Chapter 7— the fall

The morning was gray and still, the kind of quiet that makes the air feel thick. A soft drizzle clung to the streets as Eva stepped out of the bus, clutching her bag closer. Her shift hadn’t even started, and already she felt tired — not from lack of sleep, but from the troublee she had been getting all week.

It had been two weeks since she started working for Nathan Ward, the name that still rolled oddly on her tongue. A world-famous musician, yet every time she saw him, he looked more like a ghost of his own success. Every day she arrived at seven, left by six, followed his rules to the letter. No crossing boundaries. No unnecessary talk. No entering his room during “his hours.”

And she didn’t. She didn’t because she had Henry — her boyfriend — and because she needed this job to pay the rent she shared with Audrey. She didn’t because she wasn’t here to care about Nathan beyond the stethoscope and charts.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

By the time she reached the mansion gate, her phone buzzed — a text from Henry.

> Got you breakfast. Left it with Audrey.

Miss your face.

She smiled faintly. He had apologised for the incident that happened earlier and blamed it on stress. That was the third time this week he’d done something sweet. Out of nowhere. Coffee, breakfast, a late-night call just to ask how she was doing. For months he’d been distant, buried in work. Now suddenly, he was soft again, patient, present.

Audrey had teased her last night, brushing out her curls in front of the mirror.

> “Maybe he finally realized what a queen you are.”

“Or maybe he’s guilty about something,” Eva had laughed, though the sound came out thinner than she’d meant.

The mansion loomed ahead, still half asleep. The guard at the gate yawned and gave her a nod. As she started up the driveway, a woman in a silver dress came down the steps, stilettos clicking against the wet pavement. Her lipstick was smudged; her perfume trailed in the air like expensive smoke.

Their eyes met briefly. The woman gave her a curious, mocking smile.

“Didn’t know he did mornings too,” she said, adjusting her strap. 

Eva blinked, unsure what to respond.

“I— I work here,” she said quietly.

The woman’s smirk deepened, like she found that even funnier. Then she turned away, sliding into a waiting car.

Eva stood frozen for a second, a dull heat rising to her cheeks. The insinuation stung more than it should have. Why do you even care? she scolded herself, taking a slow breath before pushing through the mansion doors.

***

Inside, it was too quiet. No guitar strings, no music leaking from the closed studio upstairs, no lazy humming echoing through the halls. Just silence — thick, heavy silence.

She set her bag down and walked toward his room. Knocked once.

“Nathan? It’s Eva.”

No response.

She knocked again, louder. “Mr. Ward?”

Still nothing.

Her pulse quickened. The rule echoed in her head — Don’t enter my room when it's showing time, Ever. He’d said it on her first day, his tone dry but firm, like he meant every syllable but she didn't know what showtime meant.

Now something felt wrong. She pressed her ear to the door. Nothing. No movement, no groan, no cough. Just that awful, cold quiet.

“Mr. Ward?” she called again, her voice softer now, trembling slightly.

When there was still no answer, she turned and called down the hallway. “Martha!” she shouted, spotting the housekeeper near the stairs. “Can you get the spare key? Something’s not right.”

---

It took less than a minute, though it felt like ten.

The lock clicked. The door opened.

The smell hit first — stale alcohol and smoke. Then her gaze found him.

Nathan was on the floor beside the bed, no shirt on, skin slick with sweat, and just a boxer revealing the size of his dick. An empty glass rolled near his hand. His face was pale, jaw slack.

“Oh God... Nathan!” she gasped, dropping to her knees.

Her training kicked in before panic could. She tilted his head back, fingers trembling as she checked his pulse. Faint, but there. His breathing shallow. His lips parted as if he was trying to speak.

“Hey, hey— can you hear me?” she whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead. “Nathan, it’s Eva. Stay with me, okay? Please.”

He groaned faintly, his body twitching under her touch. For a second, she thought she heard her name from his lips — soft, broken, maybe imagined.

“Water!” she called to Martha. “And a towel— now!”

The older woman scrambled away, her shoes squeaking on the marble floor. Eva stayed, her hands pressing the cool fabric of his pillow beneath his head. She used a blanket to cover him up at least , his boxers weren't visible anymore, her heart hammering like it wanted to climb out of her chest.

He looked so… small. The arrogance, the smirk, the careless charm — gone. Just a man. A fragile, self-destructive man gasping for air.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” she murmured, not expecting an answer.

***

When Dr. Reid arrived minutes later, Eva barely moved aside. She’d already done what she could — put on a looser shirt, made sure his airway was clear, monitored his pulse. The doctor gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment before kneeling beside Nathan.

“Overdose on alcohol again,” he muttered grimly, checking his vitals. “And his blood sugar’s dangerously low. We’ll stabilize him here.”

Eva stood by the window, arms crossed tightly, watching them work. Rain streaked down the glass in quiet lines. She could see her reflection faintly — pale face, tired eyes, worry she hadn’t earned.

You’re his nurse, she told herself. That’s all.

But as they lifted Nathan onto the bed and adjusted his IV, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She felt that strange ache again — pity mixed with something deeper, quieter, something that frightened her because it wasn’t supposed to be there.

---

Hours later, after the doctor left and the house fell quiet again, Eva sat beside his bed. sunlight bled faintly through the curtains. Nathan lay motionless, an oxygen tube at his nose, color slowly returning to his cheeks.

She reached to wipe a damp strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingers hesitated midair, then brushed lightly against his skin. Warm now. Human again.

Her chest tightened. “You really scared me,” she whispered.

There was no reply. Only the steady rhythm of the monitor beside him.

Eva sighed, leaning back in the chair. The exhaustion of the day began to sink in. Her eyes drifted to the whiskey bottle on the table — half-empty, amber light catching the glass.

She wondered how long he’d been fighting his own ghosts. Wondered if music was still a refuge or a weapon now.

Maybe both.

***

A soft sound made her head lift.

Nathan stirred.

At first, just a twitch of his fingers. Then a low groan, like a man waking from a nightmare. His lashes fluttered. Slowly, his eyes opened — hazy, unfocused, but alive.

Eva froze, heart in her throat.

“Nathan?” she said softly.

His gaze wandered before landing on her. His lips curved faintly. “Broke the rules, Nurse Meadows.”

Her breath caught in a half-laugh, half-sob. “You were on the floor, unresponsive. I think that overrides your precious rules.”

“Didn’t… need saving,” he mumbled.

She shook her head, hiding a tear before it falls. “You’re welcome anyway.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between them. A fragile, electric kind of silence — the kind that hums with everything unspoken. His eyes softened, searching her face like he was seeing her for the first time, not as the nurse he’d hired, but as something else. Something steady. Real.

He tried to smirk again, but it faltered. His voice came out rough. “You should’ve… stayed out.”

“And then you would have been dead? So people will call me an incompetent nurse.” she whispered.

Their eyes held. Neither of them moved. The air felt heavier, warmer. She could hear the soft ticking of the monitor, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her own heartbeat fell in sync with his — steady, reluctant, afraid to admit the relief it felt.

Nathan’s gaze flicked to her hand resting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, almost without thought, his fingers brushed hers. Just barely. Enough to make her breath hitch.

“Guess I owe you,” he murmured.

She smiled faintly. “You owe yourself more.”

He watched her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then his eyelids drooped, fatigue pulling him back under.

Before sleep took him, he whispered, “Don’t leave yet.”

Eva’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer. She just stayed — watching the way his chest rose and fell, her hand still near his.

When his breathing evened out, she looked down at him, a quiet ache blooming beneath her ribs.

You shouldn’t care this much, she thought. You really shouldn’t.

But she did.

And as the last of the light faded from the room, she realized — for the first time since she took the job — that Nathan Ward wasn’t just her patient anymore.

He was the beginning of trouble she couldn’t run from.