Nathan stood frozen in the corridor, the sound of Matilda’s muffled sobs seeping through the hospital door like knives through his chest.

He had faced boardrooms filled with hostile shareholders, billion-dollar investments that scared him and even betrayal from men he once called brothers but nothing, nothing, had ever left him feeling this powerless.

His hands curled into fists.

He wanted to storm back into that room, kneel at her side, and promise her she’d never suffer again. But he knew better. Matilda Jones had been the kind of woman who walked into a room and owned it; a woman who commanded respect without lifting a finger. To her, pity would cut deeper than any blade.

Still, the image of her crying alone shredded something inside him.

Nathan pressed his palm flat against the cold wall, trying to anchor himself.

"How could this happen? How could the brightest star of L.A., the girl who once laughed so freely, be reduced to this?"

His jaw tightened, the calm mask slipping... Rage burned, cold and deadly, as he thought of the people behind her accident.... Whoever they were they hadn’t just broken her body....they had stolen her future.

“Sir…” his assistant hesitated nearby, clearly unnerved by his silence.

“Find them,” Nathan snapped, his voice low and lethal. “Every single person involved in her accident. I don’t care if they’ve covered their tracks for years dig them out. If they drew breath the day Matilda’s life was shattered, I want to know.”

“Yes, Mr. Cross.”

Nathan straightened, tugging his cufflinks with mechanical precision, forcing his fury into icy resolve. “And contact every leading orthopaedic surgeon and fertility expert in the world. I don’t care the cost...fly them in from wherever you have to, force them, threaten them if you have to. She will walk again....she must walk again, she will have the choice to be a mother again. She deserves a life, not the shadow of one.”

The assistant nodded, scribbling furiously, though his eyes widened at the sheer force in Nathan’s tone.

Nathan allowed himself one last glance at the closed door. He remembered her as a child, stubbornly clinging to his sleeve at airports, her eyes shining with unshakable trust. He remembered her laughter echoing in halls that felt too empty after his mother’s death, and now

“What did they do to you, Buttercup?” he whispered to himself, the childhood nickname tasting like both ash and hope on his tongue.

This time, his vow was not silent. “I’ll fix this....Even if it's the last thing I do.”

Matilda woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of machines. Her eyes stung from the tears that had carried her into sleep, her body heavy with exhaustion and pain. For a moment, she thought she was still in that dark void trapped in the two-year coma where there was no yesterday, no tomorrow.

But reality returned like a cruel blow.... The accident......The doctor’s words. Paralyzed. Infertile. Broken.

She blinked, turning her head slightly. Nathan sat by her bed, the glow of his phone screen casting sharp lines across his face while he concentrated on his Tablet, his suit jacket was draped carelessly over the chair, his tie loosened something she had never thought she’d see on the immaculate Nathan Cross of Lance Inc. He looked… tired....almost human, how hard it must be to work from here and he refused to leave.

And then her gaze shifted.

In the corner of the room stood a sleek, electronic multifunction wheelchair state-of-the-art, gleaming like some monstrous mockery of mercy.

Her throat closed....The world tilted and she burst into a sarcastic laugh earning Nathan's attention.

They had wasted no time..... No time at all. Already she was being boxed into her new cage. Already they were preparing her for a life of wheels and pitying stares.

A strangled sound tore from her lips. “Is this it?” she rasped. Nathan’s head jerked up immediately, but she was already trembling, pointing a shaking finger toward the chair. “You couldn’t even wait could you? Not even a day. You all can’t wait to put me in it, parade me around like the crippled heiress who used to be somebody.”

Her voice broke, rising into a sob. “Is this how you see me now, Nathan? A broken woman who can’t even stand on her own feet? Do you think this chair will make it easier to watch me waste away?”

Her chest heaved, fury and despair twisting together. Tears blurred her vision, but through them she saw him rise slowly, his expression unreadable.

Nathan didn’t flinch. He walked to the wheelchair, his movements deliberate, and rested his hand on its back. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then his eyes met hers dark, steady, unyielding.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t see you as broken. I see you as alive. And if this chair is what keeps you here with me, then I’ll thank God for every bolt of it. But don’t mistake it, Matilda…” His voice deepened, his hand curling over the polished handle. “This is not your future...not if I have anything to say about it.”

Her lips trembled, her anger collapsing into raw grief. She turned her face away, unable to bear the intensity of his conviction. The tears came harder now, not from rage but from the terrifying possibility that he meant every word.

And somehow, that hurt even more.

Matilda pressed her face into the pillow, wishing she could disappear inside it, away from his voice, away from the unbearable weight of pity.

She felt, rather than heard, the slow tread of his footsteps crossing the room. Then the mattress dipped gently under his weight, her pulse stumbled.

“Matilda.” His voice was low, almost a whisper nothing like the commanding tone the world feared. She flinched when his hand brushed her wrist, hesitant, as though he expected her to pull away.

Her throat tightened. “Don’t,” she choked. “Don’t touch me like I’m—fragile glass. I can’t…”

But he didn’t retreat. Instead, Nathan’s hand slid down and enclosed hers, his grip firm, grounding. Not pity but strength heat radiated from his palm, searing through the cold ache in her bones.

“You’re not glass,” he murmured. “You’ve never been. Even now, when life has done everything to break you… you’re still here.”

Her tears slipped faster. She tried to pull her hand free, ashamed of her weakness, but he held on tighter anchoring her like she was drifting in a storm.

“I’m not here to put you in a chair, Matilda,” he continued, his gaze fixed on her trembling face. “I’m here to stand where you can’t, to fight what you can’t, until you remember how to fight again. And when you do… I’ll be right here.”

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, rough but gentle. A touch that carried no demand, no pressure only quiet conviction.

For the first time since waking up, Matilda let herself lean, just barely, into that warmth. The sobs came harder, broken sounds tearing from her chest as she buried her face against his arm. She hated herself for needing him, hated the weakness that clawed at her but in that moment, the weight of the two years till now lifted just enough for her to breathe.

Nathan’s jaw tightened, his other hand rising almost instinctively to stroke her hair slow, steady movements, like a vow unspoken.

And for the first time in twelve years, Nathan Jones held her again....but....