The Billionaire's Runaway Nurse

12

Mia's Pov

"Mia!!!"

"Mia!"

The voice cut through my sleep, pulling me from the heavy, restless void. Blinking, I opened my eyes, my vision blurred and disoriented. Slowly, Mrs. Green’s face came into view, her expression carved with worry.

"Mia, are you alright?" Her voice softened as I rubbed my eyes, the last wisps of a dark dream still hovering in the edges of my mind.

"What…happened?" I managed, my voice raspy with sleep and something else, something thick that seemed to linger in my chest.

"You were crying," she said gently, a warm hand reaching to brush away the dampness lingering on my cheek. "Are you hurting anywhere?"

I reached up, fingertips grazing the lingering wetness there. "No," I murmured, managing a faint, tired smile. "I'm fine, really. It was just a nightmare." But I could still feel the ache, low and steady, nestled somewhere between my ribs.

Mrs. Green didn’t look convinced. She searched my face, her eyes a blend of sympathy and something sadder, something that knew, perhaps, that my "fine" was as fragile as paper.

"Are you sure? What could be so terrible that you were crying like that?"

A silent answer stirred in me, memories edging forward like shadows. It had been so long since I’d dreamed about her—my mother. And yet, every now and then, that old memory, sharp as broken glass, pushed through the surface, reminding me. It was always the same scene: the day her friend had died, the storm that had followed, the echo of my parents’ voices entwined in anger. That fight had been the last real exchange between them before my mother began withdrawing, her presence in our lives slipping like sand through fingers. She withdrew from us, too, shut herself into a quiet, unreachable place. We would hear her voice from time to time, little murmurs through closed doors, but she was…gone, in ways I was too young to understand.

Liam, my younger brother, would stand by her door and call her name, hopeful, but the door never opened. I’d distract him, leading him away, pretending it was a game. He stopped asking after a while, and a part of me had to stop hoping, too. But even now, the memory was unhealed, rough-edged.

I sighed, feeling Mrs. Green’s hand on my head, gently patting as if I were a child once more.

"My poor, poor girl," she murmured.

I managed a smile, blinking back the sting in my eyes. "I’m alright, really," I said, though I could hear the lie in my voice. I never wanted to worry anyone—not Mrs. Green, and certainly not Liam, who’d always looked to me for strength, however hollow it might feel at times.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, offering a thin but hopeful smile.

"A little," I replied, feeling that tiny pull of warmth that she always managed to conjure.

"I’ll bring you something to eat," she promised, brushing her hands against her skirt. Then, something in the dimness around us caught my attention, and I looked around, noticing the deep colors surrounding us, heavy, dark hues wrapping the walls.

"Mrs. Green," I said, glancing around again, "do you like the color black?"

She blinked, a little taken aback. "No," she answered, a bit unsure.

"Then…why is everything in here black?" I asked, letting my gaze drift over the furnishings, the curtains, every detail swathed in shadow.

A strange look crossed her face, her eyes widening as if she’d realized something. For a brief moment, a fleeting expression flickered across her face, and then her skin paled slightly.

"It’s…well," she stammered, struggling to find words, "this is my room, but it’s not my house."

I tilted my head, still confused. "Oh, I get it now!" I said after a beat. "This is your room, but it’s technically his house, so you can’t decorate however you like."

Mrs. Green’s lips pressed into a line, as if my answer didn’t quite satisfy her, but she said nothing.

I looked away, an unspoken disappointment settling on me. This man, Bryan—the one who owned this grand, shadow-filled mansion—he seemed so removed, so unreachable, and for some reason, I’d hoped he was different with her. The other maids spoke so highly of him, though I couldn’t understand why. He was handsome, yes, but there was something more, a kind of reverence. They called him generous, considerate, everything I hadn’t seen in him. Maybe they were blinded by his face, or maybe he played to them with charm because they were outsiders. But for some reason, I’d hoped he might have made a small exception for Mrs. Green.

She sighed, looking at me. "I don’t think you understand him at all."

I blinked, a little taken aback. "What do you mean? He’s like…well, he’s like my father," I replied, a bitterness slipping through, uninvited.

She shook her head, a sadness touching her expression. "No," she whispered, "he’s not. He’s nothing like your father."

Her words stung, an accusation I didn’t expect, though I couldn’t be sure why. "But…how would you know what my father’s like?"

Her eyes were careful as she answered. "I know more than you think, Mia. Just know this: Bryan is…good. He’s truly good. He cares deeply for people, more than you could imagine. If he could help someone, anyone, even at the risk of his own life, he would. He’s a diamond among rocks." Her eyes grew a little distant, soft with an admiration I hadn’t known she carried.

A pang of guilt wound through me, bitter as bile. Maybe I didn’t know him. Not really. "Then ask him to send me home," I said, the words slipping out before I could catch them.

She looked at me, hurt. "You’d ask that of him?"

I paused, realizing the weight of what I’d said. "Not for me…but for him," I managed, the truth tinged with a desperation that startled me. "My father…he’s dangerous, Mrs. Green. If he wants something, he’ll do anything to get it. And he already hates Bryan. The fact that I’m here, in his house—it’s a risk for him, too."

Her face softened, a pitying look in her eyes. "I understand what you’re saying," she replied, her voice barely more than a murmur. "But I can’t change what he’s doing."

"Don’t you care for him?" I pressed, my voice a little sharper than I meant it to be. "He listens to you; I know he does."

She looked away, a tight smile on her lips. "You’re right; he does listen to me. And I understand why he’s doing this. I don’t agree, but…I understand."

The frustration within me grew, twisted into a helplessness I couldn’t shake. "You don’t understand!" I half-shouted, though it sounded more like a plea. "My father could kill him, Mrs. Green."

Her face turned somber, shadows settling in the creases of her eyes. "Mia," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I know what your father is capable of. I know he has hurt people, taken lives in cold blood. I know he sees people as little more than obstacles to his own success."

I stared at her, the pieces snapping together too quickly, too forcefully. "Who…who are you?" I asked, feeling the weight of something I couldn’t yet name.

A sadness passed over her face, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I’ve said too much." She turned, beginning to walk away.

"Wait!" I cried, struggling to rise from the bed.

She turned, eyes softening as she helped me settle back down. "Careful," she murmured, her voice full of a tenderness that felt almost foreign in the harsh, cold room.

"Tell me," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Tell me…what you know about my father."

She took a deep breath, looking down. "Do you know why your father hates Bryan?"

I shook my head. "I…I always thought it was…competition. They’re rivals. That’s what everyone says."

A small, bitter smile touched her lips. "There’s more to it than that, Mia. But it’s not my story to tell. If you want answers, go to your father—or Bryan."

The ache in my chest grew sharper. "But you know, don’t you? You know everything. So why won’t you just tell me?"

She shook her head. "I am only an outsider. It isn’t my place to interfere in this old hatred."

I reached out, catching her hand. "Please."

She squeezed my hand, a flicker of pity in her eyes. "I’ll get you something to eat." And then she was gone.

A chill crept over me as I sat alone, the quiet weight of her words pressing down, settling into my bones. What could my father have done that would make Bryan, a stranger, hate him so much? What kind of past connected them both so deeply? And what place did I hold in this tangled, unspoken history?

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples, my mind spinning as I thought of the conversation that still hung, unspoken, between us.

The sound of her footsteps brought me back to the present. "Eat something," Mrs. Green’s voice murmured as she returned, carrying a tray. She set it beside me, her expression softened, a small tension still lingering between us.

"Thank you," I said, offering a small smile as I took the plate, the warmth from the food comforting in a way that made me wish the past were just a dream, something I could wake up from and leave behind.

"I’ll be back to collect it later," she said, pausing in the doorway.

"Wait…Mrs. Green," I hesitated, "could you stay for a while?"

She turned, surprised. "Is there something on your mind?"

I nodded, though I struggled to find the words. "I wanted to ask if…maybe you’d ever thought about adding some color to the room?" I glanced around the walls, the heavy black of the curtains, the solemn shadows hanging like silent sentinels.

"Color?" She tilted her head, watching me with mild amusement.

"Yes! Just…something to lighten it up a bit. The black is a little…oppressive." I shrugged, attempting a smile.

Her lips quirked in a faint, amused smile. "Why?" she asked, her voice holding a touch of laughter. "Doesn’t this look nice?"

I tried to explain, stumbling over words. "It’s just…it feels like it has no soul. Like something essential is missing."

She raised her eyebrows, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "Soul?"

I nodded eagerly. "Imagine—a little red here, a splash of white there. That one should be gray, maybe a bit of violet here." I paused, catching her gaze, realizing I’d gotten carried away. "Sorry," I muttered, looking down. "I didn’t mean to go on."

She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "No, it’s…beautiful. You sounded so passionate. Have you ever considered interior design?"

I laughed, looking away. "No…no, I’m no expert," I said, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks. "It was just something my mom used to do, rearranging the house, making it beautiful in her way. She loved it, and so…so did I."

A hint of sadness entered her gaze. "So why didn’t you pursue it?"

The question sat between us, heavy and unspoken, and I felt the beginnings of an answer form on my lips, but I couldn’t say it. How could I tell her that sometimes, life hands you dreams you’re meant to leave behind?