Chapter 68 Chapter 68
Chapter 68
Ethan woke up again.
Not suddenly. Not from pain. Just… awake.
His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the white ceiling above him. The room smelled clean, sharp, like medicine and something faintly metallic. His arm was propped carefully, wrapped in thick bandages. His ribs hurt when he tried to shift, a dull reminder of what his body had been through.
But that wasn’t what pulled him out of sleep.
It was her.
He turned his head slightly, staring at the wall now. The image came without effort. Celine, lying there, lashes resting softly against her skin, breathing steady. Peaceful. Unaware.
He swallowed.
Why did I go there?
The question had been circling his mind since he left her room. Since he wheeled himself out like a coward, saying nothing, pretending nothing had happened.
He had told himself he only wanted to check on her. That it was responsibility. Guilt. Something reasonable.
But the truth didn’t sit right.
His chest rose and fell slowly as he exhaled. He had been close to many people in his life. Too close sometimes. But this was different. He hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t thought it through. His body had moved before his mind caught up.
He closed his eyes.
“I shouldn’t feel this way,” he muttered under his breath.
A soft knock came at the door before it opened. A nurse stepped in, tablet in hand.
“Good evening, Mr Castellan,” she said quietly. “Just checking your vitals.”
He nodded once.
She worked efficiently, checking his arm, asking short questions, adjusting something near the IV.
“How’s the pain?” she asked.
“Manageable,” he replied.
She glanced at him. “You’ve been restless.”
“I don’t sleep much,” he said.
She gave a small nod, as if she’d expected that answer.
As she was about to leave, he spoke again, his voice casual, almost careless.
“The woman from the fire,” he said. “Is she okay?”
The nurse paused.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “She’s stable. Still under observation.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Good,” he said.
The nurse looked at him for a second longer, then left without another word.
When the door closed, Ethan stared at it.
Stable.
That word stayed with him.
\---
Celine lay awake in her room, staring at the opposite wall.
Sleep refused to come.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Not the flames. Not the smoke. Him.
The way he had looked at her before leaving. Caught. Unprepared. Almost… shaken.
Her fingers curled slightly around the blanket.
She had replayed the moment over and over. The nurse leaving. The silence. His presence filling the space like it belonged there.
Why was he there?
She turned her head slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at the bandage on her head.
“He’s my boss,” she whispered to herself. “That’s all.”
But even as she said it, her heart disagreed.
He didn’t look at her like a boss would.
He didn’t rush in like someone protecting company property.
She remembered the receptionist’s voice. The staff’s whispers.
He ran straight to the fourth floor.
Straight to her.
Her throat tightened.
“He could have died,” she murmured.
The thought made her stomach twist.
She tried to distract herself, focusing on the hum of the machine beside her bed. On the faint sounds from the hallway. On anything that wasn’t him.
But her mind betrayed her.
His eyes.
That was what stayed.
Not his words. She couldn’t remember those clearly. But his eyes—focused, intense, like the world narrowed to just that moment.
She pressed her lips together.
“This is stupid,” she told herself.
She had survived an accident. She was injured. Emotional. Of course things felt confusing.
That had to be it.
\---
Later that night, a nurse came to wheel Ethan out for a routine scan.
The hallway lights were bright, reflecting off the clean floors. Other patients passed by, some asleep, some awake, their lives paused in this sterile place.
Ethan stared straight ahead.
Halfway down the hall, another nurse emerged from a room, pushing a bed.
For a brief second, he felt something shift inside him.
He turned his head.
The bed passed.
The curtain was drawn halfway. He saw only a glimpse of dark hair against white pillows before it was gone.
His chest tightened.
Was that—
“Sir?” the nurse pushing him said. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” he replied quickly, turning back. “Just tired.”
But his heartbeat told another story.
\---
Celine was being wheeled back from a quick check when she felt it.
That strange pull.
She turned her head slightly, just as the other wheelchair passed by.
She saw a man’s shoulder. Bandaged. Familiar.
Her breath caught.
But the moment slipped away before she could see more.
The nurse continued pushing her bed into the room.
“Did you see that?” Celine asked quietly.
“See what?” the nurse replied.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
But her heart refused to calm.
\---
Back in their separate rooms, the night settled again.
Ethan lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling he had already memorized. The machines beside him continued their steady rhythm, but he barely noticed them now. His body was tired, worn out in a way that sleep should have fixed—but his mind refused to slow down.
He shifted slightly, then stopped when the pain reminded him not to. He let out a slow breath through his nose, frustration creeping in.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
He had faced danger before. Loss. Pressure. People who wanted things from him. None of that had ever followed him into quiet moments like this. None of it had stayed when the noise was gone.
But she did.
Celine’s face kept returning, calm in sleep, unaware of the storm she had stirred. He tried to reason with himself, to place the feeling somewhere logical. Gratitude, maybe. Relief. Responsibility.
Yet none of those explained why he had stood up when he shouldn’t have. Why leaving her room had felt wrong. Why the urge to go back pressed at him even now.
He turned his head toward the door, then away again.
“This is nothing,” he muttered, though the words lacked conviction.
Across the hall, Celine lay awake, staring at the opposite wall. Her body was still, careful not to move more than necessary, but her thoughts refused to stay quiet.
She had tried counting breaths. Tried focusing on the sounds around her. Nothing worked.
His presence lingered, clear and unwanted, yet impossible to ignore.
She replayed the moment again—the way he froze when she opened her eyes, the awkwardness, the rush to leave. It hadn’t felt rehearsed. It hadn’t felt controlled.
It had felt real.
Her fingers curled into the blanket without her noticing.
“He shouldn’t have been there,” she whispered, more to convince herself than anything else.
But even as she said it, she knew that if he walked back in now, she wouldn’t ask him to leave.
That thought scared her.
She turned her head slightly, staring at the door, half-expecting it to open again. It didn’t.
Still, her heart refused to settle.
They lay there, separated by walls and distance, both awake, both caught in thoughts they didn’t yet have
words for.
Neither slept.
Neither understood what was happening.
But both felt it.
Something had changed—quietly, without permission.
And no matter how hard they tried to deny it, neither of them could pretend anymore.