I BECAME HIS PERSONAL AGENDA

EMMAH'S POV I woke up feeling strange. The first thing I noticed was the pain in my head. It was sharp and intense, almost as if something heavy had been placed inside my skull. I tried to open my eyes, but the brightness around me forced me to close them again. Where was I? I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. I was in a hospital. The smell of medicine filled the room, and the quiet beeping of machines came from somewhere nearby. I could hear footsteps outside and people talking, but everyone seemed busy with their own things. I tried to sit up. Pain immediately spread through my body, forcing me to stop. I took a few careful breaths before finally managing to sit against the pillow. I looked around, trying to see if there was anyone else with me, but curtains separated my bed from the other side of the room. I looked down at myself. My head was wrapped in a bandage, and both my legs were bandaged too. What had happened to me? I tried moving one of my legs. A lancinating pain shot through it. “Ah!” A small scream escaped my lips. Almost immediately, the door opened, and a nurse rushed inside. Her eyes went straight to my legs as she approached me. “Don't move,” she said, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. “Just stay still.” I looked at her, still struggling to understand what was happening. She checked the bandages around my legs before examining the one wrapped around my head. When her fingers touched the side of my forehead, I flinched. “Does it hurt here?” I nodded. “What about your legs?” “Yes.” She nodded and studied my face. “Can you hear me clearly?” “Yes.” “Do you know where you are?” I looked around the room. “The hospital?” “Good. Do you remember what happened to you?” I tried to think, but my head hurt, and my thoughts felt scattered. “Not everything,” I answered quietly. She nodded before stepping away from my bed. She picked up a thick book and took a pen from her breast pocket. “What is your name?” I opened my mouth, but for some reason, the answer didn't come immediately. My name. Why was it so difficult to speak? The nurse lifted her eyes from the book. “What is your name?” she asked again. This time, the smile on her face had almost disappeared. “Emmah,” I finally answered, my voice weak. “With an h.” She looked at me strangely, seemingly puzzled by my explanation. After writing something down, she walked away. I watched her leave. It wasn't my fault that my name was spelled that way. That was how my father had taught me. I could still remember when I was little. In a quiet mansion, little Emmah sat beside her father, her legs swinging beneath the chair because they were too short to reach the floor. “Whenever you want to spell your name, or anyone wants to make sure they know you're not just like the other Emmas, the h shows that you're different.” A smile spread across his face. Little Emmah smiled too. She didn't understand why one little letter could make her different, but she loved the way her father said it. She loved knowing that there was something about her name that belonged only to her. I quickly wiped the tears that had started rolling down my cheeks. I had always wished death hadn't taken my father so soon. Maybe my life would have been different if he were still here. I swallowed and looked around the room again. Slowly, the memory of how I had ended up here began to return. I had been on my way home from work after my boss sent me away for refusing his s****l advances. It wasn't the first time he had made me uncomfortable, but that day, I had finally refused to tolerate it. I knew what that meant. I had probably lost my job. Still, getting away from him had mattered more to me at that moment. Now, lying in a hospital bed, I had a bigger problem to worry about. How was I going to take care of my grandma? The little money I earned was barely enough for the two of us. My job wasn't anything special, and I was paid very little. If I stopped showing up, there would always be someone else ready to take my place. My grandma depended on me. Her heart condition had been getting worse, and I had been trying to save whatever little money I could for her treatment. Now, I might not even have a job to return to. I closed my eyes. Those thoughts had been running through my mind while I walked home. I had been so distracted by my problems that I hadn't paid attention to where I was going. I hadn't even looked properly at the road. Then I remembered the car. It had happened so quickly. One moment, I was walking home. The next, I heard a car approaching. I tried to react, but it was too late. My body hit the ground. Everything became blurry. I remembered someone rushing towards me and lifting me. There were voices around me, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. Then everything went black. And the next thing I knew, I was waking up here. My chest tightened as I thought about the hospital bill. How was I going to pay it? I couldn't blame the person who had brought me here. Some drivers would have driven away after hitting someone, leaving them on the road and pretending they had never seen them. At least this person had stopped. But that didn't solve my problem. I still had a bill to pay, and I didn't have the money. I looked at my bandaged legs. The pain was terrible, but the thought of owing the hospital frightened me even more. I needed to leave. I needed to find another job and get home before my grandma started wondering where I was. Most importantly, I needed to make sure she didn't find out what had happened. With her heart condition, I couldn't imagine how she would react if she heard that I had been hit by a car. The last thing I wanted was to give her another reason to worry. I had already lost my father. I couldn't lose her too. I rubbed my face and tried to hold myself together. For the first time in a long while, I genuinely had no idea what I was going to do next. The door opened again. A nurse walked into the room carrying several papers. My eyes immediately fell on them. The bill. My heart started beating faster. What was I supposed to tell her? That I couldn't pay? That I needed more time? I had just lost my job and didn't even know how I was going to afford food for the next few days. The nurse stopped beside my bed. “Emmah Gerrit,” she said. I looked at her. “Your bills have been paid.” I stared at her. For a moment, I thought I had heard her wrong. “My bills?” “Yes.” She handed me a small piece of paper, and I took it slowly. My eyes moved across the page. Paid. I couldn't believe it. Even if I worked for an entire year, I probably wouldn't have been able to afford that amount. My eyes filled with tears as I turned the paper over, hoping to find some information about the person who had paid. There was only one name. Mr. Damon. I stared at it. I didn't know any Damon. Whoever he was, he had just taken away a problem that had been weighing heavily on my shoulders. I didn't know why he had helped me, but I was grateful. Thank you, Mr. Damon. You just saved a heart and a soul. “Oh, I did.” My eyes widened. Jesus. I had said that out loud. Slowly, I lifted my head. A man stood near the doorway, leaning casually against the wall. He was definitely older than me. He wore a black suit that looked expensive, and there was something about him that made him stand out from everyone else I had seen in the hospital. He was tall, with a hugeconfident presence that made him seem completely at ease in his surroundings. He didn't say anything. He simply looked at me. Then he pushed himself away from the wall and began walking towards my bed. I watched him approach. There was something strange about the way he looked at me. His expression wasn't that of a stranger seeing someone for the first time. It was almost as if he knew me. But I didn't know him. Not even in my dreams. He stopped beside my bed, close enough for me to notice the faint scent of his perfume. My stomach tightened. I couldn't explain why.