. "I'll go back to the hospital. I don't want to cause any more trouble."