Nara’s POV
Four days.
That’s how long it had been since I saw Nick in my arms—his shirt soaked with blood, his breathing ragged, his body limp.
Four days of sterile hallways, sleepless nights, and pretending I was okay while I was breaking apart inside.
And now, finally, I was standing in the private recovery suite—walls coated in warm beige, the curtains drawn open to let in golden sunlight, fresh flowers on the marble side table. This wasn’t your average hospital room; it looked more like a luxury hotel suite—soft leather chairs, a glass chandelier, even an espresso machine. Perks of being part of the Golden Group.
But none of that mattered to me.
Because Nick… was coming home.
He was seated in a wheelchair, looking like sin and salvation in a loose grey sweater and dark joggers.
