The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

8

Bryan’s POV

Jackson’s voice rang out, sharp and frantic, a sound that had no place in my room, in the quietness of this private sanctuary that suddenly felt smaller, tighter, filled with a tension that hadn't been there a moment before. I turned toward him, half-expecting, half-dreading the worst as he burst through the door, his eyes wide, his breath caught somewhere between relief and panic.

“Bryan,” he exhaled, as if just saying my name was enough to steady himself. He was looking me over, scanning for injuries or signs of distress, his chest still heaving like he had sprinted all the way here. Maybe he had.

“What happened? Are you alright?” His questions tumbled out in a hurry, his words stumbling over themselves, each one more desperate than the last. “I got this call—your assistant said it was an emergency, but you... you look fine.” The confusion in his eyes flickered, and then deepened as he looked around the room, scanning it for whatever disaster he'd been told to expect.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, too hard, probably. His arrival, for some reason, made everything more urgent, more real. “She’s not okay,” I said, my voice low, tight, straining to stay calm. But I wasn’t calm. I was unraveling by the second.

He blinked, his brow furrowing. “Who? Mrs. Green?”

I shook my head and turned, pointing toward the bed, where Mrs. Green sat weeping, trembling hands twisted in her lap like she was praying for something or someone to save her from this moment. But that wasn’t who I meant. That wasn’t the reason my heart was pounding, or why my hands were beginning to shake.

“H–her,” I stammered, barely able to get the word out. And then Jackson’s gaze shifted to the bed, his eyes widening in a way I hadn’t seen before.

Mia. There she was, a figure wrapped in the linens of my bed—disheveled, barely conscious, a ghost of the girl I remembered.

Jackson’s mouth opened slightly, his surprise briefly apparent before his medical instincts took over. He crossed the room in three strides, his movements becoming efficient, detached, the Jackson I’d always known suddenly gone. In his place stood a doctor, composed, deliberate, calm where I was anything but.

“I’m going to need everyone to leave the room,” he said, not even looking at me, his focus already fixed on Mia.

“No,” I snapped, without even thinking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jackson turned to Peter, who had been standing by, watching with a kind of helpless unease. They exchanged a glance, a silent conversation I wasn’t privy to but could read clearly. Jackson was counting on Peter to persuade me because he knew, just as I did, that I wouldn’t leave easily.

Peter stepped forward, his tone gentle but firm, a placating hand on my arm. “Mr. Miller, it’s best if we let Dr. Anderson do his job.”

I wanted to argue, to fight this logic that felt like a betrayal of everything I needed to do—everything I wanted to protect. But Jackson’s eyes, now squarely on me, communicated one simple truth: he wasn’t going to touch her, wasn’t going to start until I walked out that door.

With a growl of frustration, I shoved my hands into my pockets and stormed out, each step feeling like I was abandoning her in some irreparable way. Outside in the hallway, I could hear Mrs. Green murmuring prayers, her voice quavering between hope and fear. Peter stood in the corner, his head down, silent and solemn, like this was a vigil none of us had wanted to keep.

And me? I paced. Back and forth, my thoughts racing, trying to focus on anything other than the slow, creeping panic that was tightening in my chest. My hands moved unconsciously through my hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. I had never felt this way before—so anxious, so powerless. The moments dragged on endlessly, each one feeling like an eternity.

What if she doesn’t wake up? What if her father finds out? What if this is the last time I ever see her?

The thoughts tumbled over each other, becoming louder and louder until I had to press my palms to my forehead, trying to silence them. It wasn’t because I feared her father’s wrath—though I knew that would come, and it would be severe. It was because Mia mattered to me. She always had, even if she’d forgotten, even if she hated me now. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—forget her.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Jackson stepped into the hallway. I was at his side in an instant.

“How is she? Is she going to be okay?”

He nodded, his face softening with relief. “She’s stable. She just needs rest. Give her a day or two, and she’ll be back on her feet.”

The tension in my body released all at once, as if the strings that had held me taut suddenly snapped. I felt the air rush back into my lungs, my chest loosening from the tightness that had gripped me since Jackson arrived. “Thank God,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

Mrs. Green stood and approached, her hands clasped tightly together. “What happened to her, Doctor?”

Jackson sighed, leaning against the doorframe, finally allowing himself to relax. “She had a severe allergic reaction to dust, which triggered an asthma attack. She must have a history of hypersensitivity, but this was severe. Has she had episodes like this before?”

I shook my head. “I—I don’t think so. At least, I’ve never seen her with an inhaler. She doesn’t have asthma... at least, I don’t think she does.”

Jackson frowned slightly, processing this information. “It could be a dust allergy, then. The reaction she had today suggests a high level of sensitivity.”

A flash of recognition hit me. Yesterday—she’d been sneezing when I found her in bed, a piece of cloth tied around her nose and mouth. She must have been trying to protect herself. How had I not noticed it then? How had I missed something so obvious?

Jackson was still watching me, waiting for an answer to the question that lingered in the air between us. “Who is she, Bryan?” His voice was quieter now, but still firm, unrelenting in its curiosity.

But I wasn’t ready for that conversation—not with him, not with anyone. “Mrs. Green,” I said, turning away from Jackson’s questioning gaze. “Have Mia’s room cleaned and make sure it’s comfortable. Whatever she needs, get it.”

Mrs. Green nodded and hurried off, grateful for the distraction, no doubt.

Jackson, however, wasn’t so easily dismissed. “I’m still waiting for an answer, you know.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Instead, I motioned for Peter to step in. “See Jackson out for me, will you?” I asked him, my voice softer now, as if I had expended all my energy.

Peter nodded, stepping forward dutifully, ready to intervene. Jackson, though, wasn’t letting this go without a fight. “Hey, Bryan! You’re just going to ignore me like this?” His voice rose in protest, but I was already turning away, closing the door behind me before he could say another word.

Inside, the room felt different—quieter, more still. Mia lay there, looking so small, so fragile, as though she might disappear if I looked away for too long. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, my hand hovering above hers for a moment before I finally let myself take it.

Her skin was cool to the touch, her fingers delicate beneath mine. She looked the same as she had all those years ago—small, vulnerable, and impossibly familiar. Memories flooded back, unbidden, memories I had tried to bury, tried to forget. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I had tried to make myself believe that I had moved on, I couldn’t erase her.

I never would.