Chapter 17

He stared at me like I'd just said something in ancient Greek. "You nearly died right here. Someone screwed up. There's no way I'm just ignoring a threat like this, especially when it happened in my house. You're my responsibility to fix."

"I know the drill, Killian: the contract, the reputation, all that rubbish." I cut him off, feeling a surge of that old stubbornness rise up. "But I don't need a bodyguard. I don't need high-maintenance food sent in every day. I just need you to go back to the way it was."

I looked at him pleadingly, hating the weakness in my voice. "Go back to ignoring me. Go back to being the cold, distant guy who stays out of my way. I'm fine. This was a fluke, an accident, not a full-blown war."

I hated this sudden shift. I hated the feeling of being cared for, because I knew it wasn't real; it was just his need for control mixed with shock. When he was cold, I was safe. When he showed this frightening level of focus, I felt like prey.

"I appreciate you moving fast," I continued, trying to sound calm and rational. "You saved me, yes. Thank you. But you've done your duty. Now, please, just go back to the office, go back to your routine. I'll stay here and work on my studies until I'm well. We don't need to change everything and make this arrangement even more uncomfortable than it already is."

He didn't move. He just stood there, tall and massive at the end of the bed, absorbing every word. I could see the purely pragmatic annoyance in his eyes. He wanted to go back to his work; he was a machine dedicated to his empire. But this screw-up was now his top priority.

"I can't do that," he said finally, his voice a low rumble. "I need to figure out who did this. You're a security risk until I do."

"Then stop treating me like a security risk!" I insisted, letting some frustration seep in. "Think of me as a valuable person who needs minimal fuss! A bodyguard and special food are a high fuss. It draws attention. It's ridiculous. Just forget about it, and I promise I'll be more careful."

I saw a muscle tic in his jaw. He was clearly annoyed by my argument, but he wasn't trying to shut me down.

He eventually let out a slow, controlled breath, like he was deciding the least inconvenient way to solve this problem. He didn't fully agree, but he didn't fight me either. He just stared at me, his eyes colder now, the problem-solving analysis back on his face.

"Fine," he said, the word clipped and final. "You want to handle your own stuff, Nova? You want the minimum? I'll let you handle the food yourself. You can order from outside. But if you have another episode, if you so much as get dizzy, I will move you to a private wing of St. Jude's and put armed guards on your door. Are we clear?"

I nodded quickly. Ordering in was a hundred times better than his sterile solution. I just wanted my space back.

He didn't say goodbye. He just turned, the cold distance back in his posture, and walked out. The door shut softly behind him, leaving me alone with the whirring machine and the sudden, heavy silence.

I laid back against the pillows, closing my eyes. I knew I had pushed him back into his box, but the sheer, intimidating force of his need for control was still sitting in the room. He might be cold, but he wasn't immune to a failure on his watch. And that focused control was a vulnerability I couldn't afford to have close to me.

I sighed, reaching for my phone. I called the one person that was still normal in my screwed-up life, Vera.

Killian

I was just stuck in my office, staring out at the view, feeling burned out. I couldn't go back to the office yet; I needed some distance after Nova almost died. That whole mess wrecked my usual "I don't care" attitude.

Pascal was across the room, already running the full search I’d asked for. He was quietly talking into his earpiece, getting the staff interviewed. Honestly, all I could focus on was how someone screwed up my security and nearly killed my contract wife. It was a massive fail.

Nova had been clear: stop with the intense security and go back to ignoring her. Since my investigation wasn't going anywhere fast, I decided to ease up on the guards she could actually see.

When Tanya tapped softly on the door, I just grunted, "Come in." She slid inside, looking genuinely worried. "Killian? You didn't come back," she said softly. "I was worried about you. You looked completely wiped out earlier."

"I’m fine," I told her. "Just dealing with the clean-up." She moved closer. "How is Nova? That allergic reaction thing is terrifying. I'm still shaky."

"She’s okay. But Pascal is looking into everything. This wasn’t some random accident, Tanya. Martha knows the kitchen rules. Someone did this on purpose."

She tried to calm me down. "Are you sure? Couldn't it have been a supplier mess-up? Who would try to hurt her like that?"

I cut her off. "I don't care how it happened; I care that it happened," I said, my voice tight. "That much protein had to be put there on purpose, or someone was really careless. And I don’t pay for carelessness."

She gave my arm a quick, friendly pat. "Look, I just came to make sure you were okay. Focus on Nova being stable. You need to just breathe." She pulled her hand back.

 "I'll get Martha to send up some simple food. You should eat something." I just said, "Fine." And she left. She’s smart; she knows when to help and when to get out of the way.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Pascal pulled his earpiece out, looking defeated. "Sir, I have the full video feed."

"Show me the hall leading to the kitchen," I demanded, leaning over his screen. We watched four days of video for the key twenty minutes each morning. Nothing. The normal staff, the cleaning robot, no one out of place.

"Nope," Pascal finally admitted, throwing his hands up a little. "No activity. The only people near the food were the new kitchen staff, and Martha was watching them the whole time. Whoever messed with the food... they didn't show up on video."

I stepped back, running a hand over my jaw. My whole 'hidden enemy' idea was dead wrong.

"It means it wasn't a deliberate attack," I finished for him. "It means it was the simplest thing: a huge, deadly mistake."

My anger about an attacker changed into pure frustration about how sloppy my staff was. Nova almost died because of a simple mess-up.

I told Pascal, "Call Martha. She's not fired, but she’s on thin ice. Every single item in that kitchen needs to be checked and approved again. If her team misses one thing, she’s gone." Pascal looked relieved.

I sat on the couch, feeling worn out. Nova was right. I acted like a lunatic, turning a simple, stupid accident into a security crisis. I needed to calm down and respect her wishes for space.