Adela did not remember the drive back to the hospital.
She remembered leaving.
She remembered packing things with trembling hands—clothes, blankets, Maya's favorite snacks, anything that felt like comfort.
But the journey back?
Gone.
Erased by fear.
When she pushed open the door to the VVIP room, her breath caught in her throat.
Nothing had changed.
Maya was still there.
Still.
Unmoving.
Machines surrounded her like silent guardians—monitors blinking, wires tracing across her fragile body, the oxygen mask resting over her face as though it alone was keeping her tethered to this world.
Adela froze at the entrance.
For a second—
just one second—
she had hoped.
Hoped she would walk in and see Maya awake.
Confused, maybe.
Weak, definitely.
But awake.
Instead—
this.
Something inside her cracked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… quietly.
Deeply.
She walked forward slowly, her steps uneven, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes.
"Maya…"
Her voice was barely there.
She reached the bed and sank into the chair beside her, her hands trembling as they hovered over Maya's before finally closing around them.
Warm.
Still warm.
Thank God.
Adela exhaled shakily, tightening her grip just a little.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to anchor.
"You're here," she whispered. "You're still here."
As if saying it out loud would make it more real.
As if holding her hand would keep her from slipping away.
Her thumb brushed gently against Maya's skin, over and over again, a silent rhythm of reassurance.
"I'm here too," she added softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her head lowered slowly until it rested beside their joined hands, her body curling slightly toward the bed like she could shield Maya from everything that had already happened.
And there—
she stayed.
—
Across the room, separated by distance but not by emotion, Tatiana and Rege remained in the lounge area.
The food Adela had brought sat untouched on the table.
Perfectly arranged.
Completely ignored.
Neither of them had the appetite to even look at it.
The silence between them was heavy, but not empty.
It carried weight.
Fear.
Thoughts neither of them voiced.
The steady beeping of the monitor filled the room.
Soft.
Consistent.
But to Rege—
it sounded wrong.
Too loud.
Too present.
Each beep felt like a countdown.
A reminder.
A warning.
His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze fixed on the direction of the bed even though he couldn't fully see her from where he sat.
He forced himself to remain still.
Composed.
Because losing control—
was not an option.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when she was fighting for her life.
Time passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Until Tatiana finally spoke.
Her voice was calm.
Controlled.
As it always was.
"Are you interested in my daughter?"
The question landed quietly.
But it cut through everything.
Rege didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
Instinctively.
No thought.
No pause.
Just truth.
Tatiana turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on him, studying.
Measuring.
She nodded once.
Slow.
Accepting.
Then she spoke again.
"As you can see… my daughter isn't exactly a normal lady."
Her voice softened, just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
"So you should be prepared for anything that might come."
A warning.
A truth.
A test.
Rege inhaled slowly.
Then met her gaze fully.
"I am prepared."
His voice was steady.
Certain.
Unshaken.
"I've made up my mind."
A pause.
"It's her or no one."
Silence followed.
Tatiana said nothing.
Because there was nothing left to say.
She had heard everything she needed to hear.
And so—
they waited.
—
Hours passed.
Adela had not moved.
Not truly.
Her head still rested near Maya's hand, her grip never loosening, as if letting go would mean losing her.
At some point—
exhaustion claimed her.
Not gently.
Not peacefully.
She simply… gave in.
Her body unable to hold itself together any longer.
And she fell asleep there.
Still holding on.
As if even in sleep—
she refused to let go.
—
When she woke, it was disorienting.
For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.
Then—
she did.
Her head lifted quickly, her eyes snapping to Maya.
Still the same.
Still unconscious.
Still fighting.
Adela swallowed hard, her throat dry.
Tatiana approached her quietly.
"You need to eat," she said gently.
Adela shook her head immediately.
"I'm not hungry."
Tatiana's gaze softened, but her tone remained firm.
"Eat. For Maya."
The words settled.
Heavy.
Adela hesitated.
Then nodded slowly.
Because Maya would want that.
Because Maya would be angry if she didn't.
She stood up reluctantly, moving toward the table.
But as she reached for the food—
she paused.
Her eyes shifted.
To Tatiana.
To Rege.
Neither of them had touched anything.
Not a single bite.
Tatiana looked composed.
As always.
But there was a faint paleness to her face.
A subtle exhaustion in her posture.
Rege—
he looked worse.
Controlled.
Yes.
But barely.
His tension was visible now, his silence heavier, his restraint thinner.
Adela frowned slightly.
Then turned to them.
"You both need to eat."
Tatiana opened her mouth to refuse.
But Adela cut her off.
"Maya would want you to be strong," she said firmly. "She needs you to be strong."
Her gaze shifted to Rege.
"You too."
There was no room for argument in her voice.
Only truth.
Tatiana exhaled quietly.
Then nodded.
Rege didn't move.
Not when Tatiana spoke.
Not when Adela finally picked up the fork with trembling fingers.
Not even when the scent of food filled the room.
He stood exactly where he was—still, unmoving—his gaze fixed on Maya.
Not the door.
Not a distance away.
Her.
Right there on the bed, surrounded by machines that breathed and beat in place of her when her body faltered.
The VVIP suite was vast—designed for comfort, for privacy, for control.
A lounge area.
Wide couches.
Soft lighting.
Food arranged neatly on the table Adela had brought earlier.
Everything was there.
Everything that should have made this easier.
But none of it mattered.
Because all of it felt irrelevant in the presence of the one thing that wasn't right.
Maya.
Tatiana watched him for a moment before speaking again, her tone calm but firmer this time.
"You need to eat."
Rege didn't respond.
Didn't even look at her.
It was as if the words had not reached him at all.
His jaw tightened slightly.
His gaze flickered—just once—to the untouched food on the table.
Then back to Maya.
"No."
The word was quiet.
Flat.
Final.
Not defiant.
Not emotional.
Just… absolute.
Tatiana studied him.
Not surprised.
Not offended.
Just… understanding.
Because she had seen men like this before.
Men who did not bend.
Men who did not break outwardly.
Men who held everything in until it became something dangerous.
"You won't be of any use to her if you collapse," she said.
Still calm.
Still composed.
But there was weight behind her words.
Rege exhaled slowly.
Controlled.
Measured.
"I won't collapse."
And the way he said it—
It wasn't arrogance.
It wasn't denial.
It was certainty.
The kind that came from a man who had long ago decided that his body would follow his will, no matter the cost.
Tatiana held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then she nodded once.
Not agreeing.
But accepting.
Because forcing him—
Would do nothing.
They sat.
Quietly.
The food untouched for a moment.
Then—
Slowly—
They began to eat.
Not because they were hungry.
But because they had to be.
Because Maya would need them.
Strong.
Present.
Here.
Adela noticed it then.
The absence.
She looked up slightly.
At Rege.
Still standing.
Still watching.
Still… refusing.
"You should really—" she started gently.
"No."
Again.
Same tone.
Same finality.
Adela didn't push further.
Because she understood.
In her own way—
She was holding onto Maya just as tightly.
Just… differently.
Time passed.
Slowly.
The steady beeping of the machines filled the room, constant and unrelenting.
To Adela—
It was reassurance.
To Tatiana—
It was control.
To Rege—
It was a countdown.
Each sound sharp.
Precise.
Too loud.
Too present.
Like a reminder that everything was hanging by something fragile.
Something that could stop.
At any moment.
And that—
That thought sat in his mind like something ticking.
Dangerous.
Unacceptable.
So he stood.
Watched.
Waited.
And endured.
—
Night fell slowly.
The room dimmed.
The city lights beyond the windows flickered to life.
And exhaustion finally caught up with them all.
Tatiana and Adela settled onto the large couches, their bodies sinking into the softness as sleep took them, light and restless.
But it was still sleep.
Still something.
Rege did not join them.
He couldn't.
He remained where he was.
Then—
slowly—
he stood.
And walked to her.
He pulled the chair closer.
Sat.
And stayed.
His gaze never left her.
Not for a second.
Hours passed.
Unnoticed.
Uncounted.
His mind moved constantly.
Thoughts overlapping.
Colliding.
Her smile.
Her voice.
The way she had looked at him.
The way she had laughed.
And then—
the way she had looked.
Lifeless.
Fragile.
Gone.
His jaw tightened.
His hands clenched.
Then relaxed.
Over and over again.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes tracing every detail of her face.
As if memorizing her.
As if grounding himself in her presence.
As if refusing—
refusing—
to accept any outcome where she wasn't here.
"She's a fighter," he murmured quietly.
To himself.
To her.
"I know you are."
His voice was softer now.
Almost unrecognizable.
"You don't get to leave."
A pause.
"Not now."
Silence answered him.
Only the steady beep of the monitor.
—
At exactly 3 a.m., he moved.
Reached for his phone.
Dialed.
"James."
His voice was low.
Sharp.
Awake.
"Sir?"
"I want Dr. Jenkins here by morning."
There was a pause.
Then—
"Sir… Dr. Jenkins' schedule—"
"I don't care."
His tone cut through the line like a blade.
"I want him here."
No negotiation.
No compromise.
"Yes, Sir."
The call ended.
Rege placed the phone down slowly.
Then looked at Maya again.
And waited.
—
Morning came.
Cold.
Quiet.
Unforgiving.
Maya had not woken.
Not even slightly.
Tatiana and Adela stirred slowly, waking to the same reality they had fallen asleep to.
And Rege—
he was still there.
In the same position.
Unmoved.
Unchanged.
Watching.
Waiting.
—
After freshening up in the luxurious washroom, Tatiana stepped outside with Rege.
She studied him for a moment.
Then spoke.
"You should go home."
He didn't respond.
"You need to change," she added calmly. "Or send for your clothes."
A pause.
"You stink."
The bluntness might have offended anyone else.
But not him.
Not now.
For a moment, his gaze turned cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
Tatiana held it.
Unshaken.
Then—
he exhaled.
Turned his head slightly.
Glanced toward Maya's door.
And nodded.
"I'll be back."
His voice was quiet.
Controlled.
"Inform me of any development."
Tatiana nodded.
"Of course."
Then added—
"It's not like you don't have the hospital owner in your pocket."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
Unexpected.
Brief.
He turned to leave.
But her next words stopped him.
"Eat something before you return."
He paused.
Then looked at her.
"Maya needs you to be strong when she wakes up."
A beat.
Then he nodded.
And left.
—
The drive home was fast.
Too fast.
His mind was louder now.
Unfiltered.
Uncontrolled.
James was already there when Rege arrived.
Breakfast was set.
His schedule laid out neatly.
And the look on James's face—
Told Rege everything he needed to know.
Bad news.
"Sir," James greeted.
Rege didn't respond.
"About Dr. Jenkins," James continued, professional as ever. "If you would contact him personally, it would definitely increase speed. His schedule is only free in the next six months."
Silence.
A second.
Two.
Then—
"I don't have six months."
The words snapped out of him.
Sharp.
Uncontrolled.
For a brief moment—
His composure cracked.
James didn't react.
"I did everything I could," he said calmly. "But I couldn't speak to him personally."
Rege exhaled slowly.
A controlled breath.
Forcing it back in.
Forcing himself back into place.
"Leave the breakfast in the kitchen," he said, his voice steadier now. "Cancel all my meetings. Free my schedule for the next seven days."
James hesitated.
Not out of fear—
But because this was… unprecedented.
"Sir, the Henson contract is at a critical phase—"
"That's why I fucking hired you."
The interruption was immediate.
Cold.
His voice dropped.
Too calm.
Dangerously calm.
"I don't have to be there for every fucking thing."
The room stilled.
James nodded once.
No argument.
No hesitation.
"I understand, Sir."
A pause.
Then, more gently—
"I will arrange for flowers to be sent to Miss Maya for her speedy recovery."
That—
That was the first thing that made Rege look at him.
Really look at him.
And for the first time since he had walked in—
Something in his expression shifted.
Not softer.
But… less sharp.
"Thank you."
Quiet.
But genuine.
Almost unfamiliar.
James inclined his head slightly.
"Very well, Sir. I will be on my way."
Rege gave a small nod.
Nothing more.
And as James turned to leave—
The room fell silent again.
But this time—
It wasn't controlled.
It was heavy.
Because the moment the door closed—
There was nothing left to distract him.
Nothing left to hold him back.
Just one thought—
Maya.
—
The moment James left—
Rege dialed Dr. Jenkins' number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
"Rege, it's been a while. I assume you want something since you only call when you—"
"Uncle, I am really not in the mood for your jokes."
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
"I need you to come to Mount Sinai Hospital immediately. There's a patient who needs your urgent care."
A pause.
Long enough to register the shift.
"This person seems important if you're calling me for it."
Rege's grip on the phone tightened.
"She is very important, Uncle."
A beat.
"You really don't want me to lose her."
His voice dropped slightly.
Controlled.
But dangerous.
"So get up from bed—because I know you are in bed—and get your ass to the hospital now and actually do the job you studied for."
Silence.
Then—
"Okay, dearest nephew, I will be there, lov—"
The call ended.
Rege had already hung up.
—
He walked into the gym.
And let it out.
Every ounce of tension.
Every ounce of fear.
Every ounce of helplessness.
Weights slammed.
Breath ragged.
Movements sharp.
Relentless.
But even then—
She was there.
In his mind.
Her smile.
Her voice.
Her stillness.
Her fragility.
He stopped abruptly.
Chest rising.
Falling.
Then turned.
Walked away.
And stepped into the shower.
Cold water poured over him.
Sharp.
Brutal.
Grounding.
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment—
just a moment—
he allowed himself to feel it.
Fear.
Real.
Unfiltered.
Terrifying.
Then he opened his eyes.
And shut it down.
Because he didn't have the luxury of breaking.
Not now.
Not when she needed him to hold.
He wouldn't lose her.
Not to fate.
Not to time.
Not to anything.
A promise.
A decision.
And unlike everything else in his life—
this was not something he would negotiate with the world for.
This was something he would take.
Force, if necessary.
The water continued to run over him, cold and unrelenting, sliding down his skin, grounding him in a reality he refused to accept.
Because this—
this version of reality, where she lay unconscious, fragile, slipping—
It was unacceptable.
His hands pressed flat against the tiled wall, his head lowering slightly as his breath came slow, controlled, deliberate.
But beneath that control—
Something darker lived.
Something far more dangerous than panic.
Resolve.
Not the hopeful kind.
Not the kind that prayed or waited.
The kind that acted.
The kind that did not consider failure an outcome.
His jaw tightened slightly.
For a brief moment—
just one—
Her face flashed in his mind again.
Not the pale, unmoving version lying in that hospital bed.
But her.
Alive.
Smiling.
Looking at him with that infuriating mix of softness and defiance that had unsettled him from the very beginning.
And then—
That same face—
Still.
Lifeless.
Gone.
His eyes snapped open.
No.
That image didn't stay.
He didn't allow it to.
Because that version of Maya—
Did not exist.
Would not exist.
Not while he was still breathing.
The water shut off abruptly.
Silence filled the space instantly.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Decisive.
He stepped out without hesitation, grabbing a towel, movements precise, efficient—like a man preparing for something far more significant than simply returning to a hospital.
Because that was what this was.
Preparation.
Not hope.
Not waiting.
Preparation.
For whatever came next.
For whatever it took.
Because if there was one thing Rege did not do—
It was stand by and watch something that belonged to him slip away.
And Maya—
Whether she realized it or not—
Whether she accepted it or not—
Had already become something he refused to lose.
At any cost.
He dressed quickly, each movement sharp, intentional, his mind already ten steps ahead—running through possibilities, outcomes, contingencies.
Doctors.
Treatment.
Options.
Alternatives.
Failure—
Was not one of them.
By the time he picked up his keys, there was nothing left of the man who had stood under that water seconds ago.
No hesitation.
No visible fear.
Only control.
Cold.
Precise.
Unforgiving.
The kind of control that bent situations—
Or broke them.
And as he stepped out of the penthouse, one thought remained—steady, unshaken, absolute.
Maya would wake up.
Not because time decided it.
Not because fate allowed it.
But because he would make sure of it.