The phone call had ended fifteen minutes ago. The sound fades into the thick, heavy silence of the room. The clock beside the bed ticks faintly. The air feels frozen, heavy with the scent of medicine and the faint whisper of rain brushing against the window. He doesn't move for a while, the phone still in his hand, the world outside dissolving into the hush of night.
His gaze drifts to her, Alina. Four days. Ninety-six hours. Five thousand seven hundred and sixty minutes. He's been here all through them, watching her chest rise and fall, the fragile rhythm that has become his anchor. He doesn't even remember what sleep feels like anymore. He only remembers her every faint twitch of her fingers, every weak breath, every sigh that sounds like the ghost of a prayer.
He sits beside her now. Slowly. Quietly. As though any sound might shatter her.
He takes her hand, small, cold, trembling with faint life, and holds it between his palms. His fingers press gently around hers, warming them, tracing the stillness that scares him more than anything in the world.
He always imagined what it might feel like to be close to her, to see her up close, to speak, to listen, to laugh maybe. He used to think of it on sleepless nights, wondering what her eyes looked like when she was lost in thought. And now, God has given him that chance, a cruel, twisted mercy. She's right here. So close that he can see the faint blue veins under her skin, the stray strands of hair stuck to her cheek. But she's quiet.
He stares at her for so long that his own reflection disappears from the glass of the window. The world beyond doesn't exist only for her, this room, this night. The rain outside is gentle, like a lullaby too soft for a wound this deep.
He's supposed to leave. He knows it. It's urgently important. But his heart refuses. It stays right here, wrapped around her hand.
He exhaled, his breath shaky. "I'll be back," he whispered, though she couldn't hear him.
He said it anyway. Because some part of him needed her to.
Every minute he sits there, the room grows smaller. Time doesn't move forward anymore; it only circles back, repeating the same ache. He watches her face, memorizing the faint curve of her lips, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the soft rise of her chest. He memorizes everything as if he's afraid it might all disappear when he turns away.
He stood still for a moment, eyes tracing her sleeping form one last time before turning away. His chest felt heavy, as if every breath weighed more than the last. For almost thirty minutes, he had sat there, her hand enclosed between both of his, as if by holding it, he could keep time from moving. The warmth of her skin against his palm, the softness of her pulse beneath his thumb, it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
His thumb grazes her knuckles, tracing invisible lines. Her skin is fragile under his touch, warm from the effort of holding on. His throat tightens. Something inside him feels like it's cracking quietly, a soundless break that nobody else could hear.
He leans closer, close enough to feel the whisper of her breath against his wrist. His head drops slightly, eyes half-closed. He just breathes, slowly, unevenly, as if breathing for her too.
Hours blur like that. Each second hurts a little differently. He knows he has to go. He can't delay it anymore. But his fingers refuse to let go. He tightens his grip, as if his touch could promise her safety, as if by holding her, he could anchor her here with him.
When he finally moves, it's slow, painfully slow. He stands, but his eyes never leave her. His hand lingers, still holding hers until the very last second.
He whispers her name in his mind, not out loud, not daring to disturb her silence, just in his thoughts, like a secret vow.
He walked towards the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. The man who looked back from the mirror was not the same one who had spent nights beside her bed, praying silently for her recovery.
Kai Arden, the man the world feared and admired in equal measure, was back. His movements grew precise, deliberate. He buttoned his shirt slowly, his fingers steady, his mind sharp. The crisp black shirt fit perfectly against his frame, the dark fabric absorbing every ounce of light, every trace of softness. He fastened his watch, straightened his collar, and slipped on his coat with the quiet grace of someone born to command.
For a second, he paused in front of the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, cold, powerful, unreadable. The world saw strength. But behind those steel eyes lay a storm of emotions: fear, pain, love. He blinked once, slowly, as though grounding himself. He looked every bit the man the world bowed before. But only he knew the ache buried beneath the surface.
He turned, letting his gaze travel back to Alina. She lay peacefully, her hair spread like a dark halo across the pillow. For a moment, his breath caught.
Even after four days, countless minutes, endless hours of watching her breathe, he still couldn't get enough of her face. Every heartbeat whispered that this might be the last time he'd see her before leaving.
His hand clenched at his side. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to look away. He didn't even want to blink, afraid he might miss a second of her presence. But he had no choice.
He exhaled deeply, stepped out of the room, and walked down. The faint morning light touched the corners of the house, painting everything in a quiet golden hue. Downstairs, the faint smell of tea lingered.
He found Granny in the kitchen, her small frame bent over the stove. She turned when she heard his footsteps.
"You're going somewhere?" she asked gently, reading the answer in his silence.
He nodded once, and in that single gesture, the weight of his world seemed to fall on him. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened. The man who could silence a room with one look now stood before her with quiet desperation in his eyes.
"Granny…" his voice dropped, almost breaking. He stepped closer. "I need to go. It's important… really important. But..."
He hesitated; the words caught in his throat. "Please… stay with her. Don't leave her alone, not even for a moment." The tone of his voice wasn't a request from a powerful man. It was a plea from someone terrified of losing what mattered most.
Granny doesn't need to know how urgent his work is because she knows that this man standing in front of her is not going to leave Alina's sight until and unless there is something urgent.
Granny smiled softly. "Of course, child. You don't even have to ask."
But he still stood there, unable to move. His eyes looked almost boyish, uncertain. Then, lowering his head slightly, he murmured, "Promise me… you'll be there. She shouldn't wake up and find herself alone."
Granny's heart melted at the sight. The great Kai Arden, who faced empires and enemies without blinking, was now pleading like a little kid afraid of the dark.
She reached out, patted his cheek affectionately. "You just come back soon."
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. And without looking back, he left from there. Outside, his car waited. Ryan sat inside, engine running. The crisp morning air hit Kai's face as he walked out, his coat swaying behind him with that same commanding grace.
But before opening the car door, he turned his head one last time. His eyes found the balcony above. He could almost feel her presence, even though she was asleep. The faintest ache pulled at his chest.
He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave her. But he had made sure of one thing: she would never be alone. As long as he was alive, she would always have someone by her side. He stepped into the car, the door closing softly behind him.
Ryan glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Ready, sir?"
Kai didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the house through the window, eyes fixed as if trying to memorize every detail.
Then, quietly, he said, "Drive."
This wasn't the same Kai who'd been locked inside the house for days. This was the man who commanded rooms, who turned boardrooms into battlefields, the man people feared and followed.
The car pulled away from the house, rolling down the long driveway. The city slowly faded into the distance, replaced by the open roads leading toward the countryside, the place where his next battle waited. As the landscape blurred past, Kai leaned back, eyes half-closed. Every sound of the engine, every passing mile, only deepened the ache in his chest.
It was the same old road, the one lined with memories of Alina's laughter and pain. Kai's thoughts drifted, the rhythm of the car merging with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He couldn't stop seeing her. Her frail hands. Her pale lips. Her stillness. And beneath all that, the reason he was driving there was because of the house.
Her mother's house. The place that held everything she had left of her family, her memories, happiness, sadness, warmth, her world. That house was Alina's. And someone was trying to take it away.