Chapter 4

Nora's POV

Never in my life did I think I would wake up to the realization that someone had thrown me off a six-story building and that, somehow, I was still alive.

The moment I opened my eyes, a sharp pain slammed into my body, forcing a weak groan from my throat.

My head felt as though someone had driven a metal rod straight through my skull, and I immediately squeezed my eyes shut again, hoping the darkness would make the pain disappear.

It didn't.

I lay there for several seconds, breathing slowly and trying to figure out where I was before finally forcing my eyes open again.

The unfamiliar ceiling came into focus first.

Then the white walls, followed by the faint smell of antiseptic and then the soft beeping of a machine somewhere beside me.

My brows pulled together as confusion slowly replaced the pain.

Where the hell am I?

I tried to sit up, but the moment I lifted my shoulders from the mattress, a violent wave of pain shot through my head and down my neck.

I hissed and immediately collapsed back onto the pillow.

“Okay... nope,” I whispered weakly, closing my eyes for a moment. “This is definitely not a normal headache.”

My throat felt dry and scratchy, and when I tried to swallow, it hurt.

I turned my head slightly, looking around the unfamiliar room.

“Is anyone here?” I croaked.

My voice sounded so weak that I almost didn't recognize it.

A second later, the door flew open as though whoever was on the other side had been waiting for that exact moment.

A man rushed inside.

I stared.

He had blonde hair that looked slightly messy, tattoos crawling up both arms and absolutely no shirt on, as though walking around half-naked in a hospital room was the most normal thing in the world.

He looked young.

He couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

And in my thirty-eight years on this earth, I had never once looked at a younger man and felt anything other than complete indifference.

Yet somehow, staring at this particular stranger while I was barely capable of sitting upright, I couldn't explain the strange reaction that went through me.

He was annoyingly, offensively hot.

It was ridiculous.

I had apparently just survived being thrown off a six-story building, and somehow my brain had decided that noticing how attractive a shirtless stranger was should be one of my immediate concerns.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop staring.

For one completely inappropriate second, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

Then he noticed that I was awake.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh my God,” he said, almost laughing in relief. “You're finally awake.”

I immediately pushed myself farther back against the bed, ignoring the pain that shot through my head.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “And why do you look like a rejected biker gang leader?”

He blinked at me.

For a second, I thought I had offended him.

Instead, a slow smile spread across his face.

“Wow,” he said as he dragged a chair closer to the bed. “Okay. You're alive and already disrespectful. I like that.”

“I don't care what you like,” I shot back. “What am I doing here? How did I get here? And who the hell are you?”

He raised both hands slightly, looking amused by the number of questions I was throwing at him.

“Slow down. That's a lot of questions for someone who just woke up.”

“Then answer them.”

I glared at him through the throbbing pain in my head.

He studied me for a moment before finally exhaling and leaning back in the chair.

“Fine,” he said. “I saved your life.”

I stared at him.

“You apparently tried to commit suicide. You fell off a building, and I found you and rushed you to the hospital. You've been in a coma for three weeks.”

I blinked slowly.

For several seconds, I couldn't even process the words.

“...I'm sorry, what?”

He didn't repeat himself.

I shook my head immediately.

“No,” I said firmly. “That's not what happened.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling a tightness in my throat that had nothing to do with the dryness.

“My husband pushed me,” I said slowly, each word growing heavier as the memory came rushing back. “He pushed me off a balcony because of his mistress.”

The man's expression changed slightly.

“And his mistress was my best friend,” I added bitterly.

His smile faded.

“That isn't what he told the press,” he said calmly, leaning back in the chair as though he had nowhere else to be. “And it's a little weird that you're still calling him your husband.”

My brows pulled together.

“What are you talking about?”

My voice became sharper as panic began threading through my confusion.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“He's married,” he corrected simply. “And he's currently on his honeymoon with his wife.”

My entire body went cold.

“What?”

The word barely left my lips.

A hollow laugh escaped me, but even I could hear how broken it sounded.

“He left me to die,” I whispered, anger slowly replacing the shock. “He betrayed me after five years of marriage. Five years of a sexless marriage, no child, nothing to show for all the IVF treatments I went through.”

My hands began trembling.

I looked down at them, watching my fingers shake uncontrollably.

“My father is going to kill me,” I added, almost speaking to myself now. “I'm going to lose everything.”

The stranger frowned.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “You're really not making sense.”

“I've been living a fake life,” I replied bitterly.

His expression became more serious.

“All of it,” I continued. “Everything I built with Dennis was part of a plan. I was trying to build the perfect marriage and the perfect man because I needed to take over my father's empire.”

A bitter laugh escaped me, but it broke halfway through.

“And he gave me a five-year ultimatum,” I continued, my voice cracking as the memories came flooding back. “A husband or I lose everything.”

The man stared at me for a long moment.

Then he shook his head.

“Typical Gerald Lennox. He doesn't ever change.”

My head snapped toward him.

“What did you just say?”

I pushed myself farther up against the pillow, ignoring the sharp pain that immediately flared through my skull.

“How do you know my father?” I demanded. “Who are you?”

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he simply watched me.

“I know everything about you, Genevieve Lennox.”

Every nerve in my body went on high alert.

Genevieve Lennox.

How did he know that name?

I stared at him, trying to understand how a complete stranger could know my identity when I had spent most of my life making sure nobody did.

My eyes darted around the room until they landed on the side table.

A vase sat within reach.

It wasn't much, but it was heavy enough to do some damage.

I grabbed it immediately and held it toward him with both hands.

“I know what you are,” I warned, my voice shaking despite my attempt to sound threatening. “You're a kidnapper.”

His eyes dropped briefly to the vase before returning to my face.

“You want money? Fine. Let me go right now, and I'll make sure my father doesn't come after you.”

For a second, he simply stared at me.

Then he burst into laughter.

I tightened my grip on the vase.

“What is so funny?”

“And you think a kidnapper has the patience to nurse a dying woman back to life?”

“Everyone knows my father,” I snapped. “But nobody knows me.”

His laughter slowly faded.

“I grew up in isolation because of my illness. I was supposed to make my first public appearance this year as CEO, so how the hell do you know who I am?”

A slow smirk spread across his face.

He leaned back in the chair, looking entirely too comfortable for a man who had just been threatened with a vase.

“I'll tell you everything,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes.

“But first,” he continued, “I want to make you an offer.”

I stared at him before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh.

The audacity of this man was almost impressive.

“Are you insane?” I asked. “I don't even know who you are. What makes you think I'd accept any offer from you?”

“Because you're in deep shit right now,” he replied simply, “and I'm the only person who can help you.”

My brows tightened.

“Oh, really?”

“The man who tried to kill you is alive, free and currently living as though you never existed.”

My fingers tightened around the vase.

He leaned forward slightly.

“Don't you want him to pay for what he did to you?”

His words hit harder than I wanted them to.

For a moment, I said nothing.

Images of Dennis came rushing back into my mind.

The fact that he had walked away from me and apparently moved on with Nadia as though five years of my life had meant absolutely nothing.

My jaw tightened.

After everything he had done to me, the thought of making him pay was the first thing that had made me feel anything other than helpless since waking up.

But I wasn't going to trust a stranger simply because he knew my pain.

I straightened slightly, forcing my voice to remain cold.

“If you have no intention of telling me who you are, then forget your offer.”

He studied me for a long moment before leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms.

“Fine,” he said at last.

His eyes remained locked on mine.

“Since you're so interested, I'll introduce myself properly.”

I waited.

He paused deliberately, almost as though he wanted to make sure I was listening.

“My name is Norman Adams” he said calmly. “I'm the CEO of Monarch Technology.”