All Chapters of Babysitting The CEO's Daughter : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Nicole's POVThe medics arrived and Fletcher ignored them.Not rudely. He just kept his arm around me and looked at the man who came toward him with the kit and said, "Give me a minute," in the tone he used for things that were not actually requests, and the medic, to his credit, assessed the situation and took a small step back and waited."Sir, the shoulder really needs—""A minute," Fletcher said.The medic waited.I looked up at Fletcher's face. "You should let them—""Nicole.""You're bleeding through your jacket.""I know," he said. "I've been aware of the shoulder for the last twenty minutes. It's not going anywhere.""That's not how bleeding works," I said."It's not arterial," he said, with the calm of someone who had apparently assessed his own gunshot wound and filed it under manageable while continuing to conduct a beach confrontation. "I'd know if it was arterial.""How would you know—""Because I'd be on the ground," he said. "I'm not on the ground."I looked at him.He

The story broke on a Tuesday.I know because Fletcher's phone started going off at six in the morning and didn't stop, and I was in the chair beside his hospital bed when it happened, the same chair I had been in for most of the past two days, and I watched him wake up to seventeen notifications with the focused calm of a man who had been expecting this specific Tuesday and had simply been waiting for it to arrive."It's out," he said, not to me particularly, more to the ceiling."I gathered," I said.He handed me his phone.The article was long.Someone had written it well, which I appreciated even in the state I was in, a journalist who understood that the way you laid out information mattered as much as the information itself. It started with the financial crimes, which were the most legible, the kind of wrongdoing that came with paper trails and numbers and the specific clarity of things that could be proven in court without requiring anyone to believe a story.Then the coercion.

I didn’t know how to start.The hospital room was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the occasional distant voice in the hallway. Fletcher sat in the armchair beside my bed, his injured shoulder wrapped tightly under his shirt, a faint stain of blood still visible near the collar. He looked exhausted but immovable, like nothing in the world could make him leave this room. I had asked the nurses for privacy, and they had finally listened.My hands twisted the edge of the thin blanket. The words had been sitting in my chest for days, growing heavier every time I looked at him.“I need to tell you everything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “The parts I’ve been avoiding.”Fletcher leaned forward slightly, dark eyes fixed on me. He didn’t speak. He just waited.I swallowed hard. “After the fire… the one I still don’t fully remember… I wasn’t just hurt. My face—” My fingers rose instinctively, tracing the line of my jaw, the softer curve of my cheek. “It was different b

The Memory That Comes BackThe hospital room felt too still that night.The lights had been dimmed to a soft amber glow, and the only sounds were the steady beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the air conditioning. Fletcher had finally gone to rest in the private suite next door after I insisted he needed sleep more than I did. His shoulder was healing, but the shadows under his eyes told me he was running on nothing but sheer will.I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles, willing my mind to quiet. But sleep refused to come. Instead, my thoughts kept circling the conversation we’d had earlier—his pain, my pain, the gap that still sat between us like a living thing.I closed my eyes.At first, it was just warmth. The kind that settles deep in your chest on a cold night. Then came the smell—rich, savory, slightly spicy. Broth. Garlic. Noodles.My breath caught.The memory didn’t slam into me like the nightmares. It bloomed slowly, gently, like ink spreading through wa

The house was finally quiet.Most of the lights were off, and only the soft glow of Loise’s nightlight spilled into the hallway — a gentle pink star that rotated slowly across the ceiling. I stood outside her door for a long moment, heart beating heavily against my ribs. Fletcher had gone to his study to make some calls, giving me this moment alone with her. He knew I needed it.I pushed the door open gently.Loise was sitting up in bed, surrounded by her favorite stuffed animals, wearing the soft purple pajamas we’d picked out together weeks ago. She looked small and impossibly wise at the same time, her dark eyes watching me as I stepped inside.“Can’t sleep?” I asked softly, closing the door behind me.She shook her head. “I was waiting for you.”My throat tightened. I crossed the room and climbed onto her bed, sitting beside her and pulling the blanket over both our laps. She immediately scooted closer until her head rested against my arm. For a while, we just sat like that, breat