The hospital doors burst open with a metallic slam as Adrian rushed inside, breathless, soaked from the storm, and barely holding himself together. The girl in his arms felt impossibly light, her skin chilled from rain, her hair clinging to his shirt like wilted petals. He had never felt fear coil this violently in his chest before—not even in the high-risk days when starting his company.
"Help!" His voice cracked, raw and frantic. "Someone—please!"
The bright lights stung his eyes, making the whole corridor blur. Nurses jolted into motion immediately, their shoes squeaking on the polished floor as they ran toward him. Their expressions tightened in focus—professional, calm, the exact opposite of what Adrian felt.
"What happened?" one asked, already checking the girl's pulse.
"I—she stepped… into the road. She fainted," he said in fragments, unable to form proper sentences. "She wouldn't wake up."
"Put her here," another nurse instructed, rolling a stretcher close.
As they lifted her from his arms, he felt his chest hollow out, as if something essential was being taken from him. He had no idea why the sensation was so strong—he didn't even know her name—but the feeling didn't leave.
The nurses hurried down the hallway, and Adrian followed in a dizzy daze, the storm's roar muffled by the rushing sound inside his head. Every fear tangled with the next—her safety, the accident, the fact he had hit someone, and beneath it all, an even tighter knot—
Sienna.
God. What was he going to tell her?
He stopped dead for a second, hands digging into his hair. He was supposed to be at her house hours ago. He was supposed to call. He was supposed to arrive smiling and surprising her because she adored surprise visits. Now he was miles from her doorstep, drenched, shaking, and connected to an unconscious stranger whose fate lay on a hospital bed.
If she found out… If her father found out… If anyone misunderstood…
His throat tightened painfully.
The nurses wheeled the girl into an emergency room, voices low but urgent. Adrian stood right in the doorway, unable to step farther but too shaken to step back.
"Pulse steady. She might have fainted from shock," he heard.
"BP stabilizing."
"No visible trauma."
Every word chipped away at the panic squeezing his ribs.
A doctor entered, checked her quickly, and turned to Adrian with calm authority. "She's stable. She simply fainted—likely from stress, exhaustion, or the shock from the near accident. She'll wake up soon."
Relief hit Adrian so hard he nearly staggered. His knees actually weakened.
"She's… She's really okay?" He asked again, voice hoarse.
"Yes. You brought her here in time."
But instead of calming him, the relief blended into a new thread of anxiety—because now, with danger fading, his guilt flared. Had he driven slower? Had he reacted sooner? Had he been careful enough? He replayed it over and over, every detail twisting inside him.
He dropped onto a bench, elbows on his knees, breath unsteady. Rain dripped from his clothes onto the floor, forming a small pool beneath him.
His phone buzzed uselessly— No Service.
Of course. The storm had killed the network.
He closed his eyes tightly. Sienna was going to be furious. Worried first, but furious after.
She was emotional, passionate, and quick to assume the worst. He knew her heart, but he also knew her temper. He had worked so hard to build trust with her family… And this—this mess, this accident with a stranger—was the last thing he needed.
Before he could spiral further, a nurse appeared beside him.
"She's starting to wake up."
His heart skipped.
He pushed himself to his feet and followed her into the room.
The girl lay in soft white sheets now, her skin warm-toned under the fluorescent lights, her lashes dark fans on her cheeks. She looked fragile, like she belonged to some gentler world than the storm outside.
Then her fingers twitched. Her breathing shifted.
Her eyelids fluttered open—the slow, delicate kind of blink that felt like watching dawn stretch across the sky.
Her eyes landed on him.
And it was instant—unexpected, quiet yet intense, a pull that felt almost… wrong.
Dark eyes met his, confused and vulnerable, but strangely clear. And in that instant, something like recognition passed between them—though they had never met.
Adrian's breath caught.
He stepped closer without meaning to.
"Hey," he said softly. "You're safe. You fainted, but you're okay."
She blinked again, her eyes studying him—hesitant, shy, yet curiously drawn in.
"Where… am I?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"City General Hospital." He forced steadiness into his tone. "The doctor said you're alright."
Her lips parted slightly, her gaze shifting around the room as if collecting memories from broken reflections.
"I remember… the rain," she murmured. "And the lights. And then—nothing."
Adrian swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I swear I didn't see you. You were suddenly in front—"
She shook her head weakly, cutting him off.
"No. I wasn't paying attention. I was lost. I panicked… I didn't see your car."
Her honesty startled him.
Most people in her place would have blamed him immediately, but she took the fault onto herself with such softness it made something tighten inside him.
"I'm glad you're okay," he said quietly.
Her gaze met his again—and their eyes held, longer this time. Too long. Too intense. A moment that felt suspended, untouched by the world outside.
She seemed to see through him—through his soaked clothes, his panic, his guilt—and something in her expression softened. A connection flickered, faint but unmistakable.
It unsettled him. It warmed him. It confused him.
He tore his gaze away, reminding himself—Sienna. He had Sienna. He belonged with Sienna.
He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to call your family once service returns?"
She gave a tiny nod, looking suddenly small and shy. "I… I lost my phone."
"I'll contact them for you as soon as I can."
Silence settled between them—not awkward, not tense, but charged, as if their unspoken thoughts lingered in the air.
The doctor entered, breaking their moment like fragile glass.
"She needs rest," he said. "You can wait outside."
Adrian hesitated and glanced at her once more.
And she looked back.
Soft, unsure, but strangely trusting.
A look that would stay with him long after he walked out of the room. A look he should not remember—but would.
A look that would change everything.
Elena lay still against the white hospital pillow, the faint scent of disinfectant mixed with the lingering sweetness of rain clinging to her hair. Her head was light, her body tired, but her mind—
her mind refused to rest.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was him.
The man who brought her here.
The man who saved her.
The man whose eyes she'd woken up to.
A stranger… yet somehow not a stranger at all.
Adrian.
She replayed the moment she opened her eyes. The world had been blurry at first, spinning softly like a dream. But his face—
his face had been crystal clear.
Sharp jawline softened by worry.
Hair messy from the rain, a little long at the front.
Eyes intense, deep, storm-colored—gray or blue, she couldn't decide.
A small scar at the corner of his eyebrow, like a brushstroke that added character rather than flaw.
She pressed a palm over her fluttering stomach.
"How can someone look like that?" she whispered to herself, cheeks heating.
It was almost unfair.
The universe had no right to throw someone so breathtaking at her when she was lying there looking like a drenched kitten who lost both home and direction.
Yet he had looked at her as if she mattered.
As if she wasn't just a stranger on a stormy road.
As if he was… relieved she woke up.
Her heart gave a soft, embarrassing flip at the memory.
His voice had been gentle—low and warm, like something meant to calm storms instead of drive through them. And when he told her she was safe… she had believed him instantly. Not because she knew him, but because something in him felt trustworthy in a way that made her heart open like petals to sun.
She touched her cheek; it was warm.
She was blushing again.
Ridiculous.
She tried to scold herself, but the image of him standing by her bed—soaked shirt clinging to his shoulders, expression drawn with guilt and sincerity—made her breath stumble.
He looked like someone from the stories she read as a girl.
Not the royal prince who rode a white horse, no—
the quiet protector, the unexpected hero, the man who appeared out of nowhere when the world grew dark and terrifying.
She remembered the fairy tales she used to read under her blanket, whispering dreams into the night, imagining a gentle soul who would one day find her. She had never believed fate worked that way, but…
But if fate ever decided to surprise her—
it would look exactly like him.
She let out a small, shy laugh at her own thoughts.
"Get it together, Elena," she murmured. "He's just a stranger. A very handsome, impossibly beautiful stranger who has no idea you even exist besides fainting in front of him…"
Her face burned even hotter.
It was ridiculous to think of him this way. Completely irrational. She didn't even know his last name. She didn't know where he came from, why he was in that storm, or what he was doing in the area. She didn't know his age, his job, his life.
And yet—
his presence had settled inside her like warm tea on a cold morning.
The look in his eyes when she woke up haunted her.
Not romantic. Not dramatic.
Just… genuine worry.
She had never seen a stranger look at her like that.
Not even people who knew her well.
Her chest tightened with something soft—something she didn't want to name.
She remembered how he leaned forward, his voice rough with relief, as if her waking up had allowed him to breathe again. She remembered his hand hovering hesitantly over the railing of her bed, almost as though he wanted to reach out but didn't know if he should.
That restraint told her more about him than words could.
He was respectful.
He was careful.
He didn't cross boundaries even in emergencies.
And his eyes…
God.
When he looked at her, she felt seen, fully and deeply, in a way she had only imagined in stories. It wasn't love. Not at all. She wasn't foolish. She knew love didn't bloom in a single heartbeat.
But something inside her—a tiny spark, a quiet flutter—had awakened.
A whisper.
A possibility.
A feeling she had once buried under responsibilities, expectations, and adulthood.
"Prince charming…" she whispered with a tiny, embarrassed smile.
Not literally, of course. But the feeling—the fluttering, the warmth, the disbelief that someone could be that beautiful—it made her feel like a girl again. Like the Elena who used to write dreams in her diary with glitter pens and draw hearts around faceless princes she had never met.
She turned her head slightly, staring at the empty chair beside her bed—the one he had sat in before leaving the room.
He had waited for her.
Stayed by her side.
Ensured she wasn't alone when she opened her eyes.
A stranger didn't have to do that.
And yet… he did.
Her stomach filled with butterflies again, swirling so wildly she had to place a hand over it. The sensation made her laugh softly—quiet and self-conscious.
"This is crazy," she told herself. "I don't even know him."
But her heart didn't listen.
Her heart remembered the way he looked at her.
Her heart remembered the softness in his voice.
Her heart remembered the silhouette of his shoulders in the stormlight.
Her heart remembered the warmth in his eyes when he said,
'I'm glad you're okay.'
There was no denying it—
the thought of him sent a gentle, dreamy warmth spreading through her chest.
She exhaled, long and slow, trying to calm herself.
It didn't work.
If anything, the only thought that settled was this:
She wanted to see him again.
Not because she expected anything to happen.
Not because she believed in fate or lightning-struck love.
But because… something in him felt familiar.
Something felt safe.
Something felt like a story waiting to begin.
Her eyes fluttered shut again, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.
Prince charming.
Storm-born.
Unexpected.
Heart-shaking.
For the first time in a long time, Elena felt the beginnings of a story writing itself inside her chest.
A story she didn't yet understand—
but one she couldn't wait to turn the next page of.