Etienne's POV
I didn't get to finish what I wanted to say.
The monitor's steady beep filled the room until the door slammed open.
Two nurses hurried in, the doctor right behind them. One nearly knocked into me. "Sir, please move aside."
I stepped back but didn't take my eyes off Isobel. She lay pale and small beneath the thin hospital blanket, shoulders trembling with each shallow breath.
Before I could speak, Julien barged in behind them, voice too loud for this place. "Isobel! Thank God you're awake."
He pushed past me as if I were air and went straight to her bedside. My jaw tightened.
The doctor checked her pulse, then snapped orders to the nurses. "Keep her on fluids for now. We'll observe 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 just woke up from an accident, miss. You suffered a mild concussion and lost a lot of blood—"
"I said I don't want to stay."
Julien dropped onto the edge of the bed and gripped her hand like ownership. "It's okay, Isobel. You're safe now. Just rest. Don't stress yourself."
I wanted to throw him out the window.
I folded my arms to steady myself. "She's clearly uncomfortable, doctor. Maybe you should ask why."
The doctor turned to me. "And you are?"
Before I could answer, Julien snapped, "He's nobody. Just… just some guy who happened to be around."
I stepped forward until our gazes locked. "You sure about that?"
"Etienne, please," Isobel murmured, eyelids fluttering shut. "Both of you. Stop."
Her plea landed somewhere low and raw inside me. Hearing my name from her lips made my chest constrict.
The doctor exhaled. "Miss Isobel, you need rest. Hospital observation is standard for at least forty-eight hours after an impact like that."
She turned her head toward him; tears welled in her eyes. "Please, I just… I don't like hospitals. I just want to go home."
The room went still. A nurse glanced between the doctor and Isobel, sympathy softening her face.
Julien leaned in. "She doesn't have anyone at home, doctor. She stays alone. I'll take her with me and keep an eye on her."
"Like hell you will," I muttered.
He spun. "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 rubbed his forehead. "Gentlemen, this isn't helping. We can't release her unless someone is responsible for her recovery."
Julien reached for the papers. "Then I'll sign them."
I cut him off. "That won't be necessary."
All eyes swung to me.
The doctor blinked. "Do you have any relation to the patient?"
I gave a small smile that hid the mess in my chest. "Yes. We're family friends. Our families go way back." I didn't look at Julien when I said it. "I'll take full responsibility."
Julien let out a harsh laugh. "Family friends? Since when?"
"Since long before you started pretending to know what she needs," I said quietly.
"Etienne—" Isobel's voice came again, soft and uncertain.
I looked at her. "You'll be more comfortable somewhere quiet. You can rest and heal. I'll make sure you're okay."
Julien's jaw tightened. "You're not taking her anywhere."
The doctor looked between us as if deciding which of us was less unreasonable. "Mr. Etienne, correct? I believe I've heard of your foundation's work with patient rehabilitation?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
That sealed it. Relief smoothed the man's face. "Very well. If you'll handle her care, we'll prepare the discharge papers. But she must be under supervision for the next few days."
Julien went red. "You can't just—"
The doctor held up a hand. "Sir, she needs peace, not another argument. You can come by to visit later."
Julien clenched his fists, glancing between me and Isobel. She stared at the blanket, saying nothing; that silence probably hurt him more than any words could.
Finally he stepped back. "Fine. If that's what you want," he said tightly.
She didn't answer.
He shook his head and left; the door closed harder than necessary behind him.
The nurses began disconnecting her IV and preparing discharge notes. I stayed where I was, trying to ignore the guilt clawing at my ribs.
This wasn't part of the plan.
I'd told myself I'd keep things professional, detached. Seeing her lying there—pale, fragile—shattered whatever plan I'd made.
She turned her head slowly toward me. "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 said. "Our families do go back. Maybe not exactly like I said—but it's true enough."
Her lips curved faintly—half a smile, half disbelief. "You're strange, Etienne."
"You should see me when I'm not pretending to be polite," I said, and she laughed a little, shaking her head.
A nurse handed me a clipboard. "You'll need to sign here, sir."
I took it, signed, and thanked her. As they left, the room settled into a quieter rhythm.
Isobel tried to sit up and winced. I reached out without thinking, steadying 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, voice flat. "I didn't. Not yet."
That landed harder than I expected.
For a few seconds we sat in the hush. 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 both of you looked."
"Fair." I smirked despite myself. "We were ridiculous."
She shrugged. "Then I stepped onto the road, and… nothing."
I hesitated, then said softly, "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."
Her eyes softened for the first time. "You really don't have to do all this."
"I want to." I said it flatly so she couldn't argue.
The silence that followed felt different—comfortable, almost warm.
When the nurse returned with the wheelchair, Isobel sighed. "Do I have to use a wheelchair?"
"Yes," the nurse said kindly.
I leaned forward, my voice low near her ear. "Or I'll carry you myself."
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," I said, smirking.
She looked away first. "That's not funny."
"Good thing you're stuck with me, then. I'm actually very funny." I said it lightly as I pushed the chair once she sat.
She muttered under her breath—something that sounded suspiciously like, God help me.
I grinned. "He already did. You're still here."