She barely registered the basin of water slipping from her grip, splashing onto the pristine white floor as she stumbled backward. Oh, my God. Her instincts kicked in.
She turned and slammed her hand against the emergency button on the wall. A loud alarm blared through the hallway. Seconds later, the door burst open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, led by Dr. Harris.
What happened? Dr. Harris demanded as he moved to the bedside, already checking Grant’s vitals. Anna’s voice shook. He, he grabbed my hand.
He opened his eyes. He, she looked back at Grant, still unable to believe what she was seeing. His chest rose and fell shakily, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to piece together where he was.
What was happening? He wasn’t fully aware, not yet, but he was here. Dr. Harris’s expression turned from shock to action. Get me a neurological team, now.
Nurses scrambled, voices overlapping in disbelief as they hurried to perform tests. The room was a whirlwind of motion, but Anna couldn’t take her eyes off Grant. Then, as if feeling her gaze, his eyes found hers again.
And this time he didn’t look away. Everything was happening so fast. The doctors were asking him questions, shining lights into his pupils, testing his motor functions.
But through it all, Grant’s gaze kept drifting back to Anna. She stepped forward hesitantly, swallowing hard. Grant, she whispered.
Do you remember anything? He stared at her, blinking slowly. A long silence stretched between them. Then, his fingers twitched again.
And before she could react, he reached for her hand. Weakly. Slowly.
But deliberately. His hand closed around hers, his grip fragile yet firm, as if he had always known her. Anna’s breath hitched.
Dr. Harris looked up sharply. Grant, do you know who she is? Grant didn’t answer immediately. His brows furrowed, his gaze never leaving Anna’s.
I don’t know, he murmured, voice rough from months of disuse. But I feel like I should. A chill ran down Anna’s spine.
Because even though Grant Carter didn’t remember her, something deep inside him did. The days after Grant’s miraculous awakening were filled with tests, therapy, and endless questions. Doctors were amazed by his recovery.
Physically, he was weak but improving. His muscles, stiff from a year of immobility, were regaining strength through rehabilitation. But mentally? That was another story.
Grant couldn’t remember anything about the accident. And the more they pressed him for details, the more frustrated he became. Grant, let’s try again, Dr. Harris said during one of their sessions.
What’s the last thing you remember? Grant rubbed his temples, his expression tense. I, I don’t know. Anything? Where you were? What you were doing? Grant exhaled sharply.
I told you. It’s just pieces, flashes. Tell me about them.
A long silence. Then Grant closed his eyes, his brows furrowing. I remember.
A feeling. His voice was slow, uncertain. Like something was wrong.
Like I was in danger. Anna, who had been listening quietly from the side, stiffened. Grant continued, his fingers clenching.
There was a road. Headlights. And then nothing.
Just black. Dr. Harris sighed. It’s common for trauma victims to block out painful memories.
It may come back on its own. But for now, we focus on recovery. Grant nodded.
But Anna could see the frustration in his clenched jaw. And deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. That night, unable to stop thinking about it, Anna went to the hospital archives.
She had read Grant’s file before, but this time, she went through every detail with fresh eyes. And that’s when she saw it. Something she had missed before.
The report from the accident reconstruction team stated that Grant’s brakes had failed. Failed. Not worn out.
Not malfunctioned. Tampered. A chill ran down her spine.
This wasn’t just an unfortunate crash. Someone had wanted Grant dead. And he had no idea.
Taking a shaky breath, she closed the file. She needed to tell him. Because if someone had tried to kill him once, they might try again.
Grant’s recovery was happening at a remarkable speed. In just a few weeks, he had gone from being bedridden to sitting up, eating on his own, and speaking in full sentences. Now, with the help of physical therapy, he was learning to walk again.
And through it all, Anna was there. Every step. Every struggle.
Every frustrating moment where he wanted to give up, she pulled him back. I can’t do this, Grant muttered, gripping the parallel bars tightly as he attempted to lift himself. Yes, you can, Anna said firmly, standing beside him.
You’ve already come this far, Grant. Don’t stop now. He turned to look at her, his breathing heavy.
She wasn’t just saying words to motivate him. She truly believed in him. And that made him believe in himself.
With a determined exhale, he took another step forward. Anna’s face lit up. That’s it.
For the first time since waking up, Grant smiled. Not out of politeness. Not out of obligation.
But because, for the first time, he felt alive again. And he knew exactly who to thank for that. Anna wasn’t like the others.
She didn’t treat him like a charity case. She didn’t see him as a billionaire trapped in a hospital bed. She saw him.
Just Grant. And that was why he found himself gravitating toward her. Whenever she was in the room, the world felt lighter.