Chapter 72 Anchored by Love
Chapter 72 Anchored by Love
The morning light spills softly through the hospital room’s blinds, pale and indifferent, catching in the highlighted strands of Selene’s hair as she sleeps. It paints her in gold and shadow, like the world is trying—clumsily—to pretend nothing has changed.
But everything has.
The room is quiet. Too quiet for four powerful men who are used to noise, to motion, to control. Used to boardrooms, engines, oceans, crowds, danger. Used to shaping outcomes instead of waiting helplessly for them.
Now, they’re just men.
Grieving. Guilt-ridden. Stripped down to something raw and human.
Jonathan stretches in the chair by the window, his back stiff, his neck sore from sleeping in short, uncomfortable bursts. He lifts a cup of vending machine coffee that’s long since gone lukewarm and takes a distracted sip, grimacing at the taste. His eyes flick between the machines beeping steadily beside the bed and the other three men, who’ve worn a shallow path into the floor from pacing.
John stops mid-step and rubs a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. He’s been moving for hours—back and forth, back and forth—like if he keeps walking, he can outrun what happened.
“There’s got to be something we can do,” he says, the words tight with frustration. “Something more than just… standing here.”
Adrian doesn’t look up. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, Selene’s chart in his hands, eyes burning as he reads and rereads the same clinical lines like maybe, if he stares hard enough, the words will rearrange themselves into a better reality.
His voice is hoarse when he answers. “We’ve done everything. Doctors. Tests. Specialists. And it still wasn’t enough.”
Kostas sits hunched forward in the chair near the wall, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s holding himself in one piece by force alone. His head is bowed, dark hair falling into his eyes, shoulders rigid with restrained fury and grief.
“Tell us what she needs, Jonathan,” he says quietly. “Tell us what to do.”
Jonathan exhales slowly before answering. Even he—usually the unshakeable one, the strategist, the calm in the storm—looks tired. Older. Like the night took something out of him too.
“You show up,” he says. “You don’t try to fix it—you hold her. You listen when she’s ready. You give her a reason to want to get out of this bed again.”
He sets his cup down on the windowsill with a soft clink and meets each of their eyes in turn, one by one.
“She’s strong as hell,” he continues. “But she’s never had to be strong for this kind of grief before. So you don’t leave her. Not even when she tells you to. Especially not then.”
Adrian swallows hard and nods, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, though he hasn’t let himself cry. Not really. He hasn’t let go of her chart since the nurse handed it to him. He keeps reading the words he doesn’t want to believe, the words that sit in his chest like broken glass.
John steps closer to the bed, his movements slower now, more careful, like he’s afraid even the air might hurt her. He brushes his fingers over Selene’s hand—the one not hooked to an IV. It’s warm. Real. Still here.
“We stay,” he whispers.
Kostas rises and moves closer too, his voice a shade deeper with emotion. “Every second. Every heartbeat.”
Jonathan lets out a dry, humorless huff of a laugh. “God help her. She’s got three men who’d burn the world for her—and I’m starting to think she’ll need all of you.”
A small silence blooms in the room. But it isn’t heavy. It’s reverent. Like a pause in a cathedral.
Adrian finally sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He leans forward and lets his head rest near Selene’s stomach, now soft and still beneath the thin hospital gown. His hands tremble as they clutch the blanket around her, knuckles whitening.
“I should’ve protected them,” he says, his voice breaking. “I should’ve protected her.”
John walks over and crouches beside him without hesitation. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You didn’t fail her. We don’t even know what happened yet.”
Kostas moves closer, standing behind the two of them, a silent wall of presence. His jaw tightens. “We’ll find out. Whoever did this—whoever the fuck did this—they won’t get away with it.”
Jonathan arches a brow faintly. “And here I thought I was the dangerous one in this room.”
For a split second, the barest ghost of a smile touches Adrian’s mouth. It vanishes just as quickly.
“She’s going to blame herself,” Adrian whispers. “Even though she shouldn’t. She always does. She carries things that aren’t hers to carry. We need to make sure she doesn’t spiral.”
Kostas nods once, firmly. “We will. Together.”
The room falls quiet again. The only sound now is the steady rhythm of Selene’s heartbeat on the monitor. Beep. Beep. Beep. Each one feels like a small miracle they’re afraid to breathe too hard around.
John watches her chest rise and fall. He thinks about how full of life she is when she’s awake—how she fills rooms, how she laughs, how she challenges all of them. Seeing her like this, pale and still, feels wrong in a way that twists something deep in his gut.
Jonathan finally speaks again, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual edge. “Start thinking like a team. Not rivals. Not lovers in competition. If you’re going to hold her through this, you need to hold each other too.”
John and Kostas both look at Adrian.
Adrian meets their gaze. For once, he doesn’t posture. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t retreat behind control or pride.
“I’m in,” he says quietly. “Not just for her. For us.”
Kostas steps forward and places a hand on Adrian’s shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then let’s stop pacing and start anchoring.”
John moves to the other side of the bed and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Selene’s forehead. “She’ll come back to us,” he murmurs. “She always does.”
As if she hears him, Selene shifts slightly. Just a small movement. A faint furrow of her brow. It’s nothing—and everything.
Adrian’s breath catches.
John stills.
Kostas leans in closer.
Jonathan straightens, suddenly alert.
But she doesn’t wake. She only settles again, her breathing evening out.
Still, it feels like a promise.
They take their places around her then—not because anyone tells them to, but because it feels instinctive. Adrian stays at her side, one hand wrapped carefully around hers. John pulls a chair closer and sits where she can see him when she wakes. Kostas stands near the head of the bed, watchful, protective, like a silent guardian. Jonathan remains by the window, keeping an eye on the world outside and the one inside this room.
Four men.
One woman.
One fragile, unbreakable center.
They don’t say it out loud, but it’s there in the way they stand, the way they breathe, the way they look at her.
A unit.
A fortress.
A vow.