Vicky's POV
By the time the hallways finally calmed down and Oliver was declared out of danger, exhaustion hit me like a slow, inevitable tidal wave. The adrenaline was fading, the high-alert panic dissolving into that hollow heaviness that creeps in after a crisis. But beneath all of it was a small, stubborn warmth humming in my chest—relief. A fragile, trembling kind of joy.
Good thing Dad knew the hospital owner personally. One call from him and suddenly Oliver was assigned to one of the best suites on the VVIP floor—city and river view, soft warm lighting, a living area, and even a kitchenette with more appliances. It didn't just feel like a hospital suite; it felt like a small, private sanctuary. Somewhere, he could heal without people watching him through curtains or rushing in and out every minute.
He deserved that.
He deserved so much more.
