Days blur into weeks.
Between back-to-back classes, office hours, and endless checklists, Leila forgets what rest feels like. Her phone buzzes with reminders she snoozes, meals become optional, and sleep turns into a luxury she can't afford.
But her first solo project—hers—is worth it.
A small-scale sustainability initiative for Sinclair's outreach division. A junior-level pitch, yes, but one that she pours her heart into. Charts. Surveys. Stakeholder interviews. Timeline simulations. She runs herself into the ground making sure every piece is stitched together perfectly.
She barely remembers the last time she sat down for lunch.
Even Sofia starts to worry. "Leila, you're fading," she says one night, watching her collapse into bed with her laptop still open.
"I'm fine," Leila whispers without looking up. "Just one more presentation rehearsal."
A few days later
The conference room is packed.
Elias stands at the back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He doesn't miss a meeting when his department heads present—especially not this one.
Kai notices it first. The way Leila holds the podium with white knuckles. How her voice, though steady, lacks its usual rhythm.
But her slides are immaculate. She walks them through impact analysis, budget forecasting, and community response models.
"…and that brings us to the final phase of—"
Her voice wavers.
A hush ripples through the room.
She blinks. Once. Twice. Her hand briefly reaches for the edge of the podium—and misses.
Then her body gives in.
Panic breaks the silence as Leila crumples to the ground, papers scattering like leaves.
"Leila!" Kai is on his feet.
But Elias gets there first.
He's already moving before she hits the floor.
"Call the driver. Tell them to get the car," he snaps to Kai, then kneels beside her. "Leila," he says her name softly, fingers brushing the hair from her pale face. "Hey. Hey, stay with me."
Her eyes flutter open for a second, unfocused.
"Hospital. Now."
Elias scoops her up effortlessly, ignoring the stunned silence of the room.
No one stops him.
He's not just the CEO right now.
He's something else entirely.
The car ride to the hospital is a blur of red lights and clenched jaws.
Leila's head rests against his shoulder, her body far too light in his arms. Every bump on the road feels like a sin. Her skin is cold, clammy. Her breath shallow.
Kai glances back from the passenger seat. "I've already called ahead. The private wing is being prepped."
Elias nods, but he doesn't speak.
There's a strange ringing in his ears. Not panic. Not yet. But something else—something that gnaws.
He watches her face.
Even unconscious, she's composed.
But not peaceful.
Sinclair Private Wing – 23 minutes later
Doctors surround her. IVs. Machines. Vitals being called out like warnings in a foreign tongue.
"She's severely dehydrated," one nurse mutters. "Blood sugar's dangerously low. Has she been skipping meals?"
"She barely eats. Works non-stop," Kai answers for him.
Elias stays silent. Still.
It's not guilt exactly, but it lingers in the air like smoke.
He should've seen it. He did see it. The dark circles, the staggered steps, the way her eyes dimmed a little more each day.
And yet he let her carry it.
Because she never once asked for help.
Because she made it look like she could bear it all.
Later – Hospital Room
Leila lies still beneath soft white sheets.
Her lashes rest like crescent shadows against her cheeks, her lips parted in shallow sleep. A light beeping monitors her heartbeat. Too slow for comfort. Too fragile for someone who carries herself like stone.
Elias stands at the window, back to her. Arms folded, spine tense.
"She worked herself to the edge," he murmurs.
Kai, leaning against the doorframe, doesn't disagree. "She didn't even tell Sofia. That girl's stubborn."
Elias exhales sharply. "She doesn't complain."
"She doesn't ask," Kai corrects.
Silence swells between them.
Then Elias finally turns.
His eyes linger on her—not like a man watching a subordinate, but like someone trying to read a language he's never learned. Her silence, her reserve, the quiet light she carries—it disarms him.
"She's not like anyone I've ever met," he says quietly.
Kai arches a brow. "You say that like it's a problem."
Elias doesn't answer.
But the truth thrums under his skin:
She is.
Because for the first time in a long while, Elias feels the storm inside him falter—not from fear, or guilt, but from the weight of someone else's fragility.
And the way it makes him want to protect something he doesn't understand.