Waking in the unknown

A strong smell of disinfectant filled my nose as I slowly opened my eyes. The bright hospital lights hurt, making it hard to focus. I could hear the steady beeping of machines around me. My body felt weak, as if I had been asleep for a long time. My arms were heavy, and my head ached.

But the first thing I saw was him.

A man stood beside my bed, looking down at me with intense eyes. He was tall—probably over six feet—with broad shoulders and a strong build. His dark brown hair was slightly messy, but it made him look even more attractive. His almond-shaped eyes were sharp, deep, and filled with mystery. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

"Where am I? What happened?" My voice was weak, almost a whisper.

The man's lips curled into a small, confident smile. Then, without warning, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around me. His touch was warm and firm, making my heartbeat speed up.

"Don't worry. I'm here," he said in a deep, rich voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

His presence was calming, as if nothing bad could happen as long as he was near. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, I forgot about everything—my fear, my pain, even why I was in the hospital.

Then, the door opened suddenly.

Two people walked in—Jeff and Camilla.

The second Jeff saw the man beside me, his whole body stiffened. His eyes widened in shock. He recognized him.

There was something strange in the air, as if an unspoken secret was hanging between them. Jeff hadn't expected to see this man here.

But I didn't care.

"Get out," I snapped, my voice louder this time. "I don't want to see your pathetic face ever again, Jeff."

He hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before he could speak, the stranger beside me straightened his posture. His sharp eyes darkened slightly, and even though he didn't say anything, the message was clear. Leave.

Without another word, Jeff and Camilla turned and left the room.

The man beside me let out a small sigh, as if their presence had been nothing more than a minor annoyance. Then, he turned back to me with a softer expression.

"Do you want to stay at my place tonight?" he asked, his deep voice smooth and inviting.

My breath caught. There was something about him—something powerful and magnetic.

"Yes," I said without even thinking.

He smirked slightly, but before we could continue, the door opened again. A nurse walked in, holding a clipboard.

"You'll be discharged in an hour," she said as she carefully removed the IV from my arm.

I barely reacted. My mind was already somewhere else—thinking about what would happen next.

By the time I was ready to leave, the man had already taken care of everything. As we stepped outside, he gave a small nod to a driver waiting nearby.

"Bring the car around," he said in a calm yet commanding tone.

A sleek black luxury car pulled up in front of the hospital. He opened the door for me, his hand gently resting on my back as he guided me inside.

For the first few minutes, the car ride was silent. I stole quick glances at him, taking in his sharp jawline and the way the city lights reflected in his eyes.

Finally, I cleared my throat. "How did you find me? What happened to me?"

He kept his gaze on the road, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel.

"I was out that night," he said. "I saw the accident—a white Porsche 918, completely destroyed. People just kept driving past, ignoring it."

I felt a cold shiver run through my body.

"I called an ambulance and made sure you got to the best hospital. I wasn't going to let you die like that."

There was something in his voice—a quiet intensity that sent warmth through me. I didn't know what to say, so I just watched him, trying to understand this man who had saved my life.

The car slowed as we approached a massive glass building—the kind only billionaires lived in.

"This is your home?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. "It is."

When we stepped inside, I was stunned.

The penthouse was enormous—twelve bedrooms, six bathrooms, each one more luxurious than the last. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, and everything inside was sleek, modern, and expensive.

I noticed staff moving around—four housekeepers, two security guards, and even two large German Shepherds watching us carefully.

Then, my eyes widened in shock.

There was a crocodile in the indoor pool. Just lazily floating there.

I turned to him, speechless. "You have a crocodile in your penthouse?"

He smiled, amused. "Yes. His name is Caesar."

I shook my head in disbelief. This man was beyond anything I had imagined.

We walked further inside, and he took off his suit jacket, revealing the top few buttons of his shirt undone. My eyes involuntarily flickered to his chest—toned, muscular, and undeniably attractive.

My face felt warm, and I quickly looked away.

"You live here alone?" I asked, trying to focus on something else.

He looked at me with an unreadable expression. "For now."

For now.

Those words made my stomach flip.

As I took in the details of his penthouse, he walked toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

I nodded. "A little."

Without hesitation, he started preparing something, moving with ease and confidence. He handed me a plate with a small, perfectly arranged meal.

I sat down on one of the barstools, watching him as I ate.

"I still don't know your name," I said after a moment.

He turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine.

"Elon," he said simply.

The name sent a strange shiver through me. It suited him—strong, powerful, unforgettable.

"Thank you for saving my life, Elon," I said softly.

He leaned against the counter, watching me carefully. "You don't have to thank me."

There was something unspoken between us, something growing in the quiet space of our conversation.

For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

And as I sat there in his luxurious penthouse, eating food he had prepared for me, I realized one thing:

My life would never be the same again.