Étienne's POV
The monitor's steady beeping filled the room until the door slammed open.
Two nurses hurried in, the doctor right behind them. One nearly bumped me. "Sir, please move aside."
I stepped back but didn't take my eyes off her—Isobel—pale and trembling beneath the thin hospital blanket.
Before I could say anything, Julien pushed in after them, his voice too loud for a place meant for quiet. "Isobel! Thank God you're awake."
He shoved past me as if I were air and went straight to her side. My jaw clenched.
The doctor checked her pulse, then began issuing orders with the brisk efficiency of someone used to crisis. "Keep her on fluids for now. We'll observe her for at least twenty-four hours."
Isobel shook her head, voice rough and small. "No. I don't want to stay here."
The doctor frowned. "You've just come out of an accident, miss. You suffered a mild concussion and lost a fair amount of blood—"
"I said I don't want to stay," she insisted.
Julien sat on the edge of the bed and gripped her hand like it was a claim. "It's okay, Isobel. You're safe now. Just rest. Don't stress."
I wanted to throw him out the window.
I folded my arms, keeping my tone controlled. "She's clearly uncomfortable, doctor. Maybe you should ask her why."
The doctor looked at me. "And you are?"
Before I could answer, Julien cut in, sneering, "He's nobody. Just—just some guy who happened to be around."
I stepped forward, meeting his glare. "You sure about that?"
"Étienne, please," Isobel breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "Both of you. Stop."
Her plea landed somewhere low and raw inside me. The way she said my name tightened something in my chest.
The doctor exhaled. "Miss Delacroix, you need rest. Hospital observation is standard procedure for at least forty-eight hours after an impact like that."
She turned her head toward him. Tears glistened in her lashes. "Please, I just… I don't like hospitals. I want to go home."
The room held its breath. A nurse glanced between the doctor and Isobel, pity softening her expression.
Julien leaned forward. "She doesn't have anyone at home, doctor. She lives alone. I'll take her with me and keep an eye on her."
"Like hell you will," I muttered.
He snapped around. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I stopped at the foot of the bed. "You've done enough for one day."
Julien squared up. "You're out of line. She's my friend. I care about her."
"And I don't?" I shot back.
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gentlemen, this isn't helping. We can't release her unless someone is legally responsible for her care."
Julien reached for the papers. "Then I'll sign them."
I interrupted before he could. "That won't be necessary."
All eyes swung to me.
The doctor blinked. "Do you have a relation to the patient?"
I gave a small, practiced smile that hid how raw I felt. "Yes. We're family friends. Our families go way back." I avoided Julien's eyes. "I'll take full responsibility."
Julien barked a harsh laugh. "Family friends? Since when?"
"Since long before you started pretending to know what she needs," I said quietly.
"Étienne—" Isobel began, then coughed.
I looked down at her. "You'll be more comfortable at my estate. There's a housekeeper who will cater to whatever you need. You can rest and recover. I'll see you're all right."
Julien's jaw tightened. "You're not taking her anywhere."
The doctor watched us, weighing which of us made more sense. "Mr. Étienne—correct? I believe I've heard of your foundation's work with patient rehabilitation?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
That settled it. After the surgery I'd contacted a trusted associate — a major shareholder in my company — and explained who I was. With his help I'd re-registered the business under a new name: Étienne Foundation.
The doctor's expression eased. "Very well. If you'll take responsibility for her care, we'll prepare the discharge papers. But she must remain under supervision for the next few days."
Julien went red. "You can't just—"
The doctor held up a hand. "Sir, she needs rest, not another argument. You may visit later."
Julien's fists clenched, his gaze snapping between me and Isobel. She stared at the blanket and said nothing — that silence doing more damage than any words.
At last he stepped back. "Fine. If that's what you want." His voice was tight.
She didn't answer. He shook his head and left; the door thudded shut harder than it needed to.
The nurses began disconnecting her IV and prepping the discharge notes. I stayed where I was, the guilt like a claw behind my ribs.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
I'd promised myself I'd remain distant, professional. Seeing her small and pale under that blanket shattered whatever plan I'd had.
She turned her head slowly. "Why did you do that?"
I met her eyes. "Because you needed someone."
She frowned. "You didn't have to lie."
"I didn't." I kept my voice steady. "Our families do go back. Maybe not exactly like I said, but it's true enough."
Her mouth curved, half-smile, half-disbelief. "You're strange, Étienne."
"You should see me when I stop pretending to be polite," I said, and she laughed — a soft, surprised sound that made something unclench in me.
A nurse handed me a clipboard. "You'll need to sign here, sir."
I signed, thanked her, and as they left the room settled into a quieter rhythm.
Isobel tried to sit up and winced. Instinctively I reached to steady her arm; she stiffened but didn't pull away.
"You should take it slow," I said.
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"You almost died."
She looked away, tone flat. "I didn't. Not yet."
That landed harder than I expected.
We sat in the hush for a few breaths. Then I asked, "Do you remember anything? Before the car?"
She closed her eyes. "I remember you and Julien shouting. I remember thinking how ridiculous you both looked."
"Fair." I couldn't help the smirk. "We were ridiculous."
She shrugged. "Then I stepped onto the road, and… nothing."
I hesitated, then said quietly, "You scared me."
She blinked. "Why?"
I shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. "Maybe because you were hit by a car in front of me. Hard to be indifferent after that."
Something softened in her eyes for the first time. "You really don't have to do all this."
"Maybe I want to."
The silence that followed was different now — not empty, but oddly warm.
When the nurse returned with a wheelchair, Isobel sighed. "Do I have to?"
"Yes," the nurse said gently.
I leaned forward, voice low near her ear. "Or I'll carry you myself."
Her head turned sharply. Eyes wide. "You wouldn't dare."
I did.
I bent, lifted her into my arms. She thumped lightly at my back but her protest carried a smile.
"Étienne, put me down! You're crazy!" she exclaimed.
Of course, I didn't put her down.