Chapter 12: So....Who is he?

The hospital walls were pale, sterile, and far too quiet. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a rhythm that alternately comforted and haunted Emily as she sat beside her grandmother's bed.

It was the same hospital she had grown to fear—every visit, every scan, every bill that seemed more impossible than the last. But this time… this time, they had started treatment.

The IV drip ran smoothly, oxygen tubes nestled under Irene's nose, and color had slowly begun to return to her cheeks. Her breathing, while still labored, had improved dramatically in the last few hours.

Because of the money.

Because of him.

Emily sat in the visitor's chair with her coat still draped around her shoulders, too emotionally exhausted to even take it off. The check Damian had written burned in her purse like a secret she didn't know how to hold.

She hadn't told anyone. Not Chloe. Not the hospital. And certainly not her grandmother.

So when Irene opened her eyes and smiled faintly, her voice hoarse but warm, the question came quickly:

"Where did you get the money?"

Emily hesitated, just for a second. "Mr. Walker gave me an advance. From my paycheck. He... he was kind about it."

Irene's brow lifted faintly. "That doesn't sound like the kind of boss you described last week. The one who yelled about coffee."

Emily let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well… he has his moods. But I guess even stone men have a soft spot somewhere."

She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap.

"I'm going to keep working and pay it back. Every cent. That's the deal."

Irene studied her for a long moment, then shifted gently against the pillows. "You don't have to pretend for me, sweetheart. I'm not just your grandmother. I've been your mother, your nurse, your best friend—and don't think for a second I can't still read you like a book."

Emily smiled, but her eyes stayed on the clean white floor tiles.

Irene continued, her voice low and teasing. "So... who is he?"

Emily blinked. "What?"

"That man you're thinking about so hard your forehead's got a wrinkle in it. Is he handsome?"

"Grandma—"

"Is he single?"

Emily groaned, hiding her face in her hands.

"I knew it!" Irene grinned through her fatigue. "You've been off in the clouds ever since you walked in here. Don't tell me you're just thinking about invoices and coffee orders."

"I'm not in love, if that's what you're implying."

"I didn't say love. I said thinking about. But that reaction tells me plenty."

Emily sighed and leaned back in her chair. "It's complicated."

"Ah. The best ones always are."

She glanced over at her grandmother's mischievous smile and felt the smallest flutter of laughter rise in her chest.

"He's… intense. Powerful. He owns the company, Grandma. He's not the type of man who notices someone like me."

"Did he notice you when he gave you twenty thousand dollars to save your grandmother's life?"

Emily looked away, ashamed. "It wasn't like that. I asked for an advance. He refused… but then offered to cover the whole thing if I agreed to owe him a favor."

"A favor?"

"Yeah. I don't know what kind. Business-related, I assume. Maybe extra work. Or something he doesn't trust others to handle."

Irene raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"Emily, you're smart. You're grounded. You don't get swept up easily. But don't make the mistake of assuming men like him don't notice women like you. Maybe that's why he noticed you. Because you're real. Not fake. Not impressed by the wealth and suits."

Emily felt her face warm, and not from embarrassment.

She thought about the way Damian had looked at her that first day — cold, unreadable — and then the way his gaze lingered when he didn't think she was watching. That flicker of something deeper behind his gray eyes. The hesitation in his voice today, the tightness in his jaw when she said her grandmother was all she had.

And then she remembered his words, low and firm:

"I'm not giving you an early paycheck. I'm giving you enough to cover everything."

He hadn't needed to do that. He could've ignored her request and let her flounder.

But he didn't.

And now, she owed him. Not just a favor… but a part of her pride.

She hated that.

And yet, there was a strange part of her — the part that kept dreaming of something more — that wondered if it meant something else.

If maybe, just maybe… he cared.

"You're thinking about him again," Irene teased, her eyes half-closed now, fading back toward rest. "Next thing I know, you'll bring him around for dinner."

"Not a chance," Emily muttered, but she smiled anyway.

Her grandmother drifted off to sleep, and Emily sat quietly beside her, watching her chest rise and fall.

She thought of Damian.

Of his check. His voice. His unreadable expression.

And the favor she now owed him.

What kind of man gives a woman twenty thousand dollars… and asks for nothing but a mystery in return?

Emily didn't know the answer.

But she had a feeling she was going to find out.