BABY, JUST SAY YES!

Chapter 3

The world returned in fragments.

First came the pressure—firm hands stacked against her chest, rhythmic and unyielding. Then the air forced into her lungs, tasting of chlorine and something warmer, human. Elena’s body jerked. Water surged up her throat in a violent rush. She turned her head and coughed until her ribs ached and her vision swam with black spots.

“That’s it,” a low voice said above her. “Get it out. Breathe.”

Strong hands rolled her onto her side as she gasped and choked. The stone tiles of the terrace were cold against her cheek. Her silver gown clung to her like a second skin, heavy and ruined. Somewhere nearby people were shouting, phones were recording, and the sharp wail of approaching sirens cut through the night.

Elena blinked until the blur resolved into a face.

The stranger from the pool knelt over her, dark hair dripping, soaked shirt plastered to a lean, powerful frame. His expression was focused, almost clinical, but his eyes—gray in the terrace light—never left her face. One of his hands still rested lightly against her shoulder, steadying her through the aftershocks of coughing.

“You’re okay,” he said. Not a question. A statement delivered with quiet certainty. “Ambulance is almost here. Just keep breathing.”

She tried to speak. Only a raw croak emerged. Her throat felt scraped raw. Every inhale burned.

He seemed to understand. “Don’t talk yet. Nod if you can hear me.”

Elena nodded once.

Something in his shoulders eased. He glanced toward the shallow end where Marcus was still fussing over Sophia, wrapping a large towel around her shoulders while she played the delicate victim for a growing audience. The stranger’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked back at Elena.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, as if he had read the fear she had not yet voiced. “I’ll stay until they take you.”

True to his word, he remained at her side when the paramedics arrived in a flurry of equipment and calm professional voices. He answered their questions with clipped efficiency—how long she had been under, that she had been unconscious when he pulled her out, that she had vomited a significant amount of water. When they tried to ease him back, he simply shifted to give them room without fully stepping away.

Elena watched him through half-lidded eyes as they fitted an oxygen mask over her face and checked her vitals. He stood with his arms loosely crossed, water still dripping from his clothes, expression unreadable. He did not hover. He did not offer empty reassurances. He simply stayed, a solid, quiet presence in the chaos.

When they lifted her onto the stretcher, he walked alongside it all the way to the ambulance. Only when the doors began to close did he finally speak again.

“I’ll find you,” he said.

Then the doors sealed and the vehicle pulled away, sirens rising into the night.

—

The hospital room was too bright.

Elena woke to the soft beep of monitors and the sterile scent of antiseptic. An IV line was taped to the back of her hand. Her silver gown had been replaced by a thin hospital gown that left her feeling exposed and small. For a moment she simply stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of the evening—the photograph, the confrontation, the cold shock of water closing over her head, the stranger’s arms pulling her back.

A soft, familiar laugh pulled her attention to the side of the bed.

Sophia sat in the visitor’s chair as if she belonged there, legs crossed, still wearing the red dress now mostly dry. Her makeup had been repaired. She looked fresh, almost radiant, while Elena felt like something the pool had tried to keep.

“Well,” Sophia said, smiling. “Sleeping Beauty finally wakes. I was starting to think you’d decided to stay under for good.”

Elena’s voice came out rough. “Get out.”

Sophia’s smile only widened. “Is that any way to talk to the sister who rushed to your bedside? I was so worried. Everyone was. Poor Marcus nearly had a breakdown when they loaded you into the ambulance.”

“Marcus swam to you,” Elena said.

Sophia’s expression flickered—just for a second—before smoothing into practiced innocence. “He thought I was drowning too. It was chaotic. You of all people should understand how easy it is to panic in the water.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a confidential murmur. “Between us, though… it was almost poetic. The perfect heiress who can’t swim, rescued by some random construction worker while her fiancé saved the woman he actually wants. The tabloids are going to have a field day.”

Elena turned her face away. The movement made her head throb. She would not give Sophia the satisfaction of tears. She would not.

The door opened.

Marcus stepped in looking perfectly composed, as if he had not spent the last hour managing a public relations disaster. His tuxedo jacket was gone, sleeves rolled neatly, hair restored to its usual precision. He carried a small bouquet of white flowers that looked as though they had been purchased in the hospital gift shop on the way up.

“Elena.” He crossed to the bed with the appropriate amount of concern arranged on his face. “Thank God you’re awake. You gave everyone a real scare.”

Sophia rose gracefully and placed a hand on his arm. “I told her you were worried sick.”

Marcus did not shake her off. He set the flowers on the side table and looked down at Elena with an expression that managed to be both solicitous and faintly reproachful. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine. No lasting damage. We were lucky.”

“We,” Elena repeated.

He continued as if she had not spoken. “I’ve already spoken to your father. We’re going to handle the media carefully. The official story is that it was an unfortunate accident—someone slipped, both of you went in, I pulled Sophia out while another guest helped you. No need to make it more dramatic than it was.”

Elena stared at him. “You want me to lie.”

“I want you to be smart,” Marcus corrected, voice still smooth. “A scandal helps no one. Not you, not the company, not the merger talks that are still on the table. Once you’re discharged we can sit down and discuss how to move forward. Quietly.”

Sophia’s smile was pure poison. “See? He’s still thinking of your best interests. Even after everything.”

Elena’s fingers curled into the thin hospital blanket. The monitor beside her beeped a little faster. She opened her mouth to tell them both exactly where they could put their damage control—

The door opened again.

Julian stepped into the room, now dressed in dry clothes—dark jeans and a simple black sweater that still somehow managed to look expensive on him. Behind him walked an older man with silver hair and a cane, sharp eyes taking in the scene with immediate, assessing intelligence.

Sophia’s expression tightened. Marcus straightened, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

Julian’s gaze went straight to Elena. He took in the IV, the oxygen cannula that had been removed, the pale set of her mouth, and something in his posture softened by a fraction.

“You’re awake,” he said. Not a question. A quiet confirmation.

Before Elena could answer, the older man stepped closer to the bed. His eyes narrowed, then widened with sudden recognition.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, voice rough with age and surprise. “You’re the young woman from the park.”

Elena frowned, confused. “I’m sorry…?”

The older man—Harold, she would later learn—leaned on his cane and studied her face with open amazement. “Three months ago. Lincoln Park. I collapsed near the fountain. Heart episode. Everyone stood around with their phones out, but you—you dropped to your knees and started CPR like you’d been trained for it. Stayed with me until the ambulance came. Then you disappeared before I could even get your name.”

The memory surfaced slowly. A bright afternoon. An elderly man crumpling onto the path. The automatic way her body had moved—checking for breath, counting compressions, ignoring the crowd. She had left as soon as the paramedics took over, not wanting thanks or attention.

“That was you?” she asked quietly.

Harold’s smile was warm and a little fierce. “That was you. I never forgot your face. And now here you are again, and my grandson is the one pulling you out of the water.” He glanced at Julian with unmistakable pride. “Seems the universe has a sense of humor.”

Julian remained silent, but his eyes never left Elena.

Marcus cleared his throat, clearly unhappy with the shift in attention. “I’m sorry, who exactly are you people? This is a private room.”

Harold turned his head slowly and looked at Marcus the way a man might look at something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m Harold Croft. And this is my grandson, Julian. The man who saved your fiancée’s life while you were busy elsewhere.”

The name landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.

Marcus’s face went carefully blank. Sophia’s eyes sharpened with sudden interest. Elena simply stared at Julian, pieces rearranging themselves behind her eyes. Croft. The name was not unfamiliar. It belonged to one of the most powerful families in the country—old money, vast holdings, a reputation for quiet, ruthless competence.

Julian still said nothing. He simply stood at the foot of her bed as if he had every right to be there, as if the hospital room and everyone in it were secondary to the woman recovering in the bed.

Harold reached out and patted Elena’s hand with surprising gentleness. “You saved my life once. My grandson returned the favor. That makes us even in the most interesting way.” His eyes twinkled. “Though I suspect the story isn’t finished yet.”

Elena looked from Harold’s weathered, kind face to Julian’s unreadable one. The oxygen in the room felt thinner somehow. The betrayal, the near-drowning, the hospital, the sudden appearance of a man whose family name carried more weight than most boardrooms—everything pressed in at once.

Sophia recovered first, her voice bright and false. “Well, isn’t this a touching reunion. Elena, darling, you do collect the most unexpected heroes.”

Julian’s gaze flicked to her for the first time. Whatever Sophia saw in his eyes made her smile falter.

Marcus stepped closer to the bed, attempting to reclaim control. “Elena needs rest. Perhaps you both could—”

“We’ll leave when she asks us to leave,” Julian said quietly.

The words were soft. They were also absolute.

Elena met his eyes. In them she found no pity, no calculation, no performance. Only a steady, unflinching presence that had already pulled her back from the dark once tonight.

She drew a careful breath.

“Stay,” she said.

Julian nodded once, as if the matter had never been in question.

Marcus’s mouth tightened. Sophia’s expression curdled. Harold simply looked pleased, as though the evening had taken a turn he rather enjoyed.

Elena closed her eyes for a moment and let the strange new reality settle around her. She had nearly died. The man she was supposed to marry had chosen her sister. And the stranger who had saved her—the grandson of the man she herself had once saved—now stood at the foot of her hospital bed as if he intended to remain there for as long as she needed.

The night had rewritten every careful plan she had ever made.

She did not yet know whether that was a disaster or the first true piece of luck she had been given in years.