Chapter 15 The medic
“Dante!” She called out again.
Her hands shook as she reached for her phone. She didn’t pause to think, she just dialed the number on the emergency sheet pinned to the wall, the one marked Varon Management, medical Response.
“Varon Villa, patient’s unresponsive, possible arrhythmia,” she said quickly. “Please, hurry up.”
“We’ll be there shortly,” a calm voice replied.
She dropped the phone, leaning over him. “Breathe with me,” she said. “Come on, Dante. In through your nose”
He tried, his chest barely lifting. Sweat gathered along his forehead.
For a moment, she saw not the cold, angry billionaire but a man terrified of his own body.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re not dying on my watch. You hear me?”
He didn't respond.
“Dante!”
She pressed her fingers against his neck, searching. His pulse was barely still there.
The room filled with the hum of panic and the clock ticking fast, her pulse racing, the faint echo of the sea outside. She tilted his head, checked his airway.
“Don’t do this,” she muttered. “Not now.”
A few minutes or maybe seconds later, she heard heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway. The medical team burst in, two men, one woman, dressed in black scrubs, no insignia, and no introductions.
“Move,” one ordered.
Sienna backed away as they surrounded Dante quickly. No chatter, no panic, just sterile efficiency.
They knew exactly where to go. They didn’t ask what happened. They didn’t ask who she was.
She watched them attach sensors, inject medication, while trying to stabilize him. One of them murmured something in French. She only caught the phrase “pulse faible” meaning weak pulse.
Her stomach twisted.
After what felt like hours, Dante gasped. His body jerked, a ragged breath tearing through the silence.
“He’s stabilized,” the medic said.
Sienna’s knees almost gave out.
When they lifted him back onto the bed, she moved instinctively to check his vitals, but one of them stepped between them. “We’ve got it, Dr. Hale.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know my name.”
The man didn’t reply.
They finished their checks, packed up, and left without another word. No paperwork, no signatures, and no thank you.
The room felt emptier than before.
She stayed beside him long after they left. The rhythmic beeping from the portable monitor was steady now, but her hands still trembled.
He looked different when he slept,younger and quieter. The anger that shaped his face had drained away, leaving something human behind.
For the first time since she arrived, she saw the man he might’ve been before all this.
Her thoughts kept circling back to the call. Varon Management. They hadn’t asked for any details. They knew his condition, his medication, his address. And they arrived quickly too.
Like they’d been waiting for the call.
She rubbed her arms against the cold. The sea wind slipped through the balcony doors she’d left ajar.
When Dante stirred, she moved closer, adjusting the blanket around him.
His lips moved slightly, as if chasing a dream. She leaned in.
“You should’ve gone”
Her chest tightened. “You’re safe,” she whispered before realizing how ridiculous it sounded.
He didn’t wake, but the crease between his brows eased.
The next morning, Sienna hadn’t slept. She sat on the edge of the couch, still in her old clothes, watching the faint light crawl across the floor.
When Dante finally opened his eyes, it was slow and cautious, like waking hurt.
“Morning,” she said quietly.
He blinked at the ceiling. “You called them.”
“Yes.”
“I told you not to.”
“I saved your life,” she said, wondering why he wasn't appreciative.
He turned his head toward her. His eyes were bloodshot, tired, but still held that same defiance. “You should’ve let it be.”
Sienna stood, her patience cracking. “Do you even hear yourself?”
He didn’t answer.
She crossed her arms. “You collapsed, stopped breathing, and you think I’ll just sit there watching you die?”
He looked away. The muscles in his jaw tightened. “You don’t get it.”
“No,” she said softly, “I really don’t.”
An awkward silence ensued.
Then he said, almost to himself, “You shouldn’t have stayed.”
Sienna's brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, his tone softer but still defensive. “You had the chance to walk out. Most people would’ve. You stayed. That’s on you.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
He gave a faint smile. “You think I’m being cruel.”
“I think you’re scared.”
The words hung there. He didn’t respond. His gaze flicked toward the window, the ocean beyond, and the sunlight hitting the waves like glass.
“I’m not scared,” he said at last, his voice low. “I’m tired.”
She wanted to believe him. But something in his eyes said otherwise.
Later that day, she checked on him again. He was quieter. He even asked for water, not in his usual commanding tone, but politely as a request.
“Are they gone?” he asked.
“The medics? Hours ago.”
He nodded, with his hand resting on his chest. “They arrived fast, didn't they?”
“You’ve done this before.”
His lips curved faintly. “You could say that.”
“Should I expect another collapse tomorrow, or do I get a day off?”
That earned her a small, real smile. “You’re not going anywhere, Hale.”
She wanted to snap back, but she stopped herself. Responding to him wasn't necessary.
Later that night, after she’d finally showered and changed into clean clothes, she returned to his room to check his readings one last time.
The lamp beside his bed threw soft light across his chest as he slept.
For the first time, she noticed the scar closely
It ran from the base of his sternum to his ribs, faint but deep, like a secret carved into skin.
Her hand hovered over it but she didn’t touch it. The stitches had healed long ago, yet the mark was still there like it remembered pain.
Her mind raced. None of his medical reports mentioned a secondary incision. The hospital summaries she’d read only listed fractures, internal bleeding, temporary paralysis nothing like this and then the metallic ridge he showed her earlier.
She leaned closer.
The scar curved slightly to the left, like someone had opened him for something or removed something.
Her throat went dry.
“Don’t stare,” he murmured.
She jumped instantly, and stared at him. He was awake, his eyes were open but heavy with exhaustion.
“I wasn’t”
“You were,” he said with faint amusement in his tone.
She hesitated. “What happened there?”
He turned his face away. “They call it the lucky mark. You've forgotten you saw the first day of the session.”
“Lucky?” she echoed. She bit her lower lip as she recalled, she actually saw it. But he didn't say much about it.
“I survived, didn’t I?”
His voice was light as his fingers brushed the scar like it was both a wound and a memory.
Sienna wanted to ask more questions about the they he spoke, about the medics who never gave names. About the way his eyes darkened every time she said something about an accident.
But she didn’t.
She stood up quietly, adjusting the blanket again.
“Get some sleep,” she said softly.
He nodded as his eyes were already closing.
When she turned to leave, his voice drifted through the dark, quieter than the sea outside.
“You shouldn’t have saved me, Hale.”
She stopped in the doorway,her heart felt tight, her fingers frozen on the handle.
She didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure if she disagreed. She turned and stared at his figure on the bed, then she closed the door behind her.
She knew he was hiding a lot from her, but she doesn't understand how she was becoming more concerned about him. Could it be love or pity?