The next morning, Elara told herself it had been nothing—stress, exhaustion, her imagination. But when she arrived at the hospital for her next shift, whispers filled the halls.
"He's here," one nurse murmured.
"Lucian D'Amaris," another said breathlessly. "The billionaire. He's donating a new wing."
Elara froze. The name twisted through her like ice.
She followed the whispers to the main lobby, where reporters clustered and administrators beamed. And there he was—the man from last night. No shadow this time. No mystery. Just a commanding presence in a tailored suit, every inch the wealthy savior they all praised.
But Elara knew better.
As if sensing her, Lucian's head turned. His eyes locked onto hers with unnerving precision, and for a moment, the crowd, the cameras, the noise—everything vanished. It was only him and her.
"Elara." He spoke her name like he had always known it, his lips curving in the faintest smile.
She stumbled back, breath caught in her throat.
He shouldn't know her name.
Yet somehow, he did.
And as Lucian started walking through the crowd toward her, Elara realized one terrifying truth—he wasn't done with her.