Bound to the Cold-Hearted CEO

Chapter Five

The first buzz came while Isabella was buried under a pile of invoices, coffee-stained fingers fumbling, eyes burning from long hours. She squinted at the screen. The name made her stomach flip before she even answered.

“Daniel?” she whispered, heart already in her throat.

“Izzy… I… I don’t feel good,” his voice wobbled, urgent and tiny over the line.

“Daniel? Where are you? What’s happening?” Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles ached.

“I… I can’t stand. Everything’s spinning… dorm,” he gasped.

Papers scattered across her desk as she shoved them aside. “Don’t move. Stay put. I’m coming.” She snatched her bag, tugged her coat tight, and practically bolted out the door, tote clutched like a lifeline. She almost tripped over her own feet, muttering, “Focus, Izzy, focus.”

The subway moved at a crawl, each stop twisting her stomach, every jolt sending her heart racing. In her head, she ran through the math—how long to get there, how sick he might be, and whether she could even handle this alone.

By the time she reached campus, she was gasping for air. The first-year dorm towered over her, brick and glass catching the slanting afternoon sun. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed faintly at the entrance. The front desk clerk looked up, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline.

“My brother—Daniel Carter. He fainted… he’s in his room. Can you help me get to him?” she practically shouted, words tripping over each other, breath coming fast.

“Right this way,” the clerk said, leading her down a narrow corridor, walls scuffed, laundry baskets stacked in haphazard towers like little fortresses.

She pushed the door open and froze. Daniel slumped against his bed, pale, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, eyes half-closed.

“Danny?” she whispered, rushing to him. “Hey… hey, look at me. Don’t move.”

“Izzy…” he rasped. “I… I don’t feel good.”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” she murmured, crouching beside him, hands on his shoulders. “Stay put. We’ll get help.”

She dialed the campus nurse, eyes darting around the cramped, cluttered room. “Yes, he fainted. We need an ambulance. Now.”

The nurse’s calm voice did nothing to steady her. She paced, tugging at her hair, pressing a cool hand to his forehead, feeling fever and faint tremors. Hospital bills, tuition, groceries, textbooks—they all piled in her mind like bricks, pressing down on her chest.

Within minutes, the ambulance arrived. She helped Daniel onto the stretcher, hands shaking, heart hammering. The ride was a blur of flashing lights, antiseptic smells, and endless thoughts flipping through numbers and deadlines.

The hospital smelled sterile, sharp, heavy. She barely registered the glaring lights as they wheeled Daniel in. Forms, allergies, names—she repeated everything, over and over, trying not to collapse.

A nurse guided her to a small waiting area. Isabella sank onto the edge of a stiff plastic chair, knuckles white from clutching her bag. Each tick of the clock hammered like a drum in her chest.

“Miss Carter?” the nurse asked gently. “He’s stable, but we’ll need you to sign consent forms for observation and treatment.”

Her stomach sank. Numbers and fees jumped at her from the papers. “I… I don’t know how I’ll pay for all this,” she whispered, voice trembling.

A social worker appeared, clipboard in hand. “We can arrange a payment plan if needed. Right now, Daniel’s care is the priority.”

Isabella nodded numbly, gripping her tote like a lifeline, signing every paper, repeating every name, every allergy.

Finally, she stepped into Daniel’s room. He sat up slightly, blanket pulled to his chin, eyes half-lidded, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

“Hey, Danny,” she whispered, kneeling beside him. “You scared me.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he rasped, weak. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You’re allowed to be sick,” she said softly. “But you’re never allowed to faint without telling me first.”

A weak laugh escaped him, easing some of her tension. She brushed damp strands from his forehead and held his hand. “We’ll get through this, okay? I’ve got you.”

Hours passed in a haze of IVs, vitals, nurses coming and going. Isabella stayed, jotting notes, counting cash, thinking about tuition, bills, groceries—everything she had to juggle.

Late that evening, Daniel finally drifted into a light sleep. She sank into a chair by his bed, exhausted, fingers aching. Her phone buzzed.

Alexander.

She didn’t answer. Not yet. She pressed the phone to her chest, eyes on Daniel, heart racing. He’d seen her struggle, knew her desperation—but she didn’t want his comfort. Only Daniel mattered.

The next morning, dark circles under her eyes, hair in a messy bun, she returned to the office. Alexander was at his desk, reviewing reports, eyes flicking toward her.

“Miss Carter,” he said, calm but precise. “You appear fatigued.”

“Yes… my brother—he’s in the hospital,” she admitted softly. No need to explain further; he already knew.

“Do not let this interfere with your duties,” he said, cold and measured. “Your personal issues are your concern. Not the company’s.”

“Yes, Mr. Knight,” she whispered, composure barely holding. Bills, hospital visits, Daniel’s weak cough—they pressed in, yet she had to move flawlessly, act with precision, survive.

At her desk, lunch untouched, she worked through spreadsheets, emails, budgets, every move calculated. She imagined Alexander walking past, always observing, expectation without pity.

By evening, her phone buzzed.

Daniel: Feeling better today. Sorry for making you worry.

Relief washed over her, fleeting but enough. Enough to remind her why she kept moving, kept surviving—for Daniel, for work, for life in a world of glass walls, sharp eyes, and cold precision.

Then her phone buzzed again. Another message. From the hospital. Her stomach sank before she opened it.

She froze, thumb hovering. The room, the bills, Daniel, the office, Alexander—all pressing in at once. Whatever was coming, she knew one thing: tonight, nothing was going to be easy.