A low, painful groan slipped from Chris's lips as his eyes fluttered open. The white ceiling stared back at him, and his brows pinched together at the pounding ache in his skull. He reached up to touch his forehead and winced—his head was wrapped in a tight bandage.
With one hand pressing against his sore stomach, he gripped the bedsheet and pushed himself upright. Another groan escaped him as his muscles tensed in protest and his head throbbed harder. For a few seconds, he sat still, blinking at the blurry wall ahead. He closed his eyes, placed a hand on his temple, then slowly opened them again. The brightness of the room faded as his vision adjusted.
His arms dropped limply onto his lap as he leaned back into the pillow, chest rising and falling with effort. Lines furrowed his forehead as scattered flashes of memory stirred. He couldn't recall how the accident happened—no moment, no impact, nothing. Just one haunting thought looped through his mind:
You killed Stacy.
Chris shook his head sharply, rubbing his forehead. "I have to get out of here," he muttered. But as he shifted slightly, preparing to swing his legs off the bed, his hand brushed against something warm.
A hand.
Chris jerked back with a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his chest as fire lanced through his ribs. His eyes darted to the bedside—and widened.
There, curled up on a chair with her head resting on the bed and arms folded beneath her like a pillow, was Isa.
His gaze locked on her peaceful, vulnerable face. The world dulled around him, fading until only the thump of his heart remained. She looked exhausted—faint lines marked her forehead, and her pale face was shadowed with weariness.
His eyes dropped to her dress. His chest tightened, and he blew out a shaky breath.
She went to the party with Alex.
He imagined Isa smiling at Alex the way she had at the hospital—soft and easy. He pictured Alex tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes lingering on her face.
"Shit," Chris whispered, eyes squeezing shut. He rubbed his forehead harshly, deep lines forming as if trying to scrub the images away. But he couldn't.
His nails dug into the mattress. His stomach turned cold.
Why does it hurt this much? Isa's closeness with Alex felt like a spear through his chest. He had tried not to care—but failed.
Chris let out a breath, shoulders sagging in surrender. He looked at her again.
She was still that same shy girl who once hid in the woods, blushed when their eyes met. Still the girl who nervously twiddling her fingers, who broke down trying to keep a job she didn't even want—for her mother's sake.
Chris reached out toward her face, fingers itching to brush her forehead—just like she had done for him during one of his nightmares. But just inches from her skin, he clenched his fist and pulled back. His hand trembled, knuckles turning white.
I shouldn't be doing this.
His lips pressed together as tears welled behind his eyes, unspilled and burning. He wanted to stay—with her. To help her remember who she really was. Safe. Not overworked. Not burdened.
But his want…
My want could destroy her.
It was my fault.
His stomach twisted. I must've caused her father's death. He sucked in a shaky breath. If she ever finds out—
Chris slammed his fist into the wall.
"I won't let that happen," he growled, punching harder. The sound cracked sharply through the quiet room.
A soft moan came from Isa as she stirred. Chris froze. She moved again, her chair scraping the floor as she lifted her head.
He glanced at his hand—blood trickled from his knuckles. Quickly, he stuffed it beneath the quilt and cleared his throat.
"Oh! Sir!" Isa's eyes widened the moment she saw him. She stood abruptly and bowed, worry and relief dancing in her eyes as they flicked to his bandaged head.
"I was so scared when I heard about the accident," she said, voice trembling. "Thank God you're alive." A soft smile touched her lips.
Chris inhaled slowly and gave a faint nod. She had come to him straight from the party.
How did she even— Then he sighed. Alex. He must've told her.
But… Is she really worried about me?
He narrowed his eyes. Or is she pretending—scared I'll fire her if she doesn't act like she cares?
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
The door creaked open. Chris looked up.
It was Alex.
He stepped inside and shut the door gently behind him. Chris scanned him—polished shoes, slicked hair, suit and black coat. The strong cologne clung to him.
Chris pressed his lips into a thin line. The tension in his throat was heavy, words he didn't dare say sitting right there.
I don't want to think about this any more.
"When can I be discharged?"
Alex stepped closer to the bed. "Not yet. You'll need to stay for the rest of the week."
Chris scoffed. "Me? A whole week?" He shook his head. "The exclusive exhibition is in a few weeks. I need to go home and work."
"Are you sure you can handle that?" Isa asked softly, her eyes flicking from his head to his face. "You don't look well."
Chris turned toward her, voice sharp. "And should I stay here and let your mistake ruin my project?"
Isa blinked, bit her lip, and lowered her head. She crossed her arms and rubbed them, as if warding off a sudden chill.
Alex stepped between them, his voice firm. "If you're angry," he said, glancing at Chris, "don't take it out on her."
He slipped off his coat and gently draped it over Isa's shoulders, pulling it snug around her. When she looked up, he gave her a small, reassuring smile and patted her shoulder.
"She deserves your respect too. She's your employee," he added, turning to Chris.
Chris clenched his jaw. His cheeks burned. His eyes darted to the hand on Isa's shoulder. Isa was looking up at Alex, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Chris looked away.
I'm just mad, he told himself. Mad that they're getting close… while I'm stuck here.
It felt like someone had reached in and scraped him hollow.
But whyam I angry? Angry that I couldn't be the one beside her? Angry that I am the one pushing her away?
I need to get out of here. I can't stay in this room with them.
"I'm leaving," he muttered, rage building in his chest—aimless and self-directed.
"Are you sure?" Alex asked, studying him.
Chris shot him a look. "I don't need anyone telling me what I can handle."
Alex nodded slowly. "Fine."
Isa took a shaky breath, then spoke up with quiet resolve. "I'll go with you."
Both men turned to her.
Isa looked between them, heart pounding. She swallowed and lowered her gaze.
"I caused all this trouble. I should be the one to fix it," she said softly. "He would've stayed and recovered properly if it weren't for me."
She turned to Chris. "Just… give me a chance to try to fix what I broke."
Silence settled between them, thick and cold.
Alex's jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on Isa. He took a deep breath. "Are you saying… you're going with Chris to stay at his place?"
He glanced at Chris, but Chris was still staring at Isa, unreadable.
Alex's hand tightened on Isa's shoulder. Then, as if catching himself, he let go and stepped back, flexing his fingers.
"I'll be fine," Chris said gruffly. "I don't need your help."
"Please." Isa bowed her head deeper. "Let me take responsibility."
When Chris looked at her again, she lifted her chin, eyes meeting his. Her lips trembled, and she clutched Alex's coat tightly to her chest as if drawing strength from it.
Chris's gaze fell. His fingers twitched beside him, aching to reach out—but he didn't.
His chest ached with the realization—We'll never go back to being those same friends.
He glanced at Alex.
Maybe… maybe Alex is the one who should be in her life now. He makes her feel safe. Maybe he's the one she needs.
"Let her stay with you," Alex muttered, rubbing his temple with his eyes closed. "It's just for a few days." He sighed and opened his eyes. "At least,"—he shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching them into fists—"She's not just here for you. She's carrying her own weight too."
Chris met Alex's eyes for a long moment, then turned away, wordless. He simply nodded, and the room fell into silence again.
Alex moved quietly through the check-up. Isa watched, silent, while Chris stared ahead, drifting deeper into thought.