Chapter 2 The Only Man Who Came Back for Me

Nora's POV

I jolted awake and instinctively reached for the car door.

My palm struck the hospital bed rail instead.

Pain shot through my left leg.

I gasped and looked up.

A white ceiling.

I was in a hospital.

"Nora."

Adrian was sitting beside my bed.

His suit jacket hung over the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair wasn't as perfectly styled as it had been at the business events where I'd seen him before.

Up close, his features were even more striking. Strong brow, sharp jaw, a hint of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

But those gray eyes were fixed on me.

"You're in the hospital. You're out of the car."

My grip slowly loosened around the bed rail.

Yesterday, through the smoke and shattered glass, the one thing I remembered was that he'd stayed.

Now he was still here.

"You... stayed?"

I remembered that he'd had a flight to catch, too.

Seeing him beside my bed made me grateful.

And a little uneasy.

"The doctors kept you overnight for observation."

He stood and pressed the call button.

"Let's have them check your leg first."

The doctor came in a few minutes later.

I had a mild concussion and several bruises, but thankfully, my left leg wasn't broken. If everything remained stable, I could go home later that day.

Adrian asked when I needed to come back for a follow-up, what symptoms I should watch for, and whether there was anything I needed to avoid.

He took out his phone and wrote everything down.

Watching him, I suddenly thought of Julian.

Whenever I got sick, Julian would have his assistant book an appointment with the best doctor he could find.

Then he'd tell me to be a good girl and take my medicine.

I'd once thought that was what being loved looked like.

"I'll have my driver take you home," Adrian said after the doctor left.

"You don't have to. I can walk."

I tried moving my leg.

Pain shot through it, and I sucked in a breath.

Adrian noticed.

But he didn't laugh at me or call me stubborn.

"The car will be downstairs. Whether you use it is up to you."

I looked at him.

Julian had never liked it when I refused something he'd arranged for me.

Adrian simply moved the glass of water closer, putting it within my reach.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Then I finally picked up my phone.

No missed calls from Julian.

No messages, either.

I closed the messaging app and opened it again.

I knew nothing would change.

Some stupid part of me still needed to make sure I hadn't missed anything.

Then I noticed a new social media post.

Claire stood on a beach in St. Barts, wearing a white dress.

Julian had his arm around her waist.

He rarely posted photos himself.

The caption was only two words.

Finally here.

So he'd made the flight.

Their friends were already leaving comments, wishing them a wonderful vacation.

Julian had even replied to one with a smiling emoji.

But he still hadn't found the time to send me a single message.

Yesterday, I'd screamed myself hoarse inside that car, hoping he might come back.

He didn't even know which hospital room I was in.

I turned my phone facedown on the blanket and rolled onto my side.

Tears soaked into the pillow.

I bit my lip, trying not to let Adrian hear me.

He didn't ask what was wrong.

A moment later, a box of tissues appeared beside my hand.

I pulled one free and tried to steady my voice.

"Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

His voice was calm.

And somehow, that made me cry even harder.

Two days later, I returned to Mercer Real Estate.

Adrian's driver had given me his number when he dropped me off at my apartment, but today, I'd booked a ride myself.

My internship certificate and several documents I needed for school were still with HR.

I had to resign in person.

Every step hurt.

I gripped the elevator handrail and reminded myself that I was only here to collect my things.

Then I'd never have to come back.

"Nora?"

My back went rigid.

Mia Mercer was standing at the entrance to the office floor.

Her eyes went straight to the bandage around my wrist.

"I heard you were in a car accident. And you're already back at work?"

I tried to walk around her.

"I'm here to resign."

"About time."

She stepped closer and lowered her voice.

"My brother's been supporting you for four years. Claire's back now. Did you really think you could keep hanging around?"

Four years ago, she'd leaned in just like this before locking me inside that wooden chest.

I tried to move away.

But my injured leg hurt too much.

"Move."

She smiled.

Then she raised her voice.

"Everyone, take a look! This is the girl who spends her whole life playing helpless so my brother has to clean up after her."

Before I could answer, she grabbed a cup of coffee from a nearby desk.

And threw it at me.

Warm liquid soaked through my blouse.

The entire office went silent.

I looked down.

A ringing filled my ears.

For a moment, I was back in that hallway at university.

Everyone watching.

Nobody saying a word.

"What?" Mia stepped closer. "Nothing to say?"

Her smile widened.

"Still waiting for my brother to come save you?"

My head snapped up.

I'd already waited for him once.

After the crash.

I pulled out my phone.

My hands shook so badly that I tapped the wrong button several times before finally managing to photograph the coffee cup on the floor and my soaked clothes.

"What are you doing?"

Mia reached for my phone.

I stepped back, ignoring the sharp pain in my leg.

"There are security cameras here."

My voice was shaking.

But I kept my phone raised.

"I'm going to ask HR to preserve the footage."

Her expression changed.

Around us, people finally started looking at her instead of me.

I didn't stay to argue.

I went straight to HR and sent an email documenting what had happened. I formally requested that the security footage be preserved, collected my internship certificate, and handed in my access card.

By the time I walked out of the building, my palms were slick with sweat.

It wasn't until I got into the car that I realized I'd been holding my breath.

I'd thought taking those photos would feel satisfying.

But my stomach was still churning.

My wet blouse clung cold against my back, and I couldn't stop shaking.

I sat in the back seat for several minutes before I could finally give the driver an address.

Then my phone lit up.

Julian.

My heart betrayed me.

For half a second, I wondered if he'd finally seen the accident report.

Maybe he was calling to ask whether my leg still hurt.

The first thing on my screen was a bank transfer.

Then came his message.

I've handled things with Mia. Keep the money and stop causing trouble.

I read it twice.

He knew Mia had thrown coffee at me.

But he hadn't even asked if I was okay.

I checked our chat again.

Still nothing from him asking how I was after the accident.

My finger hovered over the message box.

I almost typed the question I'd been holding back.

Do you know I almost died?

But he'd seen me trapped in that car.

With his own eyes.

I gripped my phone, wanting desperately to call him and demand to know why a single word of concern was so hard for him.

But I was even more afraid that he'd answer and tell me I was making a fuss again.

I deleted the half-written message.

Then I transferred the money straight back.

"Could you take me to my apartment, please?" I told the driver.

Julian had rented that apartment for me.

I'd lived there for three years.

The dresses he'd bought me still hung in the closet. His razor was still sitting beside the bathroom sink.

Whenever I saw those things before, I'd felt as though he'd made a place for himself in my home.

But now that I was leaving, I realized how little in the apartment actually belonged to me.

I packed my passport, school documents, laptop, and design work into a suitcase.

On top, I placed my public library design--the one I'd revised more than a dozen times for the Milan program.

At least I wasn't going to give that up for anyone.

At the back of a drawer, I found an old photograph of us.

It was from my nineteenth birthday.

Julian had his arm around my shoulders.

That day, he'd promised to take me on vacation once his project was finished.

I stared at the photograph for a while.

Then I remembered the picture I'd seen from my hospital bed.

Julian and Claire on the beach.

So he hadn't forgotten about taking a vacation.

I put our photograph back in the drawer and closed it.

I left his credit card and the apartment keys on the dining table.

Then I emailed his assistant about ending the lease and arranging for Julian's personal belongings to be collected.

When I reached the door, I couldn't help looking back.

The lamp I'd chosen myself was still on.

Two cups sat in the kitchen.

Everything was so familiar that even the air made me want to cry.

I gritted my teeth, dragged my suitcase outside, and shut the door.

I'd booked a hotel for one night.

That evening, I sent Adrian a message asking if he had time to meet.

His reply came back.

Nine works for me.

At exactly nine, I stood outside his Manhattan home.

The steps weren't particularly high, but dragging my suitcase up them left me sweating from the pain in my leg.

The door opened almost immediately.

Adrian stood inside, wearing a dark shirt without a tie.

His tall frame nearly blocked the hallway light.

His eyes moved from my suitcase to my injured left leg, which I was trying not to put too much weight on.

"Did your doctor say you should be walking around like this?"

He frowned.

"I booked a hotel. I'll leave after we talk."

Adrian took the suitcase from my hand.

He didn't touch me.

"Come in and sit down. Your leg needs a rest."

I held on to the doorframe.

I didn't move.

Earlier today, one rich man had tried to dismiss me with money.

Now I was standing at another rich man's door with a suitcase.

I didn't know if I was about to make an even worse decision.

Adrian didn't rush me.

He simply stood beside the open door and waited.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

"Do you still have that agreement we talked about?"

His gaze settled on my face.

I tightened my grip on the doorframe.

"Let me see it tomorrow."