Zayn’s steps thundered through the villa’s marble hallway as he carried Lena in his arms, the weight of her limp body igniting a cold, razor-edged fear in his chest. Staff scrambled aside, watching their implacable employer stride toward the small medical wing no one had used in months—because Zayn Specter never needed it.
But tonight, he did.
He pushed through the double doors with his shoulder and gently laid Lena on the examination bed just as Dr. Hale rushed in, sliding on gloves.
“What happened?” the doctor asked, voice calm but brisk.
“She hasn’t eaten,” Zayn snapped. “For days. She fainted.”
Dr. Hale’s brows shot up. “Fainted or lost consciousness?”
“Does it matter?” Zayn barked, but the panic in his tone betrayed him.
“Yes,” Dr. Hale replied firmly. “It matters a great deal.
