Chapter 16

Killian

I threw the door open to her. The air smelled sharp, like a hospital mixed with pure oxygen.

She was propped up in the bed, pale as hell, with an oxygen tube running under her nose. The doctor, Hennessey, was standing over her, checking the machines.

I went straight to the foot of the bed and just stood there, gripping the rail. "Is she okay?" I asked Hennessey, my voice rough.

He was calm and all business. "Yes, Mr. Ashford. We caught the anaphylaxis quickly, thank God. Epinephrine was administered, oxygen saturation is stable, and the swelling is going down. But it was severe. Very close. She needs rest and observation, but she'll be fine."

"Fine," I repeated, my jaw tight. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and the tension in my shoulders eased slightly, replaced by a focused, sinking determination.

Hennessey finished checking her and walked over to me, lowering his voice. "She's also exhausted, Mr. Ashford. She appears to have been pushing herself hard the last few days. I'd suggest a strict rest period."

I looked at her. She was staring straight ahead, not at me, but at the far wall. She looked completely wiped out.

"Just give us a minute," I told the doctor, gesturing for him to leave. "Keep the nurses right outside the door."

Hennessey gave me a sharp look, nodded, and left.

The room fell silent, broken only by the soft whoosh of the oxygen machine. I stood at the end of the bed, just staring at her, taking in the full measure of the near-disaster.

Finally, she turned her head slowly and looked at me. Her eyes were still guarded, but there was a flicker of something new, a stunned look, maybe even a tiny bit of thanks for my terrifyingly fast reaction.

"Why the hell did you yell like that?" She rasped, her voice still weak and hoarse. "I heard you yelling at Martha downstairs."

"Yeah, I lost it," I admitted, my voice flat. "I mean, seriously, Nova. That just happened in my dining room. We went through all the paperwork, and this is what happens? It's unacceptable." I skipped the stupid question about if she was okay and went straight to the logistics.

 "You knew you had an allergy. Why didn't you mention it when you were served?" I asked, needing information.

She closed her eyes briefly, gathering strength. "I... I just caught the scent as I took the bite. I didn't smell it before. It must have been an oil, highly refined. The smell is almost undetectable, but the protein... it's still there. I didn't expect to be poisoned on a normal freaking Tuesday, Killian."

She opened her eyes, heavy with exhaustion. "It was in the eggs, Killian."

That confirmed it, and it chilled me. This wasn't just a dirty spoon; it had to be an ingredient. The kind of screw-up that made Martha's denial sound like a sick joke.

"Okay, new plan," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "You're done eating anything prepared here, period. I'm calling my grandmother's chef; she's insane about safety. We’ll have food delivered. And you're not stepping outside this room or the house without security and a proper med kit."

She blinked slowly, processing the sudden, sweeping security measures.

"You don't need to do that," she murmured, lifting a hand weakly to push the oxygen tube away, but she didn't have the strength.

"The hell I don't," I snapped. I paced the end of the room once, unable to stand still. "Look, I know you hate the fuss, but you're my problem right now, legally and practically. I need you alive, and that almost... that was too close. We’re doing this properly from now on."

I stopped pacing and looked straight at her. The relief that she was breathing had been a physical blow, a rush of emotion I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years. I didn't try to label it.

I took a final, sharp breath. "Your only job for the next few days is to rest up and recover. Got it?"

I didn't wait for her to agree. I pulled out my phone and walked to the corner, calling Pascal. I was now fixed on finding the source of that oil. Martha's insistence that the kitchen was perfectly clean kept ringing in my ears, and that just pointed to something deliberate and messed up.

I started speaking into the phone, keeping my voice super low. "Pascal. Drop what you're doing and pull the surveillance feeds immediately. I need the dining room and central kitchen feeds, focusing on the last hour. I just need to know who was near that breakfast setup. Someone screwed up way too badly for this to be an accident."

I glanced back at her. She was watching me, her expression finally changing not to resignation, but to a kind of stunned realization of the fast-moving problem I had just taken on. I might have walls up against the whole world, but suddenly, I was her damn security detail. I was going to figure out who pulled this stunt.

Nova

I watched the idiot stomp to the end of the room and start barking orders into his phone. The sheer focus in his voice and the way he was demanding the security footage were honestly unsettling. That wasn't just cold indifference. That was total concentration aimed right at fixing the problem he let happen.

The adrenaline the doctor had pumped into my leg was wearing off, leaving me feeling like a wet sponge. Every muscle ached, my throat felt like sandpaper, and the constant hiss of the oxygen machine was buzzing in my ears. But even through the haze, I could see the change in him.

He was my security risk, not the solution. I didn't want him acting like this. It messed up the neat little boundaries we had set, and it made me feel unsettled. My life with Killian was supposed to be simple: stay out of his way, get my mother treated, and leave in a year. This escalation of protection was just too much. It was too close.

I waited until he ended the call, putting his phone away with a sharp click. He turned back to me, his jaw set, and his eyes were locked on me with focused intensity.

"Look, I'm handling this security stuff myself from now on," he said, sounding firm but drained. "I don't care about your classes or your mom's clinic schedules; that can wait. Your only job for the next few days is to recover. And you will do as I say."

I pushed myself up a little higher on the pillows, wincing because my neck hurt. I pulled the oxygen tube away from my face. I had to say this now, before he put me in a bubble wrap suit.

"Stop it, Killian," I managed, my voice a painful croak.

He stopped dead at the foot of the bed, his eyes narrowing slightly. He clearly wasn't used to the person he'd just saved contradicting him.

"Stop what?" he demanded, his voice low with frustration.

"All of this crap," I waved a weak hand around the room at the monitors, the oxygen tank, and the space he was occupying with his overwhelming presence. "The security, the investigation, the drama. I don't need it. I don't want it."