The door hissed shut behind Aria after she went to calm herself down, leaving a vacuum of silence in the hospital room. The only sounds were the mechanical beep of the heart monitor and John's shallow, rattling breaths. The air still vibrated with her anger, a storm I had unintentionally provoked.
I looked down at the man in the bed. John Davis. A variable from my past that had resurfaced as a catastrophic equation in my present.
My initial reason for coming was simple..data verification. The file on my desk was a collection of cold facts. I needed to see the reality, to assess the situation firsthand. But the moment he recognized me, the moment he called me "Dalton Gray" with that same gentle tone, the objective mission parameters shifted after laying my eyes on him something shifted. I knew I would do everything in my power to have him recover, but apparently the only thing I can do now is take care of...her.
This was no longer due diligence. This was a personal debt.
Aria's outburst was… predictable. She was a creature of pure, unfiltered emotion. Her anger, her confusion, her protective fury it was all inefficient, but it was a logical output given the inputs. She saw my presence as an invasion, a threat. She wasn't wrong.
"She's… always had that fire," John whispered, his voice pulling me from my analysis. His eyes were closed, but a faint smile touched his lips. "Even as a little girl."
I didn't respond. I was processing. The image of her, pale and trembling with rage and grief, was now a data point filed alongside the financial reports and medical charts.
"She's drowning," I stated, the words clinical. It wasn't an accusation; it was a diagnosis.
John's eyes opened, meeting mine. There was no judgment in them, only a profound, weary acceptance. "I know. And I'm the anchor." He took a slow, painful breath. "That's why I'm asking you. Not for me. For her."
Take care of my girl.
The request was illogical. Emotionally driven. Vague. Under any other circumstances, I would have dismissed it and counter-offered with a financial settlement. A trust fund. A paid-off mortgage. Clean, simple, terminable obligations.
But this was John. The man who, in a childhood home lacking of warmth, had been a constant. He never offered empty praise, but he never withheld basic human kindness. He was a fixed point in a chaotic universe. And he was asking me for the one thing I never gave: an open-ended, personal commitment.
"You have my word," I had said. And I meant it.
A promise to me was like an invisible contract. And I honored my contracts.
The door opened again, and Aria stepped back in. She'd composed herself, but the storm still brewed in her eyes. She ignored me completely, moving to her father's side, her focus singular.
I observed them. The way her hand, though shaking, was infinitely gentle as she adjusted his blanket. The way she murmured to him, her voice soft despite the tension in her frame. She was a capable caretaker. Efficient in her own way. But the system was failing. The primary support structure John's life was collapsing, and the secondary structure her own health and finances was critically compromised.
She was about to completely break down. My phone buzzed in my pocket.. Elaine calling aboutTokyo about a business deal. It felt distant and unimportant compared to what was happening here. A world of numbers demanding my attention while a real, personal crisis unfolded.
"You should go," Aria said without looking at me, trying to keep her voice calm and emotionless. "You probably have more important things to do than stay in a hospital room."
She was trying to provoke me, to re-establish the familiar dynamic of our coffee shop battles. It was a defense mechanism...Or so I'm beginning to learn.
"There's nothing more important at this moment than being here right now." I replied, my tone even. It was the truth. This was now the priority project.
That surprised her. She finally glanced at me, her brow furrowed in suspicion. "Why? What do you want from him?"
"Nothing," I said, holding her gaze. "I'm repaying a debt."
John's hand shifted weakly. "No debts, Dalton," he breathed. "Just… an old man's request."
Aria looked between us, the confusion warring with her anger. The data was not computing for her. The cold, rude billionaire and the kind, dying driver. The connection made no sense to her worldview.
I saw the exact moment her physical state overrode her emotional one. A slight sway, a sheen of fresh sweat on her temple. I think her blood sugar was dropping. The stress was accelerating the process....Yes I did my homework after I read her file.
I'm now an expert in diabetes field.
"You need to eat," I stated.
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"You're pale. Your hands are trembling. You're hypoglycemic. You're no use to him if you collapse." I kept my voice detached, factual. "There's a cafeteria on the second floor."
Her jaw tightened. "I'm fine."
"That is a false statement " I countered coolly. "Your pride is a poor substitute for insulin and glucose."
She looked like she wanted to throw something at me. Good. Anger would keep her adrenaline up, for a short while at least.
Why do I even care. She hates me.
But John's eyes were on me, a strange understanding in their depths. He saw what I was doing. Not offering comfort, but providing a tactical assessment. It was the only language I had.
"Listen to him, Aria," John murmured. "Just… go get a sandwich. For me."
The appeal to her love for him was the only strategy that would work. I saw the resistance drain from her shoulders. She was defeated.
"Fine," she bit out, shooting me a final, venomous look before turning and leaving the room once more.
The silence settled again, heavier this time.
"She hates needing help," John said softly.
"I'm aware," I replied, looking at the door where she'd exited. "The feeling is… familiar."
He understood. He'd seen that in me as a boy...and as a young man. The furious, stubborn independence.
I turned back to him. The peace I had seen after my promise was still there, but it was fainter, diluted by pain. The monitor continued its relentless, rhythmic beep.
Take care of my girl.
The parameters of the promise were now clear. It wasn't just about money. It was about stability. Security. Healthcare. It was about ensuring the system did not fail. It was about making sure she isn't alone after John passes.
Fuck.What have I gotten my self into.
My brain never works when it comes to her.
A plan began to form in my mind, cold, logical, and utterly efficient. It was a drastic solution. A random one. But it was the only one that comprehensively addressed every variable the medical debt, the pre-existing condition, the lack of a support system.
It was a merger. A hostile takeover of a failing enterprise, for its own protection.
I looked at John, his breathing shallower now. He was entrusting me with his most valuable asset.
If my money cant help with his recovery then the least I could do is keep my promise to take care of his stubborn daughter.
"I will take care of the situation, John," I said, my voice low and definitive. "You have my word."
It was a vow. A new contract. And I never broke my word.
She is so going to lose her mind when she finds out what I have in mind.