Chapter 4 New beginning
1563 Words
Morning light drifted through the glass walls of the hospital’s executive wing, soft and golden, casting long amber streaks across the white marble floors. It was the kind of light that promised warmth, renewal, tomorrow. But inside the private ward, the room felt paused between worlds—the fading scent of lilies, the quiet hum of machines no longer needed, the cold echo of days Amanda could barely remember.
Today she would leave this place behind.
Across the city, in the penthouse office of Lions Den Corporation, Leonardo’s pen hovered halfway through a signature. Debra’s voice had just come through the intercom:
“Sir, the hospital called. Miss Adams will be ready by noon for discharge.”
Silence followed.
Not because he hadn’t heard her, but because the words hit him with an unexpected weight.
Noon.
She was going home.
Not to her home—she had none.
To his.
He leaned back slowly in his leather chair, fingers tapping once against the polished oak desk. The movement was small, controlled, but his chest felt strangely… lighter. An uninvited emotion—dangerously close to relief—settled beneath his ribs.
For days he had seen her pale and broken, drifting in unconsciousness. For nights he had returned home only to find her face lingering behind his eyes, haunting him like an unfinished story. He’d buried himself in work, mergers, meetings, contracts—yet a part of him had remained anchored in that hospital room beside her.
And now she would finally leave.
He rose, crossing to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the glowing expanse of Los Angeles. The morning sun painted the city in gold and silver, turning high-rises into blades of light. Down there, somewhere among millions of strangers, walked the person who had nearly killed her.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened.
One day—when she was ready to speak—he would find the bastard responsible and end them. Quietly. Efficiently. Permanently.
But not today.
Today, he would bring Amanda home.
He grabbed his keys—the metal cool and heavy in his palm—and left the office.
Amanda stood in the bathroom of her hospital suite, staring at her reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights. The bandages around her head framed her face like a fragile, uneven crown. Her skin still held the faint pallor of someone who had brushed against death.
She touched the edge of the gauze. Pain pulsed beneath her fingertips—not sharp, but deep, a reminder of the night she had been thrown away like something unwanted.
Her dress, a cream silk piece that draped around her body in soft, expensive folds, felt foreign. It belonged to a world she had never touched. The fabric sighed against her skin when she moved, whispering of wealth she did not understand.
The woman who had delivered it—tall, sharp-suited, bowing slightly when she said Leonardo’s name—had left more questions than answers.
Amanda swallowed.
Men like Leonardo Ferguson belonged to galaxies far beyond her reach.
People like her weren’t rescued by men like him.
They weren’t clothed, fed, sheltered, protected.
In her world, kindness always carried a cost.
A soft knock.
She straightened. “Come in.”
Dr. Terrance Brown entered, smiling gently. “Here’s the pen and paper you asked for.” He placed them in her hands. “And there’s food waiting for you in the kitchen. Leo sent it personally. He’ll arrive at noon to take you home.”
Home.
The word unsettled something in her heart—something tender, something afraid.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He nodded, then stepped out, leaving the scent of clean soap and aftershave behind him.
Amanda glanced at the clock. 11:15.
Forty-five minutes until Leonardo came.
Forty-five minutes until she’d owe him something she couldn’t name.
Her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled a note on the paper—short, uneven, rushed. She folded it neatly and placed it on her pillow.
She ate a few bites of the warm breakfast left for her—rich broth, soft bread, fresh fruit—then pushed the tray aside. Her stomach couldn’t hold more.
Her heart was already too full of fear.
She slipped on the hospital-provided shoes, tucked her shaking hands into the long sleeves of her dress, and quietly stepped out of the room.
By the time Leonardo’s Bugatti turned into the hospital driveway, Amanda Adams was gone.
The first breath of sunlight outside the hospital felt like freedom—warm, soft, almost unreal. Amanda paused at the top of the marble steps, closing her eyes. The June air carried the scent of lavender, grilled street food, and something bright and alive. Cars rumbled along the street; children laughed somewhere nearby.
Life.
It felt close enough to touch.
Step by step, she moved forward, leaving the hospital behind. But her body fought her with every block—pain blooming down her side, her legs trembling, breath hitching. Twice she had to stop and rest against the smooth steel of a lamppost.
But she refused to turn back.
She had direction now.
She had courage.
She had no other choice.
Three blocks.
Seven blocks.
Ten blocks.
Until finally she reached the small, elegant double-story house guarded by lavender shrubs. Her heart thundered against her ribs. The walk had drained her, left her shaking, dizzy, barely upright.
She pressed the doorbell with trembling fingers.
Footsteps.
A quiet gasp.
Then—
“Amanda!”
Lola’s voice burst from the doorway like sunlight breaking clouds. In the next heartbeat, her arms wrapped around Amanda, pulling her close with a sob of disbelief.
“You’re alive,” Lola whispered, fingers shaking as they brushed the bandages.
Amanda gave a faint smile. “It’s… a very long story.”
“Come in,” Lola said quickly. “You don’t ever have to ask.”
Inside, the living room glowed with morning light—warm, cluttered, lived-in. The air smelled of lilies and freshly brewed coffee. Cushions were scattered across a bright, floral couch; a half-read book lay face-down on the coffee table.
Everything about the room breathed comfort.
Amanda sat slowly, sinking into the cushions with a soft exhale.
“Stay put,” Lola commanded. “I’m making you coffee.”
Amanda managed a tired laugh. “You haven’t changed.”
“And you have,” Lola said from the kitchen. “You look like you fought a car and lost.”
Amanda winced. “More like… fell out of one.”
The clatter of dishes froze.
Then—
“Amanda, what?”
She didn’t answer.
Lola hurried over with two steaming mugs, setting one gently into Amanda’s hands. The warmth seeped into her palms, grounding her.
“What happened?” Lola whispered. “You look starved. You look… hurt.”
Amanda stared into the swirling coffee.
“It’s a long story.”
“You have time.” Lola sat across from her. “Start wherever you can.”
So Amanda did.
She told her everything—the beating, the cold water, the car, waking up in the hospital, the private suite, the strange silence from the Jones family. She left out Leonardo—at least the parts she didn’t understand—but the rest spilled from her like unraveling thread.
When she finished, Lola’s expression was a storm—anger, fear, disbelief.
“And now?” Lola asked quietly.
“I’m… looking for a job,” Amanda said. “And a place to stay. Just until I can—”
“You’ll stay here.” Lola said it instantly, as if the words had been waiting on her tongue. “My uncle’s family is out of the country for a few months. I’m house-sitting. There’s more than enough space.”
Amanda’s throat tightened. “Lola, no. I can’t impose—”
“You’re not imposing.” Lola took her hand. “You’re recovering.”
Amanda blinked rapidly, tears forming.
“You’re too good,” she whispered.
“That’s what friends are for,” Lola said softly.
A beat passed.
Then Lola grinned suddenly, mischief lighting her eyes.
“So,” she said, “any man in your life yet?”
Amanda nearly choked on her coffee. “Lola!”
“What? You’re twenty-one, gorgeous, and still—”
“Don’t!” Amanda warned, cheeks heating.
“A virgin who’s never been kissed,” Lola finished triumphantly.
Amanda grabbed a pillow and threw it at her.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it.”
Amanda cracked a real smile—small, tired, but real. “I’ve missed you.”
They laughed, the sound filling the room like music, lifting the weight of days.
But when their laughter died, the room softened again.
Quiet.
Safe.
“Lola…” Amanda began, tone shifting.
Lola straightened. “What do you need?”
“My things are still at the Jones house,” Amanda whispered. “Clothes. Documents. Everything. I can’t… I can’t go back there.”
“You won’t,” Lola said firmly. “I’ll go. Today.”
Amanda nodded, relief washing over her.
“You’re safe now,” Lola promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Amanda stared at the golden sunlight spilling across the floorboards, warm and gentle.
Safe.
For the first time in her life, the word didn’t feel like a lie.
- Writer
