Nicholas didn’t ask what was wrong. Not when I staggered against the wall. Not when my knees gave out beneath me. Not even when I collapsed against his chest, my whole body trembling like it had finally given up pretending to be strong.

He just caught me.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t curse, didn’t demand answers I didn’t have words for. He simply moved the way you move when you’re saving something precious and fragile.

The world tilted sideways, the colors blurring together, but his arms stayed steady. I remember the sound of his voice, low and raw, muttering something against my hair — maybe my name, maybe just no, no, no — as he picked me up like I weighed nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he would do it a hundred times more if I let him.

The office around us faded to a hush. Silent coworkers froze at their desks, eyes wide, hands half-raised to mouths, watching without daring to intervene. I could feel the sting of their stares, the heat of whispered questions blooming in my wake.

I buried my face against Nicholas’s shoulder, not because I needed comfort, though maybe I did, but because I couldn’t stand the thought of them seeing me like this.

He didn’t slow down.

The car ride was deadly quiet. I pressed myself into the passenger seat, trying to fold into the smallest version of myself possible. My hands trembled so badly I had to sit on them, pressing my knuckles into my thighs to keep from showing it.

Nicholas drove like a man with a mission, knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw locked tight.

After a few minutes, he risked a glance sideways. “You’re pale,” he said, voice clipped but vibrating with something he didn’t name. “You were about to pass out.”

I forced a breath out, trying to sound steadier than I was. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t even blink. “You’re not fine. And I’m not letting you pretend you are.”

“I just need a second,” I muttered, swallowing hard against the nausea still clawing up my throat. “It’s nothing.”

At that, he turned the wheel harder than necessary, the car jolting slightly as we switched lanes. “You almost hit the ground, Elena. That’s not ‘nothing.’ I’m taking you to the hospital. End of discussion.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument.

“I didn’t ask you to—” I started, the words sharp with old pride, old wounds.

“No,” he cut me off, voice even harder now. “You didn’t. That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

I sagged against the window, too tired to argue, too battered to pretend I didn’t want someone to fight for me for once.

The hospital’s ER was a blur of sterile light and slow-moving nurses. Nicholas parked in the first available spot and all but carried me through the sliding glass doors. I tried to protest, weakly, but he ignored it, his hand firm at my back, his presence a wall against the cold judgment of strangers.

At the front desk, he took over before I could even speak.

“Her name’s Elena Vargas,” he said crisply, handing over my ID. “Date of birth: April second, nineteen ninety-one. Insurance card’s in her wallet. She’s been lightheaded, nauseous, nearly fainted at work.”

His voice was steady, commanding, even as my own voice wavered when I tried to murmur, “I’m fine, really—”

He ignored me.

The nurse nodded briskly and waved us toward a set of double doors, but before I could move, another nurse called my name.

I stood, legs wobbling. So did Nicholas.

“I’ll wait with you,” he said, already stepping forward like it was inevitable.

I lifted a hand, stopping him.

“Please,” I said, sharper than I intended. Then softer, “Please… let me do this alone.”

His jaw tightened. I could see the war inside him the need to follow, to fight, to refuse but after a long beat, he nodded once, slow and reluctant.

“I’ll be here,” he said quietly.

I nodded, throat thick, and forced myself toward the nurse.

I didn’t dare look back until I passed through the double doors.
And even then, even when I turned my head for just a second, I caught the last thing I needed to see.

Nicholas Wolfe, seated in a stiff waiting room chair, elbows braced on his knees, watching the entrance like he could will me back whole if he just stared hard enough.

And for the first time, in the middle of the spinning panic and the fear gnawing at my chest, I believed something impossible.

If he could fix this for me, he would.

Without hesitation.
Without conditions.
Without needing to be asked.