Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER ASKED FOR HELP
“Are all nurses this difficult when they become patients?”
Hannah Brooks stared at Rebecca Lane.
For a second, she wondered whether she had imagined the question.
Then the nurse smiled.
Hannah sighed and lowered herself against the pillows.
“I’m not difficult.”
Rebecca raised one eyebrow.
“You tried to remove your IV thirty seconds after waking up.”
“I need to work.”
“You fainted.”
“I know.”
“You were dehydrated.”
“I know.”
“You had barely eaten.”
“I know.”
“You may have been suffering from exhaustion for weeks.”
“I know.”
Rebecca crossed her arms.
“And yet you still think the emergency here is your clinic.”
Hannah looked away.
Because Rebecca was right.
That was the problem.
Hannah had become very good at ignoring herself.
She had learned it after her mother died.
She had learned it again when she started nursing school.
And she had perfected it during the past two years.
If someone else needed help, Hannah moved.
If she needed help, she waited.
There was always tomorrow.
There was always another shift.
Another bill.
Another patient.
Another reason not to think about herself.
“Your clothes are over there,” Rebecca said. “Someone brought them in.”
Hannah glanced toward the chair.
Her navy sweater was folded neatly beside her jeans.
Her canvas bag sat underneath.
“Who?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“A man.”
“What man?”
“The man who caught you.”
Hannah's stomach tightened.
The memory returned.
Rain.
Strong arms.
A deep voice.
Do not close your eyes.
She remembered the gray eyes.
She remembered the strange calm in them.
And she remembered his hand touching her wrist.
Hannah instinctively pulled her sleeve down.
Rebecca noticed.
She didn't comment.
Instead, she said quietly, “He stayed until the ambulance left.”
Hannah frowned.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he give you his name?”
Rebecca looked toward the door.
“Damen Moretti.”
The name meant nothing to Hannah.
But Rebecca's expression changed.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“You've never heard the name?”
“No.”
Rebecca stared at her for a moment.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Maybe that's better.”
Before Hannah could ask why, the door opened.
A tall man in a charcoal suit entered.
He looked to be in his late thirties.
Dark hair.
Controlled expression.
No visible emotion.
But Hannah recognized him immediately.
Her breath caught.
It was the man from the rain.
Damen Moretti stopped when he saw her awake.
For the first time since Hannah had met him, something shifted in his expression.
Relief.
He quickly hid it.
“You're awake.”
Hannah pulled the blanket higher.
“You followed me here?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
“I asked the hospital.”
“That sounds like following.”
A faint flicker crossed his eyes.
“You're right.”
Rebecca looked between them.
“I'll give you two a minute.”
Hannah immediately said, “No.”
Damen said at the same time, “Thank you.”
Rebecca smiled.
“I'll be right outside.”
The door closed.
Silence settled over the room.
Hannah looked at him suspiciously.
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I am.”
“You fainted.”
“I've been informed.”
“You were severely dehydrated.”
“I've also been informed.”
“You should rest.”
Hannah stared at him.
“Do you always give orders to strangers?”
“No.”
“Then why me?”
Damen didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved toward her sleeve.
Hannah noticed.
She pulled it farther down.
“I don't want to discuss that.”
“I wasn't going to ask.”
“Good.”
Another silence.
Then Damen reached into his coat.
Hannah stiffened.
He slowly removed a small paper bag and placed it on the table.
“Your sandwich.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You dropped it.”
Hannah looked inside.
Her half-eaten sandwich was there.
Wrapped carefully.
She stared at it.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh Damen had heard from her.
“You brought me my sandwich?”
“You looked like you needed food.”
She shook her head.
“You're strange.”
“I've been told.”
Hannah looked at him more carefully.
There was something unsettling about Damen Moretti.
Not because he was threatening.
Because he wasn't.
His calmness seemed practiced.
Too practiced.
Like a man who had spent years learning how to keep every emotion locked behind his eyes.
“Why did you really stay?” she asked.
Damen's expression hardened slightly.
“Because you were alone.”
“So?”
“So nobody should be alone when they are unconscious on a sidewalk.”
Hannah studied him.
“That sounds personal.”
His eyes changed.
Just for a second.
Then he said quietly:
“It is.”
Before she could ask what he meant, his phone vibrated.
Damen glanced at the screen.
His face became colder.
“Excuse me.”
He walked toward the window.
“Yes.”
Hannah couldn't hear the person on the other end.
But she saw Damen's jaw tighten.
“No.”
A pause.
“I said no.”
Another pause.
His voice became dangerously quiet.
“Find out who accessed the clinic's patient records last night.”
Hannah froze.
Damen turned slightly away.
“And Marco?”
A pause.
“Find the name of the man who has been following Hannah Brooks.”
Hannah's heart stopped.
Damen ended the call.
She stared at him.
“Who is following me?”
He looked at her.
Neither spoke.
Then Damen said:
“I was hoping you didn't notice.”
Hannah felt cold despite the warm room.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone has been watching you.”
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“You're hiding something.”
“Yes.”
Hannah pushed herself upright.
“You don't get to walk into my hospital room, tell me someone is following me, and then refuse to explain.”
Damen stepped closer.
“There are things you don't know about your life.”
“What things?”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said the sentence that changed everything.
“Your sister didn't die of an overdose.”
Hannah stopped breathing.
Because Hannah Brooks had no sister.
At least—
she thought she didn't.
Damen watched the color drain from her face.
May you like
“You have a sister,” he said.
“And someone has spent eleven years making sure you forgot her.”