Getting discharged felt less like leaving a hospital and more like escaping a siege.
Security had sealed off the service elevators. The nurse handed me a coat with the hospital logo turned inside out. A private car waited in the underground bay — tinted, unmarked — and the driver didn't speak a word the entire ride.
Kaelen was beside me the whole time, cap and mask on, silent, every muscle in his body coiled tight. His phone buzzed endlessly — reporters, executives, Vancourt's PR — all ignored. Outside, the city blurred by in streaks of rain and flashing cameras, the chaos held at bay by blacked-out glass and armed guards.
By the time we reached his penthouse, I understood what he meant when he said he'd make sure no one could get to me.
The lobby was cleared. Security stationed at every corner. Upstairs, the lights were low, the air filtered and quiet. Medical equipment hummed softly in the corner — monitors, oxygen backup, an emergency kit already prepped. It felt less like a home and more like a command center disguised in marble and glass.
Kaelen guided me inside gently, his hand steady on my back. "You're safe here," he said. His voice was low, firm, but there was something else beneath it — something that sounded almost like fear.
I turned to face him. "Safe," I repeated, the word tasting fragile on my tongue. My hand drifted to my abdomen again, unconsciously. "It's strange," I whispered. "Everything outside is falling apart… and yet, this — this little heartbeat inside me — feels like the only thing holding me together."
Kaelen's jaw tightened, eyes softening. "Then we'll protect it. Whatever it takes."
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just us — the dim light, the quiet thrum of the city below, his breath close enough to steady mine. His hand covered mine where it rested on my belly. "I didn't think I could feel afraid like this," he murmured. "Not for a deal, not for a company — but for you. For both of you."
I was about to answer — to tell him I felt the same — when the elevator chimed.
Charles.
He was out of the car before the doors fully opened, coat still on, face carved from thunder. "Elara Victoria Sterling," he said, striding straight toward me. "What the hell is this?"
"Dad—"
He turned his fury on Kaelen. "You bring my daughter here? To your place? After everything she's been through? Why isn't she in Sterling Mansion? At home where she belongs?"
Kaelen's tone stayed calm, almost too calm. "Because the press already staked out your residence. Half the board knows where you live. Here, she's secure."
"Secure?" Charles barked. "In your bachelor fortress?" He paused as he looked around and realised that I have been staying in the penthouse. I could see the flush getting more and more obvious on his face.
"These shoes, her laptop, her books," Charles' voice rose, each word a fresh blade. "She's been staying here, hasn't she? You—" he jabbed a finger at Kaelen, "you tricked her into moving here, didn't you? And you expect me to believe this is appropriate?"
"Appropriate doesn't matter right now," Kaelen said tightly. "Keeping her and the baby safe does."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.
"Daddy—stop." My voice came out shakier than I meant it to. I pushed myself up, ignoring the ache that flared through my abdomen. "Please. Don't do this here."
Charles turned toward me, breathing hard. "Elara, you don't understand what—"
"I do understand, daddy" I said, cutting him off before his voice could rise again. "You're angry. You have every right to be. But shouting isn't going to help. Not now. Not when things are this fragile."
He froze at that word — fragile — and I saw it hit him. The reminder. The doctor's warning. The baby.
His shoulders slumped, some of the fire draining out of him. "Elara…" His voice cracked faintly. "You think I'm angry at you? I'm terrified."
"I know." My throat tightened. "But I need you to stay calm. For me. Please."
Charles dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. "God help me," he muttered, sinking into the nearest chair. "You're just like your mother — stubborn to the bone."
I managed a faint smile. "It runs in the family."
Across from us, Kaelen hadn't moved. The tension still radiated from him, coiled and controlled, but his voice was softer now when he spoke. "Charles… I'd never do anything to hurt her. Or risk her."
Charles looked up at him, eyes still sharp but less venomous now. "Then prove it," he said quietly. "Because if you fail her, Kaelen, if you so much as make her shed her tear, oh so help me God—"
"Daddy," I said again, gently this time.
He stopped. Looked at me. And then let out a long, tired breath. "Fine."
The fight went out of the room like air from a wound.
For a moment, none of us said anything. The city hummed far below, rain streaking across the windows.
Charles finally leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm too old for this," he muttered. "One more argument like that and I'll be the one on a hospital bed."
That made me smile faintly — even Kaelen's lips twitched.
It wasn't peace, not yet. But it was enough to stop the bleeding.
Charles's sigh filled the room, heavy and weary. He sat down finally, rubbing a hand over his face as if the argument had taken years from him. "I can't do this tonight," he muttered. "I'm too old for shouting matches and half-truths."
Kaelen stayed silent, standing near the window, shoulders tense beneath his shirt. The city lights spilled across him — fractured golds and silvers glinting against exhaustion.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the ventilation. Then Kaelen said quietly, "Charles."
Charles glanced up, wary.
Kaelen took a slow breath. "I asked for your daughter's hand once before."
That drew Charles's attention fully — his hand stilled, eyes narrowing slightly.
Kaelen continued, steady, but not cold. "That time, I was asking because I wanted to propose to her. Because I loved her." He paused, voice tightening. "This time, I'm asking you again, face to face, man to man, for your blessing, because I love your daughter, and I want to marry her."
The air in the room changed — the words hung between them like something sacred and unbearable.
Charles's jaw shifted, a storm of emotions flickering behind his eyes. He said nothing for a long time. Then — quietly, bitterly — "You make it sound like a business proposal."
"It isn't," Kaelen said, his voice low but resolute. "It's a promise. One I intend to keep, with or without your blessing. But I'd rather have it."
That silenced even the clock ticking on the far wall.
I sat up, pulse racing, watching my father's expression harden, then crack just slightly at the edges. He looked at me — really looked — the pallor in my face, the way Kaelen's hand hovered near mine like instinct.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Do you love her enough to stay when it gets worse?"
Kaelen met his gaze. "Even if it costs my life."
Something in Charles's eyes broke then — not in defeat, but in reluctant recognition. He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible," he muttered. "Both of you."
Then, quieter: "If you're going to do this, do it right. No scandal. No headlines."
Kaelen nodded once. "You have my word."
I reached for my father's hand. His fingers trembled as they closed over mine. "I just want you to be happy," he whispered, eyes glistening with an emotion he wouldn't name. "Don't make me bury my child before I meet my grandchild."
It shattered something inside me.
The room felt heavier once my father stopped speaking. The silence that followed wasn't hostile anymore — just… tired. Worn thin from everything we'd already survived.
Charles finally stood, smoothing his shirt, the gesture more to steady himself than to fix wrinkles. "We'll discuss the formalities later," he said gruffly. "Right now, she needs rest."
He was halfway to the door when I spoke. "No celebration."
Both men turned.
I pushed myself up a little against the pillows. "I don't want a ceremony, not now. Not when people are still being pulled from the wreckage. The Island Residence site—" My throat tightened. "There are families mourning. Having a celebration right now would be... wrong."
Kaelen's gaze softened immediately, the edge in his posture easing. "Elara—"
"I mean it." My voice trembled, but I held his eyes. "We can sign the papers quietly. No flowers. No champagne. Just… something real. Between us."
He studied me for a long time — that deep, unreadable calm of his settling over the room like gravity. Then he nodded once. "Alright. Small," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "But still ours."
Charles exhaled, the faintest curve of a smile breaking through. "You really are my daughter."
Kaelen's hand brushed mine, the warmth of his skin grounding me in that fragile, fleeting peace.
Outside, the city lights pulsed — distant sirens, headlines, noise. But in that quiet moment, I felt something steady rise beneath the exhaustion: a new kind of strength.
The door had barely clicked shut behind my father when the air in the room changed.
It was quieter now — no more raised voices, no more negotiations, just the faint hum of the city seeping through the windows. I could still feel the echo of their argument in my bones, but Kaelen's presence pulled me back to stillness.
He was standing by the window, shoulders tense, eyes reflecting the city lights. For a long moment neither of us spoke. Then he turned, and the look in his eyes — tired, raw, utterly certain — stole the breath from my lungs.
I reached for him before I even thought about it. His hand met mine halfway, warm and trembling just slightly.
"Kaelen," I whispered, "I didn't want you two fighting."
His thumb brushed the back of my hand. "I know. But I'm done pretending I can be reasonable about you."
My pulse skipped. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is." He stepped closer until I could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Every time I almost lost you — in that boardroom, in that hospital — something inside me snapped. I don't want to wait anymore, Elara." His voice dropped, rough around the edges. "Not a week, not a month. Tomorrow. I want to marry you tomorrow."
My breath caught. The certainty in his tone left no room for argument, but no fear either — only something fierce and steady that made my chest ache.
I didn't answer with words. I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
It wasn't desperate this time — just slow, deep, grounding. His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer, careful and reverent, as though I might disappear if he held too tight.
When we finally broke apart, the world felt quieter.
"Tomorrow," I whispered against his lips.
He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. "Tomorrow."