The moment Alex gets the call, the world blurs. His heart slams against his ribs, mind spiraling through worst-case scenarios—but his face is stone, all sharp focus and cold resolve as he races to the hospital.

When he finally steps into your room, the sight of you—unconscious, tangled in tubes and wires—hits him like a punch. A wave of rage and helplessness crashes over him.

He freezes at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, jaw tight, struggling to hold himself together.

“Who did this?” he growls, voice low and shaking. No one answers.

His eyes stay locked on you. You look so fragile, too still. Fear grips him tighter than fury ever could.

He drags a chair close and sinks into it, leaning forward as he grabs your hand—desperate, trembling.

His voice breaks into a whisper.

“You have to wake up. I’m not losing you. I can’t. Not like this.”