Chapter 13: Room 412

Damian leaned back in his leather chair, the city lights bleeding through his office windows like molten gold across the skyline. The sun had dipped below the buildings, casting long shadows through the glass as evening crept in.

He hadn't worked for the past hour.

Not really.

Not since Emily had left.

The look on her face when she accepted the check stayed with him—hopeful and heartbroken, strong and vulnerable, all at once. She hadn't asked for a handout. She hadn't begged. She had stood in front of him with pride in her posture and worry in her eyes, asking for just a fraction of what he knew she deserved.

And he hadn't hesitated.

He didn't regret it. Not for a second.

He loved her.

It was that simple. And that complicated.

Two years of watching, admiring from a distance, telling himself she deserved better than a man like him. But every time she walked into the room, she lit it up without even trying.

She didn't know how extraordinary she was. That was part of it.

And now, when she'd come to him with fear in her voice and trembling hands, he knew—he'd do anything to make her happy. To keep her safe. To give her the kind of life she deserved, whether she knew it or not.

Still, he couldn't shake the question that lingered at the back of his mind.

Am I rushing this?

Not the feelings. Those had grown slowly and silently, deep-rooted and inevitable.

But stepping into her life this way—giving her money, making himself visible—was it too soon?

Damian didn't want to overwhelm her. Didn't want to become another powerful man trying to control a woman under the guise of kindness.

No. He would never do that to her.

He just wanted her to have room to breathe. To choose.

But he also needed to see her.

To know she was okay.

That her grandmother was okay.

So when the clock struck six and his calendar cleared for the rest of the evening, he stood, grabbed his coat, and told his driver to take him to St. Vincent's Hospital.

---

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and over-brewed coffee. The elevator hummed as it took him to the fourth floor, and the hallway was dim and quiet when he stepped out. A nurse passed him with a clipboard, casting a curious glance his way—he looked more like a visiting executive than a concerned family friend.

Room 412.

He stopped in front of the door, smoothing a hand over his shirt before knocking twice, then gently pushing the door open.

Emily was seated beside the hospital bed, curled slightly in the chair, eyes half-shut with exhaustion. She turned quickly at the sound of the door—and froze.

"Mr. Walker?"

Her voice was soft, surprised.

He gave her a polite nod, holding her gaze. "I wanted to check on your grandmother. I hope I'm not intruding."

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened. "No. Of course not. Come in."

Grandma Irene was propped up with pillows, awake and alert. Her skin had regained some of its color, and there was a knowing glint in her eyes as soon as she saw him.

"Well, well," she said, her voice low but mischievous. "Now I know I'm getting better. There's a handsome man in my room."

Damian smiled—just a small, reserved one—and stepped closer. "Mrs. Johnson. I'm glad to see you recovering."

"Call me Irene," she said, waving her hand. "You've already saved my life, might as well be on a first-name basis."

Emily flushed beside her, clearly mortified.

Damian stayed composed. "I'm glad the hospital moved quickly. I assume they're treating her properly now?"

"They are," Emily said, standing up from the chair. "And thank you. I… I really don't know what to say. I'll pay you back."

"I'm not here for repayment," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You needed help. I had the means to offer it. That's all."

"She's been thinking about you all day," Irene said, shooting her granddaughter a grin.

"Grandma!"

"I'm old, Emily. I get to say what I want. I've seen more men than you've seen traffic lights, and this one—he's the real deal. Stoic, mysterious, deep voice… He's either in love or in the mafia."

Damian coughed lightly, and Emily covered her face with both hands.

"I'm so sorry—she's on a lot of medication."

"I'm not wrong," Irene whispered loudly.

Damian allowed himself the barest smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He turned to Emily then, his tone softening slightly. "If either of you need anything else—medicine, transportation, a nurse—don't hesitate to contact me."

Emily nodded, her eyes meeting his. "Thank you. Really. For everything."

He hesitated for just a beat, then gave a nod. "I'll leave you two to rest."

As he turned to go, Irene called out, "You're welcome back anytime, Mr. Walker. Next time, bring flowers. And maybe take my granddaughter to dinner."

Emily made a strangled sound behind him, but Damian didn't look back. He just smiled to himself as he left the room.