The click of the door is soft as Elias steps back into the hospital room, a tray in his hand—tea, a few light things the nurse suggested. Morning light drapes across the floor like spilled gold.
Leila is awake. Barely. Propped halfway up by pillows, her hand rests near the IV drip. Her face still looks pale, but her eyes lift to him the moment he enters.
Their gazes lock.
She shifts subtly, just enough to sit a little straighter. Her scarf is tugged tighter around her neck. Her posture stiffens as if his presence sharpens every nerve.
"You're awake," Elias says quietly, setting the tray down on the side table. "Good."
He hesitates. Then moves forward—slowly, deliberately.
"You should try to sit up a little more. It'll help you breathe easier," he adds, his voice gentle, low.
She nods once, trying to adjust on her own. But the effort makes her wince. Instinctively, Elias reaches forward to steady her.
The moment his hand brushes her shoulder, she flinches. Not dramatically—but it's there. A subtle pull back. Her body recoils ever so slightly, as if on reflex.
His hand retreats immediately.
"I'm sorry," she says, eyes down, voice quiet. "It's just... I'm not used to..."
He nods once, processing her hesitation. She's not being rude — it's something else. A deeply ingrained boundary, stitched into her very being.
Elias steps back, letting space fill the room.
"It's alright," he says slowly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
She doesn't reply, but the tension in her shoulders softens at his tone.
For a moment, he watches her quietly.
Reserved. Wary. Always polite, always composed — but now, that barrier is more than personality. It's something deeper. Something taught, perhaps. Conditioned.
Then it clicks.
She's not just quiet by nature. She's careful because she's from another world entirely.
Elias turns toward his phone and dials. A few quiet words in Italian.
Moments later, an older woman enters—dressed simply, with kind eyes and a calm presence.
"This is Rosa," Elias tells Leila. "She's been with our family a long time. She'll help you while you're here. You can tell her if you need anything."
Leila's lips part, unsure.
"You don't need to worry," Elias adds, sensing her hesitation. "She understands how to care for someone with grace. And she'll never overstep."
Leila looks at the woman, then back at him. There's something like quiet relief in her eyes — but also something else. Something Elias can't quite name.
"Thank you," she murmurs, voice low. "That's very kind of you."
Elias only nods.
Then, as he walks toward the door, he pauses — fingers grazing the edge of his watch.
"You don't need to prove anything to anyone, Leila," he says softly. "Not at the cost of your health."
And before she can reply, he's gone.
The door clicks shut behind Elias, and silence settles into the corners of the room like a gentle fog.
Leila exhales slowly.
She hadn't meant to flinch—but her body acted on its own. Years of instinct, of boundaries drawn silently in her world, had surfaced like muscle memory. Men don't touch. Girls don't let them. Keep space, always keep space.
But he hadn't pressed.
Instead, he'd stepped back, respectful. Quiet. And kind in a way she hadn't expected.
Her fingers toy absently with the edge of the bedsheet, trying to smooth out creases that won't flatten. The weakness in her limbs hums like a quiet scolding. She hadn't even realized how far she'd pushed herself this time.
Stupid. You know better.
She sighs, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
"Signorina?"
The voice is soft, warm.
Leila opens her eyes and finds the woman Elias had introduced—Rosa—standing by with a folded blanket and a gentle smile.
"Would you like to freshen up a little? I can help you brush your hair, maybe change your pillow. The nurse says you can try a little tea now."
Leila nods, her throat tight. "That would be... lovely. Thank you."
Rosa moves with a quiet grace that reminds her of her own mother. Efficient, but never hurried. Comforting without being intrusive. She hums softly in Italian while adjusting the pillows, as if the melody might fill in what words leave unsaid.
As Rosa brushes her hair gently, Leila stares at the window—the pale morning light spilling across the tiled floor.
She should be embarrassed.
But all she feels is... stillness.
Maybe it's exhaustion. Or maybe it's something else. Something she hasn't let herself feel in a long time.
Safe.
Not completely. Not yet. But in this moment—in this room, with this quiet kindness surrounding her—something in her starts to breathe again.
Her fingers brush the edge of the blanket Elias left behind, folded neatly on the chair.
She remembers his voice:
"You don't need to prove anything to anyone, Leila. Not at the cost of your health."
And somehow, those words echo louder than all the noise in her mind.
The faint buzz of her phone pulls Leila from her thoughts. She glances over at the screen blinking on the nightstand.
Sofia Everly 💖 calling…
A tired smile forms on her lips as she slides to answer.
"Hi, sunshine," Leila says, her voice still soft and a little hoarse.
"Hi, walking disaster," Sofia fires back with zero delay. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What happened? Why didn't you tell me?"
Leila chuckles weakly. "I didn't exactly have the energy to send updates while fainting mid-presentation."
"You're impossible," Sofia huffs. "How many times have I told you to actually eat when you're stressed? You're not a hummingbird. You need food to function, not just ambition and herbal tea."
Leila leans back into the pillow, guilt brushing her chest. "I know. I just… didn't realize how much I was burning out until it hit me."
"Leila," Sofia's voice softens. "I'm not there right now and it's killing me. But you've got Kai and Elias around, right?"
Leila swallows. "They've been... kind. Elias had his maid stay with me. I think he figured out I'm not comfortable being looked after by—well. You know."
Sofia goes quiet for a beat, then teases, "Look at you, melting CEO hearts with modesty."
Leila groans. "Sofia."
"What? I'm just saying. If this were a movie, you'd already have a dramatic slow-motion scene with background violins and brooding glances."
"You're the drama," Leila murmurs, but she's smiling now, gaze drifting to the folded blanket on the chair again.
"I'll be back in two days," Sofia says. "Try not to faint again before then, okay?"
"No promises," Leila says softly, eyes closing. "But I'll try."
"I miss you, Leila."
"I miss you more."
They hang up, and the room returns to its gentle quiet.
But something lingers behind in Leila's chest now—an ache softened by warmth. For once, she doesn't try to push it away.