DALTON
Marcus never calls me during business hours.
Not unless something's gone wrong.
So when his name flashed across my phone right after a meeting, I already knew I wouldn't like what I was about to hear.
I stepped out of the glass boardroom, ignoring my assistant's nervous look. "What is it, Marcus?"
There was noise on the other end traffic, hurried breathing, a car door slamming.
Then:
"It's Miss Davis."
My pulse jumped. "What about her?"
"She fainted, sir. Outside The Grind. I was parked nearby waiting for you. I saw her sitting in her car, and then she just slumped over the wheel."
A sharp exhale left me. "Is she conscious?"
"Barely. Her glucose monitor was beeping. I called an ambulance, but "
"Good," I snapped. "Stay with her until they arrive. Text me the hospital name."
He hesitated. "Sir, are you sure you don't want me to bring her to "
"No. She needs proper care. I'm coming."
I hung up before he could reply.
The meeting agenda scattered across the table as I shoved past my assistant, ignoring her startled "Mr. Gray?" The elevator couldn't move fast enough.
Aria Davis.
Too stubborn to accept help, too proud to admit she needed it.
This was inevitable. I'd seen it coming the dark circles, the thinning frame, the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking.
You can only push yourself so far before something gives.
And she'd finally given out.
The drive to Mercy Hospital took twelve minutes. I spent every second calculatinghow long she'd been unconscious, how low her glucose could've dropped, what the chances were of permanent damage. I hated that I even knew the math.
When I reached the ER, Marcus was in the corridor, talking to a nurse. Relief flickered briefly in his expression when he saw me.
"She's stable," he said. "They've given her glucose through an IV. Doctor says she's lucky."
"Where is she?"
"Room 108."
I didn't wait for him to finish.
The room was too white, too quiet. The hum of the machines grated against my nerves.
Aria lay on the bed pale, fragile, wires attached to her arms. Her hair was a mess, and there was a faint crease between her brows, even in unconsciousness. Always fighting something. Even her own body.
A woman in a lab coat entered a moment later, flipping through a chart. She was mid-thirties, perfectly styled, with that polished confidence that screamed, I like attention.
"Mr. Gray?" she asked, smiling when I turned. "I'm Dr. Williams. You're here for Miss Davis?"
"Yes."
"She's been treated for hypoglycemia. From her records, she's Type 1 diabetic."
"I know."
Her brows lifted. "You do?"
"I've… known her a while," I said, voice clipped. "How bad was it?"
"She hadn't eaten properly all day," she explained. "Her sugar levels plummeted. Stress probably worsened it. She's lucky someone found her when they did."
My jaw tightened. Marcus again. "What does she need?"
"Rest, regular meals, glucose monitoring, less stress," the doctor said lightly, stepping closer. "Preferably someone around her. Managing diabetes alone can be difficult—especially when emotions are involved."
Her tone dipped lower than necessary on that last part. She was too close. I could smell the perfume.
"I'll handle it," I said evenly.
"Oh?" Her smile sharpened. "You must care a great deal."
Before I could respond, Aria stirred. Her lashes fluttered, her breathing uneven. When her eyes opened, they found me immediately. Confusion flickered—then irritation.
"You again," she croaked.
Dr. Williams leaned forward, all sweet concern. "Miss Davis, you're awake! Don't try to sit up yet."
Aria's gaze darted around, realization dawning. "Hospital?"
"Yes," I said. "Marcus found you in your car. You fainted."
She groaned softly. "God. I told him not to make a big deal—"
"Passing out in public is a big deal," I cut in.
Dr. Williams smiled at me again. "She's going to be fine. We'll keep her for a few hours to monitor, but she can be discharged later tonight." She paused. "I'd like to go over her home care instructions with someone responsible. Maybe… over dinner?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
Aria frowned, confused. "Dinner?"
The doctor actually winked. "I just think it's easier to discuss long-term management in a relaxed setting."
I stared at her, disbelief giving way to irritation. "She's my girlfriend," I said before I could stop myself.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Dr. Williams' smile faltered. "Oh. I see."
Aria's mouth fell open. She looked from me to the doctor and back again, utterly speechless. Dr. Williams smile vanished, replaced by a flush of professional embarrassment.
Aria's gaze was still on me Her expression screamed what the hell did you just say?
"Yes," I continued coolly, doubling down. "We'll handle her care plan together."
The doctor cleared her throat. "Of course. Well she's very lucky to have someone so attentive.Well, then. The discharge papers will be ready shortly."
She retreated fast.
As the door shut, Aria turned to me, eyes wide. "Girlfriend?" she rasped.
"She was being unprofessional It was the most effectiveway to end that conversation," I said simply.
"You could've said you're my cousin or my tax accountant!"
"I don't look like a tax accountant."
She glared, but she was too weak to sit up properly. "You God, you're unbelievable."
"I'm honest," I corrected. "And apparently irresistible to overly friendly medical professionals."
She let out a strangled laugh, then grimaced. "Ow. Don't make me laugh. My head hurts."
"Good. Maybe it'll knock some sense into you."
"Dalton.."
"No," I interrupted, leaning closer. "You're reckless, Aria. You work yourself to exhaustion, you barely eat, and you refuse help. Do you think your father would've wanted this for you?"
Her jaw clenched. "Don't."
"I will. Because someone has to."
The fire in her eyes dimmed into something softer. Sadder. "I'm just trying to stay afloat," she whispered.
"Then stop pretending you can swim alone."
She looked away, blinking rapidly. "I'll be fine."
"That's what you said before collapsing in a parking lot."
"Dalton, I don't need.."
"You do," I said quietly. "You need stability. Structure. Someone who won't let you spiral every time life hits hard."
Her lips parted, but the nurse entered to check the IV, cutting off whatever she was about to say.
When we were alone again, she muttered, "You really think you can control everything, don't you?"
I smiled faintly. "Not everything. Just you."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Despite the tension, she almost smiled. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
She sighed, exhausted. "You should go home. I'll be fine."
"Not leaving until you're discharged."
"Of course not," she murmured. "You're you."
"I don't need your help just go I'm fine and i qm notypur problem!" she snapped, voice breaking.
"The medical evidence suggests otherwise." The words came out sharper than I intended. I took a breath, forcing control back into my voice. "You're drowning, Aria and you're too busy pretending you can swim to see you're already sinking."
She looked away, jaw tight, her eyes glassy. The fight in her faded, replaced by quiet exhaustion.
The doctor's voice echoed in my head She shouldn't be under this much pressure. She needs support. Stability. A care plan.
The pieces finally clicked into place. Her health. Her lack of money. The eviction. The stress. Every variable lined up, pointing to one inevitable conclusion.
When the nurse came in with the discharge papers, I took them from her without a word.
Aria sat there, staring at the wall like she was already somewhere else.
"Just take me home," she whispered.
"I am," I said. "But not to that place."
Her head turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
"You're moving into my penthouse. Tonight."
Her eyes widened. "Dalton.."
I cut her off. "You heard the doctor. You need stability, food, and no stress. Right now, you have none of those. You're being kicked out of your house, your blood sugar keeps dropping, and you can barely stand without help. This isn't about pride anymore it's about survival."
She shook her head, tears spilling now. "You can't just decide my life for me."
"Someone has to," I said quietly. "Because you won't."
The room went still. The beeping monitor was the only sound.
Then I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "There's another thing. Your medical bills. Your insulin, your checkups you can't afford them anymore, can you?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
"I can," I said simply. "Through my insurance. But that only works if you're family."
She blinked, confused. "What are you saying?"
I held her gaze. "We'll get married. You'll be on my insurance. You'll live with me. And you'll finally stop running yourself into the ground."
The silence that followed was thick and sharp. Aria stared at me like I'd just dropped a bomb between us. Shock, anger, disbelief all of it flickered across her face.
But beneath it all, I saw something else — fear.
Not of me.
Of needing me.
And for the first time, I realized she had no idea that this wasn't pity.
It was obsession, wrapped in logic.