line outside her small flat. Clara stood before the mirror in her living

ent as always. The drive to St. George's Hospital felt longer t

of his face, softening the sharpness of his jawline. His expression w

said quietly, as if

door, her heart hamm

smile that used to melt her defen

fessionalism into her tone. "Let's fo

a moment, it wasn't the billionaire, the patient, or the stranger she sa

d her more than

hands folded neatly in front of her

at his lips. "That's a polite way

it did. It looked like a sho

rian's room had been converted into a small medical space - monitoring equipment, first-aid esse

ies, distance. But standing there, surrounded by the lingering scent o

passed in a rhythm o

drian would join her in the kitchen, barefoot, hair tousled, the picture of disarming ease. He

'd greet, his tone

eply automatically, eyes fixe

orrect her gen

lways preten

cribed - slow walks across the room, breathing exercises, light stretches. His bod

ne sound - something in Clara's chest ached. It was t

aning on the railing as the city lights blinked below. The wind tousled his hair, and for a

e resting," sh

urn around.

him, arms folded. "T

isn't it? Having everything - money, property, eve

him. "You'll rem

tly. "But sometimes I

d. "What do

ng. "What if I remember things I don't l

. Clara looked away, her voice qui

plicity, the calm that steadied him more than any medicine

ghtened. "M

c below. Adrian wanted to ask more - about her past, about why she looked at him wi

he said softl

t him, startl

ng me like a patient or a burden

l, genuine curve of her lips that made somethi

r his breath. "Th

Wh

It sounds.

posed to,"