The fluorescent lights in Westbridge Private Health Hospital hummed softly as Anna Munro walked through the pristine white halls. She had been a nurse here for almost two years, but today felt different. The moment she received the unexpected summons to Dr. Harris’s office, the head of neurology, a strange feeling settled in her chest. Had she done something wrong? Was she being transferred? She took a deep breath before knocking on the polished mahogany door.
Stepping inside, she found Dr. Harris standing near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his usual sharp eyes fixed on the city skyline. His office smelled of sterile antiseptic and expensive leather, and the atmosphere was heavier than usual. Anna, he said, finally turning to her.
His voice was measured serious. We have a patient who requires special care, but this job is not for the weak-hearted. Anna’s brows furrowed.
Not for the weak-hearted? What kind of patient, she asked cautiously. Dr. Harris studied her for a moment before gesturing toward a thick medical file on his desk. Grant Carter, he said.
He said. Anna’s breath caught in her throat. Grant Carter.
The Grant Carter. Even if she hadn’t recognized the name immediately, the cover of the file said it all. A black-and-white newspaper clipping of a horrific car crash.
A year ago, the youngest billionaire in the city had been in a devastating accident. His sports car had veered off a bridge in the middle of the night, leaving him in a coma ever since. His name had once dominated headlines.
Grant Carter, the ruthless, untouchable CEO of Carter Enterprises. The man who built an empire at just 32. Now? He was nothing more than a ghost trapped in his own body.
His family rarely visits, Dr. Harris continued. And most of the medical staff simply do their rounds out of obligation. But Grant Carter needs someone dedicated.
Someone who will actually care. Anna bit her lip. She could hear the hesitation in his voice.
And you think that someone is me? Dr. Harris nodded. I do. Anna took a slow breath.
It was a daunting task, taking care of a man who might never wake up. A man whose wealth and power once dictated the lives of thousands. But deep down, she knew her answer before she even spoke.
I’ll do it. Dr. Harris’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes. Good.
Your shift starts tonight? The private suite on the top floor of the hospital felt eerily quiet as Anna stepped inside. Unlike the cold sterility of the other patient rooms, this one was designed for luxury. A spacious layout, dimmed chandeliers, dark oak furniture.
And in the center of it all lay Grant Carter. Her breath hitched as she took him in. Despite the tubes, the machines keeping him alive, and the stillness of his body, he was beautiful.
Strong jawline, dark lashes against his pale skin, broad shoulders visible under the hospital gown. If not for the lifeless stillness, he could have easily passed for a man simply sleeping. But this was no ordinary sleep.
This was a man trapped in a never-ending silence. Anna swallowed hard and stepped closer, adjusting his IV drip before reaching for the warm cloth prepared for him. She hesitated for just a second before gently pressing it against his skin.
The moment she touched him, a strange chill ran through her spine, a sensation she couldn’t explain. Like he could feel her there. Like somewhere in the depths of his unconsciousness, he knew.
A soft beep from the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. Anna shook off the odd feeling and continued her work, carefully wiping his arms, his chest, making sure his body remained clean and cared for. I guess you don’t get a say in this, huh? She murmured, almost to herself.
Silence. I’ll take that as a no. A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
The days turned into a routine. Every morning and evening, Anna would bathe him, change his sheets, monitor his vitals. But soon it wasn’t just about medical care.