Chapter 13: A Battle She Won’t Fight

Travis's POV

There was a lot I didn't know about Sophia Moreau.

But I knew this—

She never let herself break.

Not in front of people. Not where anyone could see.

Which meant if she had collapsed, if her body had finally given out—it wasn't a small thing.

It was a fucking battle she had lost.

And I wasn't about to let her lose again.

The drive to the hospital was a blur.

Leah sat beside me in the back of my car, her fingers digging into her palms, stealing glances at Sophia every few seconds.

Sophia, who was still too pale.

Still unconscious.

Still breathing too fucking shallow.

"She's done this before," Leah muttered, mostly to herself.

I forced my jaw to unclench. "She's collapsed before?"

Leah exhaled sharply. "Not like this. Not in front of people."

That didn't make me feel any fucking better.

Because that meant this wasn't new.

It had happened before.

And no one had stopped it.

I gritted my teeth, shifting my hold on Sophia slightly, feeling the way she fit against me. Too small. Too damn fragile.

I hated it.

Hated knowing she had been running herself into the ground for years and no one had done a damn thing about it.

That changed now.

The second we arrived at the hospital, doctors and nurses swarmed. I tried to follow them into the exam room, but a firm hand on my chest stopped me.

"Sir, you need to wait outside."

I clenched my fists. "The hell I do."

Leah tugged on my arm, her voice quiet. "Travis. Let them do their job."

I exhaled sharply.

Then I forced myself to step back.

But I didn't leave.

I didn't move from that fucking chair in the hallway, not even when Leah sat beside me, her knee bouncing anxiously.

I stared at the closed doors.

And for the first time in years, I felt something dangerously close to fear.

Not the kind I was used to.

Not the kind that came from risk, from deals that could go wrong, from power that could be lost.

This was personal.

And I didn't fucking like it.

An hour later, a doctor walked out.

I was on my feet before he even spoke.

"She's stable," he said.

I didn't let out the breath I was holding. Not yet.

"Then what the fuck happened?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses, glancing at his chart. "She was severely dehydrated and extremely fatigued. Her blood pressure was dangerously low when she arrived."

I crossed my arms, my muscles too tense. "And why?"

He glanced between Leah and me. "Do either of you know if she has anemia?"

My stomach fucking dropped.

Leah sucked in a sharp breath beside me.

"Shit," she muttered. "I should've known."

I turned to her. "You knew?"

She looked miserable. "She was diagnosed years ago. But she never—she doesn't take care of it. She ignores it, like she does everything else."

I exhaled through my nose, trying to push down the frustration—the rage—building inside me.

"She needs iron supplements," the doctor continued. "A proper diet. And most importantly—rest."

I huffed a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Good luck convincing her of that."

The doctor gave me a knowing look. "Then I'd suggest you figure out how to."

Then he turned and walked away.

Leah sank back into the chair beside me, rubbing her temples. "She's going to be pissed."

I clenched my jaw.

"Good," I muttered.

Because I was pissed, too.

Pissed that she hadn't told anyone.

Pissed that she had let herself get this bad.

Pissed that she thought she had to do everything alone.

That ended now.

When I walked into her hospital room, she was awake.

And she was not happy.

Her arms were crossed, her expression icy, her body rigid in the hospital bed.

But she was awake.

And that was all I fucking cared about.

I shut the door behind me, walking toward her slowly, watching the way her eyes tracked me.

"You planning on lecturing me?" she asked, voice sharp.

I pulled up the chair beside her bed, sitting down slowly.

"No," I said.

She blinked, caught off guard for a second. "No?"

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Because a lecture won't do shit. You already know you fucked up."

Her jaw tightened. "I didn't—"

"Don't," I cut her off. "Don't fucking lie to me."

Silence.

Her fingers curled slightly in her lap. "You shouldn't be here."

I smirked. "Too bad. I'm not leaving."

She exhaled through her nose, tilting her head slightly. "You really think you can make me rest?"

I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. "No. But I can be here while you do."

Her eyes flickered.

There it was.

That hesitation.

That crack in the armor she was trying so damn hard to keep up.

"You don't have to," she murmured.

I leaned back, studying her.

"Yeah," I said softly. "But I want to."

And that was what scared her the most.

Because for the first time, someone wasn't here because they had to be.

I was here because I chose to be.

And Sophia Moreau?

She didn't know what the hell to do with that.

Hours passed.

I didn't leave.

I didn't push.

I just stayed.

She pretended to work for a while, pretending she wasn't exhausted, pretending she wasn't affected by my presence.

But eventually, she gave in.

She fell asleep again.

This time, she wasn't curled up on her couch, fighting against it.

This time, she let go.

And I sat there, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, knowing one thing for sure—

I wasn't letting her do this alone.

Not ever again.