ANDREA’S POV
Watching Maxwell walk toward the hospital bed, he moved stiffly and favored his right side while keeping his injured hand deep in the pocket of his wool coat. Looking completely out of place in this room, the sterile white walls and the humming machinery provided a stark contrast to his dark, expensive suit and the aura of command he usually carried like a shield.
But he came, standing next to me to tower over my mother’s frail form.
"Hello, Mary," Maxwell said. His voice was low and devoid of the sharp edge it usually held, sounding surprisingly gentle. "I'm Maxwell. I'm... I'm the one looking after Andrea."
My throat instantly tightened because he didn't say "fiancé" or "husband," choosing instead to say he was looking after me. In that moment with the fear of death hang
