9

Third Person POV

The rain has been falling for hours, the empty streets of the city became dark, reflective ribbons.

Maxwell Smith gripped the steering wheel of his black Rolls Royce Phantom, the soft glow of the dashboard lights the only company on his late drive home.

His phone rang again. He already knew who it was, his mother.

“Son, have you reached home?” his mother’s voice came through, warm and insistent.

“No, please stop monitoring me like I’m a child.”

“Maxwell, listen to yourself. You want me to stop worrying? You’re a rich man with rivals who would love nothing more than to see you fall.”

Maxwell exhaled through his nose, he was still doing that when he caught a glimpse of someone in front of his car.

“I’ll call you later.” He ended the call, a pale figure appeared in the road ahead.

She walked slowly, almost drifting, soaked through by the rain. Her dark hair clung to her face.

Maxwell pressed the horn hard. The sharp blast made her flinch. She stumbled, then collapsed onto the wet asphalt.

“Fuck.” he cursed under his breath.

Then slammed the brakes, parked the car, and was out of the door in seconds. Kneeling beside her, he brushed the matted hair from her face.

She was young, maybe mid-twenties, her skin cold and pale. Unconscious. One of Maxwell’s deepest aversions was touching strangers, yet something about the sight of her broken on the road cracked through that barrier.

He lifted her carefully into his arms and carried her to the passenger seat.

Driving her to the hospital, with fear, he hates helping strangers, not even in this generation when it's so fucking risky.

And besides he's a public figure, what if this is a set up? But his heart isn't listening to his doubts.

The hospital lights were too bright after the darkness of the drive.

Nurses met him at the entrance with a gurney.

Maxwell followed as far as the reception desk, filled out the admission form, and wrote “friend” under relationship.

Doctor Richard appeared moments later—one of the few people Maxwell trusted.

“You brought her in?” Richard asked, pulling him aside.

“She fainted in front of my car.” He answered, sounding a bit worried. “Check on her, I'm sure I didn't hit her.”

Richard studied him for a second, then nodded. “Go home, your mother will call me if you don’t.”

“Fine, just make sure she's fine.” Maxwell muttered.

Richard touched his shoulder and nodded.

Maxwell drove to his empty mansion, showered, wore his pajamas and slept off on his bed.

When he opened his eyes, it was already in the morning. He remembered he has to go to the hospital, Richard hasn't called him yet.

He had his bath, and got ready for a new day.

When he was done and about to leave the house, his mother called.

He didn't want to answer the phone call but the woman wouldn't stop calling.

So he answered. “Good morning mother.”

“Son, how are you?”

“Mom, I've told you several times that I'm perfectly fine, and you have to stop acting like I'm a kid.” Maxwell said, he was pissed off already, his mother kept checking up on him as if he was a child.

“I’m calling for your own good.” his mother told him.

“I’m fine.” Maxwell sighed.

“I’ll stop the moment you get married.”

Maxwell smirked without humor as he buttoned his black suit.

“I’m thirty-three for crying out loud.”

“Very soon you’ll be forty. I want a granddaughter, please bring a woman or I should find one for you.”

“Mother, we will talk about that later.”He ended the call and drove straight to the hospital.

Richard met him outside the private ward.

“She’s stable, but not completely fine. We ran some tests, and the results says she was raped.” Richard said.

Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “And now?”

“We flushed everything. She should recover physically. Mentally… that’s another story because I don't know.”

They entered the room together.

The young woman lay still beneath white sheets, an IV line taped to the back of her left hand. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air.

Maxwell stood on the right side of the bed, expression unreadable, while Richard checked the monitors.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Vision blurred at first, then sharpened.

Soft voices reached her—whispers that grew clearer.

“She’s awake.” She heard someone say.

Sloane opened her eyes fully. Two men stood beside the bed. The older one wore a white coat; the younger one, dark-haired, light skin and perfectly dressed, watched her with cold, assessing eyes.

Memory returned: Kaelan’s rage, the gate slamming, rain soaking her clothes as she walked with nowhere to go, then nothing.

“Madame, are you okay?” the doctor asked gently.

She nodded once, slow and cautious.

“Any part of your body hurting?”

She shook her head. Her stomach clenched with hunger, but she said nothing.

Richard exchanged a quick glance with Maxwell before looking at her again.

“You were raped…?” he asked, with care and concern.

Sloane’s voice came out firmer than she expected. “I wasn’t raped.”

The two men looked at each other again, then back at her.

“Kaelan didn’t rape me,” she continued, the words tasting bitter. “My body consented to his brutal sex.”

“Who's Kaelan?” Richard questioned.

“My husband.” She replied, even though she hates to admit that Kaelan is her husband. Since it's useless, the man hates her so much and now that her sister is back, she can't even say if he will ever accept her back. He threw her out of his mansion already anyway.

Silence stretched for a moment. Maxwell’s expression did not change, but something shifted behind his eyes.

“What is your name?” he asked. His voice was low, and controlled. “Where are you from? Who hurt you?”

Sloane stared at him. The name Sloane felt like it belonged to someone else now—someone who still had a home, a place to return to. She said nothing.

“It’s normal,” Maxwell said after a pause. “You’re feeling weak, right?”

She nodded. Her stomach ached. She was starving, but the thought of speaking more felt exhausting.

Richard cleared his throat. “You will be discharged today. Mr. Smith has offered to drive you home.”

Panic flared hot and fast. “Can’t I stay one more day? Please?” She shook her head. Going back to Kaelan meant returning to a living hell. She would rather sleep on the street again and before that she has to gather a lot of energy.

Maxwell’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen—his mother, of course—and turned to leave.

But Sloane’s hand caught his wrist before he could take a step.

“Please don’t go,” she whispered.

He looked down at her hand, then at her face. “I just need to answer…”

“How did I get here? You brought me here, right?” Her voice trembled. The phone kept ringing in his other hand.

“Yes,” Maxwell said, cooler now. “And he’s the doctor treating you.”

Richard stepped closer. “Madame, nothing is going to happen to you. You’re safe here for now.”

Sloane’s grip loosened only slightly. Maxwell silenced the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

He did not pull his wrist free, instead he held her hand softly.

“I found you on the road last night,” he said. “You fainted in the rain and I…brought you here because leaving you there wasn’t an option.”

She studied him. Expensive suits, clean shoes, the kind of quiet authority that came with money and power. Yet he had carried a stranger through the rain.

“I don’t have a home to go back to,” she said quietly. “No one wants me at all.”

Richard checked the IV drip and made a note on the chart. “Physically you’re clear for discharge, but if you’re not ready, we can keep you another night for observation. It’s your call to decide.”

Maxwell remained silent, waiting.

Sloane’s gaze dropped to the thin hospital blanket.

“One more night,” she said.

Richard nodded. “I’ll arrange for that and bring something for you to eat.”

Sloane smiled at him before he left.

Maxwell finally dropped her hand, but he did not step away from the bed.

“What’s your name?” he asked again, softer this time.

She hesitated at first, then answered, “Sloane.”

“Sloane,” he repeated, nodding his head. “I’m Maxwell.”

Their eyes locked on each other, she wouldn't lie to herself at the moment, she felt so safe around him.

He's a stranger, she's supposed to be overthinking but instead she found herself staring at him.