chapter 7

I agreed to the trial period before my mind could talk me out of it.

The thought of Noah's medical bills, the endless stack of invoices sitting on the kitchen counter, made the choice easier.  Two days later, after finishing my shift at the pharmacy, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Eleanor Kane’s sedan.

The drive to the Kane estate took us out of the busy commercial district and into an enclave of quiet, guarded estates hidden behind high stone walls and wrought-iron gates. When the car finally turned through the sweeping entrance of the Kane property, I couldn't stop my hands from tightening around the strap of my bag.

The house was massive. It was all limestone, slate, and glass, surrounded by manicured lawns that looked like they had been measured with a ruler. Tall arched windows reflected the fading afternoon light, giving the entire place a distant, almost imposing grandeur.

It was a world completely separate from mine. At home, our space was filled with the clutter of lived-in warmth, Ella’s design sketches covering the dining table, Mum’s worn recipe books, and the quiet, persistent worry over Noah’s condition but here, everything was silent, polished, and intimidating.

"It takes some getting used to," Eleanor said gently, turning off the engine. She looked over at me with an understanding smile. "When I first came here, I felt like a guest in my own house for months."

"It's very impressive, Mrs. Kane," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"It's just stone and space, Ivy," she replied softly as she opened her door. "Come."

I followed her up the wide marble steps and through the massive double doors. Inside, the foyer was vaulted and silent, our footsteps echoing softly against the pristine floorboards. We climbed a sweeping staircase and moved down a long, quiet corridor in the west wing. The atmosphere grew distinctly clinical as we walked, until Eleanor stopped outside a pair of heavy wooden doors.

She paused for a second, her hand resting on the brass handle, before pushing the door open.

The room was vast, bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. But despite the elegance of the room,the tailored drapes, the plush seating, it was dominated by the medical equipment set up near the center. Monitors hummed quietly, and slender tubes ran to a high-tech hospital bed.

And lying on the bed was Sebastian Kane.

I had seen his face in news articles and corporate profiles,a sharp-featured, decisive young man who commanded attention in every photograph. But the man in the bed looked nothing like those pictures.

He lay completely motionless, his dark hair falling neatly against pale skin. His features were striking, but his face was settled into a stillness so profound it barely looked real. Only the rhythmic, slow rise and fall of his chest under the crisp white sheets proved he was alive.

I had spent years dealing with patient charts, dosage calculations, and drug interactions, maintaining a comfortable distance between myself and the people behind the prescriptions. But looking down at Sebastian, seeing a man so young and powerful reduced to absolute vulnerability, a sharp knot formed in my chest.

"He’s been like this since the attack," Eleanor said quietly, stepping up to the side of the bed. She reached out, her fingers gently smoothing the edge of his blanket. "The doctors keep telling me his vital signs are stable, but looking at him every day..." Her voice trailed off, cracking slightly before she caught herself.

I took a quiet step closer, my gaze fixed on his still face. "It must be very hard for you."

"It's the uncertainty that wears you down," Eleanor murmured, looking down at her son. "Knowing he is in there somewhere, but unable to reach him."

She turned back to me, her expression regaining its familiar composure. "I don't expect miracles from you, Ivy. I just want someone who will look out for him with real care."

I looked at Sebastian again, his unmoving hands resting over the sheet, the faint shadow of his jawline, the quiet heaviness of the room. I had taken the job for the extra income, but standing beside his bed, I found myself looking at the arrangement differently. This wasn't just another shift.