Kyle returned to his office that evening, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and silver against the darkness outside. He tried to tell himself it was a professional visit. That his concern for Kate was just… obligation. Debt. A repayment for her care years ago.
He poured himself a glass of water, but the taste was flat, meaningless. His mind replayed the visitation the way she hadn't looked at him, hadn't spoken, hadn't even acknowledged his presence. She was there, and yet completely unreachable.
He could have walked away. He should have.
But he didn't.
The next morning, he made the call.
"Emily, schedule a meeting with her psychiatrist and psychologist," he said, voice clipped. "I want a full understanding of her condition. I need to know what's happening with her… with her mind."
Emily raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Understood. Should I coordinate with Hollowridge?"
"Yes. And include all attending staff. I want to know everything. No details omitted."
By mid-morning, Kyle was seated in the small consultation room Hollowridge provided. Two professionals Dr. Hamilton, her psychiatrist, and Dr. Rao, a clinical psychologist—entered promptly. Kyle's fingers tapped on the table, a rhythm betraying the tension he usually masked behind calm precision.
"Mr. Harrington," Dr. Hamilton said carefully, "you requested a consultation regarding Kate.
Kyle didn't waste time. "Yes. I want to understand what's happening. She doesn't respond to anyone. She won't engage. Is there any progress? Any treatment showing results?"
Dr. Rao exchanged a glance with Dr. Hamilton. "She's not responding to traditional treatments. Cognitive therapies, structured routines… medications… none have made a significant difference. She's emotionally shut off from the outside world. She's withdrawn, protective, and… resistant. Not out of defiance, but survival."
Kyle's jaw tightened. "So nothing works?"
Dr. Hamilton nodded. "She has no family support. She was an orphan. Her foster mother and siblings were involved in her life early on, but due to their own commitments, visits are infrequent now. She's largely alone. She needs a personal connection—someone who can invest energy consistently into her life. Someone she can trust."
Kyle leaned back, absorbing the words. His chest was tight. His mind raced, not with fear, but with a calculation he rarely allowed himself to entertain: I will be that person.
"I will hire the best mental health professionals available," he said firmly. "She will have every resource possible. I want her brought back, and I will make sure it happens."
Dr. Rao's expression remained neutral, but his voice was measured. "Mr. Harrington… it's not that simple. Even with the best doctors, the most advanced therapies, she's… resistant. The person she was before the trauma, the emotional structure she had, has been severely damaged. She's trapped in survival mode. The kind of personal connection she needs… requires immense patience, energy, and emotional availability. One person alone cannot guarantee it."
Kyle's fingers curled into a fist. "Then I will be that person."
Dr. Hamilton said quietly, "You must understand, sir. It's not just about being present. It's about building trust from scratch. She has survived slow, systematic abuse mentally, physically, emotionally. She won't respond immediately. She may resist. She may push away. And you… you must protect yourself as well. You cannot allow this to destroy your own emotional boundaries."
Kyle didn't answer. He already knew. He had been counting the cost all night. But this—this responsibility—was not something he could ignore. She had saved him once. And now… he could not walk away.
His mind shifted briefly to the office.
A production error had surfaced that morning—one of the company's main suppliers had sent a defective batch of raw materials. The entire line of products was at risk, and if not caught immediately, it could cost millions in recalls and lost contracts.
Normally, Kyle would have been consumed by the crisis. He would have called emergency meetings, reviewed every process, enforced penalties, and made swift decisions. But now… he found himself pacing, trying to balance two worlds: the world he ruled, and the world he was about to step into with Kate.
Emily appeared at his door. "Mr. Harrington, the supplier issue… the board wants your guidance."
Kyle nodded once. "Set up a call with legal and operations. I'll join in five minutes."
As he watched her leave, he realized something: no matter how much control he wielded over the company, no matter how precise his decisions, there were elements in life he could not predict. Kate A. was one of them.
And yet, unlike a defective shipment, she was not replaceable. She was not a problem to solve. She was a person, fragile, broken but still alive.
He returned to the consultation. "I understand," he said finally. "I will commit myself. I will invest energy, presence, and resources. I will do whatever it takes to connect with her personally. Professionally, you will be available—but I will be her primary contact. I understand the risks. I am prepared."
Dr. Hamilton hesitated, then nodded. "You're aware this is not typical for a patient like her. Most people… give up after weeks. You must be consistent, patient, and unwavering."
"I know," Kyle said. And for once, he spoke with the kind of resolve he rarely allowed himself outside the boardroom.
Dr. Rao's voice was softer now. "Then we will provide you with all information you need. Daily updates, behavioral observations, anything that could help your approach. But… remember, you are not a professional therapist. You are a human being. The emotional toll may be heavy."
Kyle nodded. "I am aware. I will manage it."
And as he left Hollowridge that afternoon, stepping back into the sunlight that softened the edges of the building, Kyle realized something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years: he was choosing this, fully aware, and he could not turn back.
Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.
And in the corner of his mind, the defective shipment, the boardroom crises, the lawsuits waiting on his signature all of it felt secondary. All of it was noise.
Kate A. was his focus now.
And somehow, that thought did not frighten him. It excited him.
It frightened him because it was personal.
And he had sworn, countless times, that personal was dangerous.
But he didn't care anymore.