Crystal Manor - Morning
Amelia Crystal sat at the breakfast table, absently scrolling through Instagram while picking at her avocado toast.
The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a golden glow.
It should have been peaceful.
Then she saw it.
A gossip article had been shared by one of her friends: "Blackwood Heir Spotted on Romantic Street Date - Who's the Mystery Girl?"
Amelia's thumb froze over the screen.
She clicked.
The first photo loaded: a back view of a man in beige, casual clothes. The build, the posture, the way he stood—
Maxi.
Her heart clenched.
She swiped to the next photo. A mirror selfie—blurry, artistic. A woman's face visible, radiant with happiness. The man's face obscured but clearly there.
Another swipe. Two pairs of matching sneakers.
Another. Street food stalls, laughter captured in motion.
The caption on the repost read: "Maximilian Blackwood letting loose? We love to see it! Who's the lucky lady? 👀"
Amelia's hands started shaking.
She went to the original source—@artbylia.
Ophelia Levesque.
The gallery owner. The girl from their social circle. The one who'd always been quiet, unassuming, boring.
And Maxi had taken her on a date.
Not just any date—a street food date.
Casual. Fun. The kind of date Amelia had begged him for countless times.
"Let's do something normal, Maxi. Just the two of us. No fancy restaurants. Just... us."
"I'm busy, Amelia. Maybe another time."
But for Ophelia Levesque, he'd made time.
He'd worn matching outfits with her.
He'd let her post photos of him—something he never allowed.
He'd smiled in those pictures. Genuinely smiled.
The jealousy hit Amelia like a physical blow.
Her appetite vanished. The toast turned to ash in her mouth.
Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.
"Amelia?"
Her stepbrother, June Crystal, looked up from his own phone, concern flashing across his face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Amelia couldn't speak. She just shoved her phone across the table toward him.
June picked it up, scrolling through the post. His expression darkened.
Maximilian Blackwood. Again.
No matter how many times June had tried to convince his sister to move on, to look past Maxi, to protect her heart—she wouldn't listen.
"My heart is for Maxi only," she'd say stubbornly.
And now the bastard—oblivious or deliberately cruel, June couldn't tell—was causing his sister pain.
Again.
But then June paused, zooming in on one of the photos.
Wait.
The woman was wearing beige.
Beige shirt. Beige pants.
June's blood ran cold.
Purple.
Ophelia had been wearing purple at the memorial. He'd seen her there, briefly. That ridiculous dress her mother had made her wear.
But in these photos... beige.
Amelia was already storming away from the table, tears streaming down her face, heading upstairs to her room.
June barely noticed.
His fingers flew across his phone screen, pulling up a different number. A contact he'd hoped he wouldn't need to use again so soon.
He typed quickly:
"Who the FUCK did you hit yesterday? That wasn't Ophelia. She's wearing beige, not purple. OMG you hit the WRONG person??"
He hit send, his heart pounding.
Then he looked back at the Instagram post, at the happy couple in matching outfits, at Ophelia's radiant smile.
If you didn't hit Ophelia... then who did you hit?
City General Hospital - Two Days Later
Kalina Levesque was living her best life.
For two whole days, she had done nothing.
No work emails. No phone calls. No family obligations. No social events.
Just rest. Sleep. Hospital food that was surprisingly decent. Nurses who checked on her regularly. A private room with a comfortable bed.
This is heaven.
The person who'd saved her—Rhys Castillon, she'd learned—had been notably cold and distant, but she didn't care. He'd also been respectful of her choice not to contact anyone.
Though she suspected he had his own reasons for not pushing.
Some kind of misunderstanding, probably.
She didn't bother to clear it up.
Flashback - Day One, Upon Waking
Kalina had woken up disoriented, her head pounding, bandages wrapped around her temple.
A nurse had appeared immediately, all professional concern.
"Miss, you're awake! How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?"
"Uh..." Kalina's brain had scrambled to catch up. Car accident. Hit-and-run. Rhys Castillon pulling her out. "I remember some things. Kind of fuzzy."
"That's normal with head trauma. Can you tell me your name?"
"Kalina Levesque."
"Good. And do you have family we can contact? Someone who should know you're here?"
Kalina had paused.
Then made a decision.
"No," she'd lied smoothly. "I... I can't remember any contact information. Sorry. Head injury, you know." She'd tapped her bandaged temple apologetically.
The nurse had frowned. "What about payment for your medical care? Do you have insurance information?"
Kalina had gestured weakly toward the door. "The person who brought me here. Mr. Castillon. He's fully capable of sponsoring me. And a few more people, probably. Very wealthy man."
The nurse had blinked. "I... we can't just assume—"
"He saved my life," Kalina had said earnestly. "Surely he'll want to make sure I'm properly cared for."
Later That Day - Rhys's Visit
Rhys had appeared in her doorway looking absolutely seething.
"You told the hospital staff to bill me?" he'd said without preamble.
Kalina had looked up from her Jello cup innocently. "Well, yes. As you can see, Mr. Castillon, I am currently indisposed and cannot help myself."
"You're indisposed?"
"Very much so. Bedridden. Injured. Helpless." She'd gestured at herself dramatically. "And since you're the one who saved me, it's only right that you fulfill your responsibility to the fullest."
Rhys's eye had twitched. "That's not how this works."
"Isn't it? I thought heroes were supposed to see their rescues through to the end. You know, make sure the damsel doesn't die of medical debt afterward."
"You're not a damsel."
"I'm in distress," Kalina had countered, taking another bite of Jello. "Close enough."
"You're shameless."
"I prefer 'pragmatic.'" She'd smiled sweetly. "Besides, you're rich. You can afford it."
"That's not the point—"
"Also, I have amnesia," she'd added helpfully.
Rhys had stared at her. "You just told them your full name."
"Selective amnesia. Very tragic condition. I remember my name but not my family's phone numbers. Or my own address. Or my insurance information. Terrible, really."
"You're lying."
"Prove it."
They'd stared at each other.
Finally, Rhys had pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll cover your medical expenses."
"Thank you! You're so generous."
"But you're telling them your real information once you're discharged."
"If I remember it by then."
"Kalina—"
"Ooh, my head hurts. I think I need more rest. Stress isn't good for head injuries, you know."
She'd closed her eyes, dismissing him.
Rhys had left muttering what sounded like very creative curses under his breath.
Kalina had smiled to herself.
This is the best vacation I've had in years.
Present - Hospital Courtyard
Kalina strolled through the hospital's outdoor courtyard, enjoying the late afternoon sun.
The warmth felt wonderful on her skin. The garden was peaceful—flowering bushes, a small fountain, benches positioned strategically for maximum relaxation.
She settled onto one of the benches, tilting her face up toward the sun, and sighed contentedly.
A moment later, an elderly man sat down on the other end of the bench.
He sighed.
Then sighed again.
And again.
Sigh.
Kalina cracked one eye open. "Okay, not to be rude, but you've been sighing like the world is ending. That won't solve whatever problem you're dealing with, old man."
The man turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Old man?"
"Well, you're clearly—" She gestured vaguely at his silver hair.
"I'm in my prime, young lady. Barely seventy."
"Sure, grandpa."
THWACK.
The old man reached over and knocked her lightly on the head with his knuckles.
"OW! What was that for?!"
"For being rude to your seniors," he said with a huff, though his eyes were twinkling with amusement.
Kalina rubbed her head, laughing despite herself. "Okay, okay. Sorry. So what's bothering you, sir in his prime?"
The old man settled back on the bench, his expression turning melancholy.
"I want to go home," he admitted. "But I can't."
"Why not? Are the doctors keeping you here?"
"No, nothing like that. I could leave whenever I want." He paused. "The hospital is just... more lively than my home. Especially during this time of year."
"This time of year?"
"My grandson late wife's memorial period," he said quietly. "The estate becomes... mournful. Sad. Everyone walking on eggshells. It's not good for someone like me. Too much silence. Too many memories."
Kalina's teasing expression softened. "I'm sorry."
"And I'm bored," the old man continued, his tone shifting back to complaint. "No one to talk to. My PA is off attending his great-grandchild's ceremony. The doctors here treat me like a walking ATM. The nurses are polite but professional. No real conversation."
"Well," Kalina said thoughtfully, "I have to agree with you there. Hospitals can be pretty isolating."
"Exactly!" The old man turned to her with interest. "You understand."
"I do. Actually..." Kalina grinned. "I think we have something in common."
"Oh? What's that?"
"We're both running away from home. Just for different reasons."
The old man blinked, then burst out laughing—a genuine, delighted sound. "You're running away from home? At your age?"
"Hey, I have my reasons! Just like you have yours."
They laughed together.
"Alright then," Kalina said, extending her hand. "Here's my solution: let's be friends. We can help each other deal with the boring atmosphere of this hospital."
The old man looked at her hand, then at her face, then smiled warmly.
"Friends," he agreed, shaking her hand firmly. "I'm Pa."
"Kalina. Nice to meet you, Pa."
"So, Kalina who's running away from home—what's your story?"
"Oh, it's a long one. Involves a memorial, a purple dress, my sister's love life, and questionable life choices."
Pa's eyes lit up with interest. "Now that sounds entertaining. Tell me everything."
And so they sat in the warm afternoon sun, two strangers who'd found unexpected companionship, and talked.
Neither of them noticed the familiar figure watching from a hospital window above—
Rhys Castillon, looking down at the courtyard with a confused frown.
Is she... befriending my grandfather?